Joe settled his shoulders comfortably against the doorway and watched Casey make for the water bucket. "I claim that's the out-kickin'est stuff that ever was made on Black Butte. How'd yuh like it?" "All right," Casey bore witness, keeping his eyes fixed on Joe and the gun and trying his best to maintain a nonchalant manner. "I'd call it purty fair hootch." "It's GOOD hootch!" Joe declared impressively, apparently quite convinced that Casey was not a Federal officer. "Can yuh feel the kick'to it?" Casey backed until he sat on the edge of the table his good right hand supporting his left elbow outside the sling. He grinned at Joe and while he still keenly realized that he was playing a part for the sole purpose of gaining somehow an advantage over Joe, he was conscious of a slight giddiness. An unprejudiced observer would have noticed that his grin was not quite the old, Casey Ryan grin. It was a shade foolish. "Bet your life I can feel the kick!" he agreed, nodding his head. "You can ask anybody." Then Casey discovered something strange in Joe's appearance. He lifted his head, held it very still and regarded Joe attentively. "Say, Joe, what yuh tryin' to do with that six-gun? Tryin' to write your name in the air with it?" Joe looked inquiringly down at the gun, eyeing it as if it were a new and absolutely unknown object. He satisfied himself apparently beyond all doubt that the gun was doing nothing it should not do, and finally turned his attention to Casey sitting on the table and grinning at him meaninglessly. "Ain't writin' nothin'," Joe stated solemnly. "It's yore eyes. Gun's all right--yo'r seein' crooked. It's the hootch. Back-action kick to it. Ain't that right?" "That's right," nodded Casey and he added, grinning more foolishly, "Darn right, that's right! Back-action kick--bet your life." Joe pushed the gun inside his waistband and crooked his finger at Casey, beckoning mysteriously. "C'mon an' I'll show yuh how it's made," he invited with heavy enthusiasm. "Yore a judge uh hootch all right--I can see that. I'll show yuh how we do it. Best White Mule in Nevada. Ain't that right? Ain't that the real hootch?" "'S right, all right," Casey agreed earnestly. "Puttin' the hoot in hootch--you fellers. You can ask anybody if that ain't right." Joe laughed hoarsely. "Puttin' the hoot in hootch--that's right. I knowed you was all right. Didn't I say you was? I told Hank an' Pap you wasn't no Federal officer. They know it, too. I was foolin' back there. I knowed you didn't need no gun pulled on yuh t' make yuh put away the hootch. Lapped it up like a thirsty hound. I knowed yuh would--I was kiddin' yuh, runnin' that razoo with the gun. Ain't that right?"