Casey Ryan Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  It was full sundown when they reached Rhyolite, which was not a town but acamp beside a spring, usually deserted. Three years before, a mine hadbuilt the camp for the accommodation of the truck drivers who hauled oreto Lund and were sometimes unable to make the trip in one day. Casey,having adapted his speed to that of the decrepit car of the show people,was thankful that they arrived at all. He still had a little flour andcoffee and salt, and he hoped there was enough grease left on the baconpaper to grease the skillet so that bannocks would not stick to the pan.He also hoped that his flour would hold out under the onslaught of theirappetites.

  But Casey was lucky. A half dozen cowboys were camped there with a packoutfit, meaning to ride the canyons next day for cattle. They were cookingsupper, and they had "beefed a critter" that had broken a leg thatafternoon running among rocks. Casey shuffled his responsibility andwatched, in complete content, while the show people gorged on broiledyearling steaks. (I dislike to use the word gorge where a lady's appetiteis involved, but that is the word which Casey thought of first.)

  Later, the show people very amiably consented to entertain their hosts. Itwas then that Casey was once more blinded by the brilliance of the ladyand forgot certain little blemishes that had seemed to him quitepronounced. The cowboys obligingly built a bonfire before the tent, intowhich the couple retired to set their stage and tune their instruments.Casey lay back on a cowboy's rolled bed with his knees crossed, his handsclasped behind his thinning hair, and smoked and watched the first palestars come out while he listened to the pleasant twang of banjos in thetuning.

  It was great. The sale of his silver claim to the men from Tonopah, thecheck safely pinned in his pocket, the future which he had planned forhimself swam hazily through his mind. He was fed to repletion, he wasrich, he had been kind to those in need. He was a man to be envied, and hetold himself so.

  Then the tent flaps were lifted and a dazzling, golden-haired creature ina filmy white evening gown to which the firelight was kind stood theresmiling, a banjo in her hands. Casey gave a grunt and sat up, blinking.She sang, looking at him frequently. At the encore, which was livened by aclog danced to hidden music, she surely blew a kiss in the direction ofCasey, who gulped and looked around at the others self-consciously, andblushed hotly.

  In truth, it was a very good show which the two gave there in the tent;much better than the easiest going optimist would expect. When it was overto the last twang of a banjo string, Casey took off his hat, emptied intoit what silver he had in his pockets and set the hat in the fireglow.Without a word the cowboys followed his example, turning pockets insideout to prove they could give no more.

  Casey spread his bed apart from the others that night, and lay for a longwhile smoking and looking up at the stars and dreaming again his dream;only now the golden-haired creature who leaned back upon the deep cushionsof his speedy blue car, was not a vague bloodless vision, but a realperson with nice teeth and a red-lipped smile, who called him Mister in atone he thought like music. Now his dream lady sang to him, talked tohim,--I consider it rather pathetic that Casey's dream always halted justshort of meal time, and that he never pictured her sitting across thetable from him in some expensive cafe, although Casey was rather fond ofcafe lights and music and service and food.

  Next morning the glamor remained, although the lady was once more theunkempt woman of yesterday. The three seemed to look upon Casey still as agodsend. They had talked with some of the men and had decided to turn backto Vegas, which was a bigger town than Lund and therefore likely toproduce better crowds. They even contemplated a three-night stand, whichwould make possible some very urgent repairs to their car. Casey demurred,although he could not deny the necessity for repairs. It was a longertrail to Vegas and a rougher trail. Moreover, he himself was on his way toLund.

  "You go to Lund," he urged, "and you can stay there four nights if youwant to, and give shows. And I'll take yuh on up to Pinnacle in my carwhile yours is gettin' fixed, and you can give a show there. You'd draw abig crowd. I'd make it a point to tell folks you give a fine show. AndI'll git yuh good rates at the garage where I do business. You don't wantnothin' of Vegas. Lund's the place you want to hit fer."

  "There's a lot to that," the foreman of the cowboys agreed. "If Casey'swillin' to back you up, you better hit straight for Lund. Everybody thereknows Casey Ryan. He drove stage from Pinnacle to Lund for two years andnever killed anybody, though he did come close to it now and again. I'vesaw strong men that rode with Casey and said they never felt rightafterwards. Casey, he's a dog-gone good driver, but he used to be kindahard on passengers. He done more to promote heart failure in them twotowns than all the altitude they can pile up. But nobody's going to holdthat against a good show that comes there. I heard there ain't been a showstop off in Lund for over a year. You'll have to beat 'em away from thedoor, I bet." Wherefore the Barrymores--that was the name they calledthemselves, though I am inclined to doubt their legal right to it--theBarrymores altered their booking and went with Casey to Lund.

  They were not fools, by the way. Their car was much more disreputable thanyou would believe a car could be and turn a wheel, and the Barrymoresrecognized the handicap of its appearance. They camped well out of sightof town, therefore, and let Casey drive in alone.

  Casey found that the westbound train had already gone, which gave him afull twenty-four hours in Lund, even though he discounted his promise tosee the Barrymores through. There was a train, to be sure, that passedthrough Lund in the middle of the night; but that was the De Luxe,standard and drawing-room sleepers, and disdained stopping to pick upplebeian local passengers.

  So Casey must spend twenty-four hours in Lund, there to greet men whohailed him joyously at the top of their voices while they were yet afaroff, and thumped him painfully upon the shoulders when they came withinreach of him. You may not grasp the full significance of this, unless youhave known old and popular stage drivers, soft of heart and hard of fist.Then remember that Casey had spent months on end alone in the wilderness,working like a lashed slave from sunrise to dark, trying to wrest afortune from a certain mountain side. Remember how an enforced isolation,coupled with rough fare and hard work, will breed a craving for lights andlaughter and the speech of friends. Remember that, and don't overlook thetwenty-five thousand dollar check that Casey had pinned safe within hispocket.

  Casey had unthinkingly tossed his last dime into his hat for the showpeople at Rhyolite. He had not even skinned the coyote, whose hide wouldhave been worth ten or fifteen dollars, as hides go. In the stress ofpulling out of the mud at Red Lake, he had forgot all about the deadanimal in his tonneau until his nose reminded him next morning that it wasthere. Then he had hauled it out by the tail and thrown it away. He wasbroke, except that he had that check in his pocket.

  Of course it was easy enough for Casey to get money. He went to the storethat sold everything from mining tools to green perfume bottles tied withnarrow pink ribbon. The man who owned that store also owned the bank nextdoor, and a little place down the street which was called laconically TheClub. One way or another, Dwyer managed to feel the money of every man whocame into Lund and stopped there for a space. He was an honest man, too,--or as honest as is practicable for a man in business.

  Dwyer was tickled to see Casey again. Casey was a good fellow, and henever needed his memory jogged when he owed a man. He paid before he wasasked to pay, and that was enough to make any merchant love him. Hewatched Casey unpin his vest pocket and remove the check, and he was nottoo eager to inspect it.

  "Good? Surest thing you know. Want it cashed, or applied to your oldchecking account? It's open yet, with a dollar and sixty-seven cents toyour credit, I believe. I'll take care of it, though it's after bankinghours."

  Casey was foolish. "I'll take a couple of hundred, if it's handy, and acheck book. I guess you can fix it so I can get what money I want in Los.I'm goin' to have one hell of a time when I git there. I've earned it."

  Dwyer laughed whi
le he inked a pen for Casey's endorsement. "Hop to it,Casey. Glad you made good. But you'd better let me put part of that in asavings account, so you can't check it out. You know, Casey--remember yourweak point."

  "Aw--that's all right! Don't you worry none about Casey Ryan! Casey'lltake care of himself--he's had too many jolts to want another one. Say,gimme a pair of them socks before you go in the bank. I'll pay yuh," hegrinned, "when yuh come back with some money. Ain't got a cent on me,Dwyer. Give it all away. Twelve dollars and something. Down to twenty-fivethousand dollars and my Ford auty-_mo_-bile--and Bill's goin' to buy thatoff me as soon as he looks her over to see what's busted and what ain't."

  Dwyer laughed again as he unlocked the door behind the overalls andjumpers and disappeared into his bank. Presently he returned with areceipted duplicate deposit slip for twenty-four thousand eight hundreddollars, a little, flat check book and two hundred dollars in worn banknotes. "You ought to be independent for the rest of your life, Casey. Thisis a fine start for any man," he said.

  Casey paid for the socks and slid the change for a ten-dollar bill intohis overalls pocket, put the check book and the bank notes away where hehad carried the check, and walked out with his hat very much tilted overhis right eye and his shoulders swaggering a little. You can't blame himfor that, can you?

  As he stepped from the store he met an old acquaintance from Pinnacle.There was only one thing to do in a case like that, and Casey did it quitenaturally. They came out of The Club wiping their lips, and the swagger inCasey's shoulders was more pronounced.

  Face to face Casey met the show lady, which was what he called her in hismind. She had her arms clasped around a large paper sack full of lumpythings, and her eyes had a strained, anxious look.

  "Oh, Mister! I've been looking all over for you. They say we can't show inthis town. The license for road shows is fifty dollars, to begin with, andI've been all over and can't find a single place where we could show, evenif we could pay the license. Ain't that the last word in hard luck? Nowwhat to do beats me, Mister. We've just got to have the old car tinkeredup so it'll carry us on to the next place, wherever that is. Jack says hemust have a new tire by some means or other, and he was counting on whatwe'd make here. And up at that other place you've mentioned the mumps havebroke out and they wouldn't let us show for love or money. A man in thedrug store told me, Mister. We certainly are in a hole now, for sure! Ifwe could give a benefit for something or somebody. Those men back theresaid you're so popular in this town, I believe I've got an idea. Mister,couldn't you have bad luck, or be sick or something, so we could give abenefit for you? People certainly would turn out good for a man that'sliked the way they say you are. I'd just love to put on a show for you.Couldn't we fix it up some way?"

  Casey looked up and down the street and found it practically empty. Lundwas dining at that hour. And while Casey expected later the loudgreetings, and the handshakes and all, as a matter of fact he had thus fartalked with Bill, the garage man, with Dwyer, the storekeeper and banker,and with the man from Pinnacle, who was already making ready to crank hiscar and go home. Lund, as a town, was yet unaware of Casey's presence.

  Casey looked at the show lady, found her gazing at his face with eyes thatsaid please in four languages, and hesitated.

  "You could git up a benefit for the Methodist church, mebby," hetemporized. "There's a church of some kind here--I guess it's a Methodist.They most generally are."

  "We'd have to split with them if we did," the show lady objectedpractically. "Oh, we're stuck worse than when we was back there in themud! We'd only have to pay five dollars for a six-months' theater license,which would let us give all the shows we wanted to. It's a new law that Iguess you didn't know anything about," she added kindly. "You certainlywouldn't have insisted on us coming if you'd knew about the license."

  "It's a year, almost, since I was here," Casey admitted; "I been outprospecting."

  "Well, we can just work it fine! Can't we go somewhere and talk it over?I've got a swell idea, Mister, if you'll just listen to it a minute, andit'll certainly be a godsend to us to be able to give our show. We've gotsome crutches amongst our stage props, and some scar patches, Mister, thatwould certainly make you up fine as a cripple. Wouldn't they believe it,Mister, if it was told that you had been in an accident and got crippledfor life?"

  In spite of his embarrassment, Casey grinned. "Yeah, I guess they'dbelieve it, all right," he admitted. "They'd likely be tickled to death tosee me goin' around on crutches." He cast a hasty thought back into hispast, when he had driven a careening stage between Pinnacle and Lund,strewing the steep trail with wreckage not his own. "Yeah, it'd tickle 'emto death. Them that's rode with me," he concluded.

  "Oh, you certainly are a godsend! Duck outa sight somewhere while I gotell Jack dear that we've found a way open for us to show, after all!"While Casey was pulling the sag out of his jaw so that he could protest,could offer her money, do anything save what she wanted, the show ladydisappeared. Casey turned and went back into The Club, remained fiveminutes perhaps and then walked very circumspectly across the street toBill's garage. It was there that the Barrymores found him when they cameseeking with their dilapidated old car, their crutches, their grease paintand scar patches, to make a cripple of Casey whether he would or no.

  Bill fell uproariously in with the plan, and Dwyer, stopping at the garageon his way home to dinner, thought it a great joke on Lund and promised tohelp the benefit along. Casey, with three drinks under his belt and hisstomach otherwise empty, wanted to sing,

  "Hey, ok Bill! Can-n yuh play the fiddle-o? Yes, by--"

  and stuck there because of the show lady. Casey wouldn't have recognizedTrouble if it had walked up and banged him in the eye. He said sure, he'dbe a cripple for the lady. He'd be anything once, and some things severaltimes if they asked him in the right way. And then he gave himself intothe hands of Jack dear.