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Having arranged for a message to McHale, it occurred to Casey that he should see whether the sudden rise of the river had swept the company's temporary dam. Accordingly he rode thither. The storm had entirely passed, and the sun shone brightly.
But in strict confidence I may say that work on a farm in the East and on a ranch in the West are twins you can't tell t'other from which." McHale appeared as they drove up, to relieve Casey of the horses. He was freshly shaven, and dressed with unusual care. Feng, in white jacket and apron, grinned from his quarters, appraising the "hiyu lich gal," with an eye to possible dollars.
I'm a good mind to swipe yez over th' nut wid me lanthern an' take ut away from yez!" McHale drew the weapon gently, and spun it on his finger, checking the revolutions six times with startling suddenness. Mr. Quilty watched him sourly. "Play thricks!" he commented. "Spin a gun! Huh! Why don't yez get a job wid a dhrama that shows the West as it used to wasn't?
Farwell lifted his big shoulders in a shrug which coupled utter indifference with an implication that the future was in the hands of Providence. "Good Lord, Dunne, there's no use talking about that!" said he. "We will take what water we want. You get what is left. Is that plain?" "Yes," said Casey quietly. "I won't bother you any more." "But I will," said McHale.
But apart from financial matters they were fast friends, and either would have trusted the other with anything he possessed. "Say," said McHale, "there's something wrong. Our ditches ain't runnin' more'n half full." Casey put down the hammer. "Maybe the ditch is plugged somewhere." "She may be, but it ain't likely. I've followed her quite a piece.
No matther how quick a man is, if he kapes at ut long enough he meets up wid some felly that bates him till it wanst. And wanst is enough. "Plenty," McHale agreed. "Sure. The system is not to meet that sport. I don't figure he lives in these parts." Mr. Quilty blinked at him for a moment, and lowered his voice.
I told her McHale and Sandy were all right, but she had to come to see for herself." "Seeing that Sandy has eaten six fried eggs with bacon and bread buns to match, I imagine he may be regarded as convalescent," laughed Casey. "Tom has the tobacco trust half broken already." Sandy McCrae squirmed uneasily in his sister's embrace, finding it embarrassing.
On the trail, a space had been left for a gate, but it had not yet been hung. Beside it stood a post bearing a notice board, and, sitting with his back against the post, a man rested, smoking. As they came up, he rose and sauntered into the trail between the gate-posts. "Hey you, hold on there!" he said. Dunne and McHale pulled up.
Naturally, they spoke of the events of the preceding day and night. Sheila took a practical view. "It was lucky Tom McHale wasn't here," she said. "Somebody would have been hurt. That's what I was afraid of." "It was very brave of you," said Clyde. "I admire you more than I can say. I want you to know it, Miss McCrae."
"Well what?" McHale demanded. "Just as well you don't go into the bar right now," Shiller explained. "You had a sort of a run-in with a feller named Cross, hadn't you you or Casey? He's in there with a couple of his friends hard-lookin' nuts. He's some tanked, and shootin' off his mouth. We'll have Billy bring us what we want where it's cooler." McHale kicked a post meditatively three times.
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