California -- Fiction; Distilling, Illicit -- Fiction; Ryan, Casey (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
"It can't be did," Barney stated flatly. "An' if it could be did, I
wouldn't do it. I ain't as easy t' miss as what you be. I got bulk."
"A hole bored through your tallow might mebbe do you good," Casey
suggested harshly. "Might let in a little sand. You can't never
tell--"
"My vitals," said Barney with dignity, "is just as close to the surface
as what your vitals be. I ain't so fat--I'm big. An' I got all the
sand I need. I also have got sense, which some men lacks."
"What yuh figurin' on doin'?" Casey wanted to know. "Set here under a
bush an' let 'em pick yuh up same as they would a cottontail, mebbe? We
got a hull night to work in, an' Casey's eyes is as good as anybody's
in the dark. More'n that, Casey's six-gun kin shoot just as hard an'
fast as a rifle--let 'im git close enough."
Barney did not want to be left alone and said so frankly. Neither did
he want to climb the butte. He could see no possible gain in climbing
to meet an enemy or enemies who could hear the noise of approach. It
was plain suicide, he declared, and Barney Oakes was not ready to die.
But Casey could never listen to argument when a fight was in prospect.
He filled a canteen, emptied a box of cartridges into his pocket, stuck
his old, Colt six-shooter inside his trousers belt, and gave Barney
some parting instruction under his breath.
Barney was to move camp down under the bank by the spring, and dig
himself in there, so that the only approach would be up the narrow
gulch. He would then wait until Casey returned.
"Somebody's after our outfit, most likely," Casey reasoned. "It ain't
the first time I've knowed it to happen. So you put the hull outfit
outa sight down there an' stand guard over it. If we'd 'a' run when
they opened up, they'd uh cleaned us out and left us flat. They's two
of us, an' we'll git 'em from two sides."
He stuffed cold bannock into the pocket that did not hold the
cartridges and disappeared, climbing the side of the gulch opposite the
point which held their ambitious marksman.
To Barney's panicky expostulations he had given little heed. "If yore
vitals is as close to your hide as what you claim," Casey had said
impatiently, "an' you don't want any punctures in 'em, git to work an'
git that hide of yourn outa sight. It'll take some diggin'; they's a
lot of yuh to cover."
Barney, therefore, dug like a badger with a dog snuffing at its tail.
Casey, on the other hand, climbed laboriously in the darkness a bluff
he had not attempted to climb by daylight. It was hard work and slow,
for he felt the need of going quietly. What lay over the rim-rock he
did not know, though he meant to find out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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