The Trail of the White Mule | Page 8

which was jagged, and
at his immediate surroundings, which were barren and lonely and
soothing to his soul that hungered for these things. Great, gaunt
"Joshua" trees stood in grotesque groups all up and down the narrow
valley, hiding the way he had come from the way he would go. It was
as if the desert had purposely dropped a curtain before his past and
would show him none of his future. Whereat Casey Ryan grinned, took
a chew of tobacco and was himself again.
"If they wanta come pinch me here, I'll meet 'em man to man. Back in
town no man's got a show. They pile in four deep and gang a feller. Out
here it's lick er git licked. They can all go t' thunder. Tahell with town!"
The odor of coffee boiling in a new pot which the sagebrush fire was
fast blackening; the salty, smoky smell of bacon frying in a new frying
pan that turned bluish with the heat; the sizzle of bannock batter poured
into hot grease--these things made the smiling mouth of Casey Ryan
water with desire.
"Hell!" said Casey, breathing deep when, stomach full and resentment
toward the past blurred by satisfaction with his present, he filled his
pipe and fingered his vest pocket for a match. "Gas stoves can't cook
nothin' so there's any taste to it. That there's the first real meal I've et in
six months. Light a match and turn on the gas and call that a fire! Hunh!
Good old sage er greasewood fer Casey Ryan, from here on!"
He laid back against the sandy sidehill, tilted his hat over his eyes and
crossed his legs luxuriously. He was in no hurry to continue his journey.
Now that he and the desert were alone together, haste and Casey Ryan
held nothing in common. For awhile he watched a Joshua palm that
looked oddly like a giant man with one arm hanging loose at its side
and another pointing fixedly at a distant, black-capped butte standing

aloof from its fellows. Casey was tired after his night on the trail. Easy
living in town had softened his muscles and slowed a little that untiring
energy which had balked at no hardship. He was drowsy, and his brain
stopped thinking logically and slipped into half-waking fancy.
The Joshua seemed to move, to lift its arm and point more imperatively
toward the peak. Its ungainly head seemed to turn and nod at Casey.
What did the darned thing want? Casey would go when he, got good
and ready. Perhaps he would go that way, and perhaps he would not.
Right here was good enough for Casey Ryan at present; and you could
ask anybody if he were the man to follow another man's pointing, much
less a Joshua tree.
Battering rain woke Casey some hours later and drove him to the
shelter of the Ford. Thunder and lightning came with the rain, and a
bellowing wind that rocked the car and threatened once or twice to
overturn it. With some trouble Casey managed to button down the
curtains and sat huddled on the front seat, watching through a
streaming windshield the buffeted wilderness. He was glad he had not
unloaded his outfit; gladder still that the storm had not struck which he
was traveling. Down the trail toward him a small river galloped,
washing deep gullies where the wheels of his car offered obstruction to
its boisterousness.
"She's a tough one," grinned Casey, in spite of the chattering of his
teeth. "Looks like all the water in the world is bein' poured down this
pass. Keeps on, I'll have to gouge out a couple of Joshuays an' turn the
old Ford into a boat--but Casey'll keep agoin'!"
Until inky dark it rained like the deluge. Casey remained perched in his
one-man ark and tried hard to enjoy himself and his hard-won freedom.
He stabbed open a can of condensed milk, poured it into a cup, and
drank it and ate what was left of his breakfast bannock, which he had
fortunately put away in the car out of the reach of a hill of industrious
red ants.
He thought vaguely of cranking the car and going on, but gave up the
notion. One sidehill, he decided, was as good as another sidehill for the

present.
That night Casey slept fitfully in the car and discovered that even a
wall bed in a despised apartment house may be more comfortable than
the front seat of a Ford. His bones ached by morning, and he was
hungry enough to eat raw bacon and relish it. But the sun was fighting
through the piled clouds and shone cheerfully upon the draggled pass,
and Casey boiled coffee and fried bacon and bannock beside the trail,
and