In the shade of a juniper that grew on the highest point of the gulch's rim, Mack Nolan lay sprawled on the flat of his back, one arm for a pillow, and stared up into the serene blue of the sky with cottony flakes of cloud swimming steadily to the northeast.
Three feet away, Casey Ryan rested on left hip and elbow and stared glumly down upon the cabin directly beneath them.
Whenever his pale, straight-lidded eyes focussed upon the dusty top of the Ford car standing in front of the cabin, Casey said something under his breath.--- Miles away to the south, pale violet, dreamlike in the distance, the jagged outline of a small mountain range stood as if painted upon the horizon.-A wavy ribbon of smudgy brown was drawn uncertainly across the base of the mountains.-This, Casey knew, when his eyes lifted to look that way, marked the line of the Sante Fe and a train moving heavily upgrade to the west.
Toward it dipped the smooth stretch of barren mesa cut straight down the middle with a yellow line that was the highway up which Casey had driven the morning before.-The inimitable magic of distance and high desert air veiled greasewood, sage and sand with the glamour of unreality.-The mountains beyond, unspeakably desolate and forbidding at close range, and the little black buttes standing afar, off--small spewings of age-old volcanos dead before man was born--seemed fascinating, unknown islets anchored in a sea of enchantment.-Across the valley to the west nearer mountains, all amethyst and opal tinted, stood bold and inscrutable, with jagged peaks thrust into the blue to pierce and hold the little clouds that came floating by.-Even the gulch at hand had been touched by the enchanter's wand and smiled mysteriously in the vivid sunlight, the very air a-quiver with that indescribable beauty of the high mesa land which holds desert dwellers in thrall.
When first Casey saw the smoke smudge against the mountains to the south, he remembered his misadventure of the lower desert and swore.-When he looked again, the majestic sweep of distance gave him a satisfied feeling of ******* from the crowded pettinesses of the city.-For the first time since trouble met him in the trail between Victorville and Barstow, Casey heaved a sigh of content because he was once more out in the big land he loved.
Those distant, painted mountains, looking as impossible as the back drop of a stage, held gulches and deep canyons he knew.-The closer hills he had prospected.-The mesa, spread all around him, seemed more familiar than the white apartment house in Los Angeles which Casey had lately called home.-And if the thought of the Little Woman brought with it the vague discomfort of a schoolboy playing hookey, Casey could not have regretted being here with Mack Nolan if he had tried.
They were lying up here in the shade--following the instinct of other creatures of the wild to guard against surprises--while they worked out a nice problem in moonshine.-And since the desert had never meant a monotonously placid life to Casey--who carried his problems philosophically as a dog bears patiently with fleas--he had every reason now for feeling very much at home.-When he reached mechanically into his pocket for his Bull Durham and papers, any man who knew him well would have recognized the motion as a sign that Casey was himself again, once more on his mental feet and ready to go boring optimistically into his next bunch of trouble.
Mack Nolan raised his head off his arm and glanced at Casey quizzically.
"Well--we can't catch fish if we won't cut bait," he volunteered sententiously.-"I've a nice little job staked out for you, Casey."
Casey gave a grunt that might mean one of several things, and which probably meant them all.-He waited until he had his cigarette going. "If it ain't a goat's job I'm fer it," he said.
"Casey Ryan ain't the man t' set in the shade whilst there's men runnin' loose he's darned anxious t' meet."
"I've been thinking over the deal those fellows pulled on you. If the man Kenner had left you the booze and dope he told you was in the car, I'd say it was a straight case of a sticky-fingered officer letting a bootlegger by with part of his load, and a later attack of cold feet on the part of the bootlegger.-But they didn't leave you any booze.-So I have doped it this way, Ryan.
"The thing's deeper than it looked, yesterday.-Those two were working together, part of a gang, I should say, with a fairly well-organized system.-By accident--and probably for a greater degree of safety in getting out of the city, Kenner invited you to ride with him.-He wanted no argument with that traffic cop-- no record made of his name and license number.-So he took you in. When he found out who you were, he knew you were at outs with the law. He knew you as an experienced desert man.-He had you placed as a valuable member of their gang, if you could be won over and persuaded to join them.
