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Joe turned slowly and looked behind him at the blank boards of the unpainted door. Just as slowly he turned back to Casey. A slow grin split his leathery face. "Ain't nobody. It's the hootch. Told yuh, didn't I? Gittin' the best of yuh, ain't it? C'mon I'll show yuh how it's made." "Take a barr'l t' git the besta Casey Ry'n," Casey boasted, his words blurring noticeably. "Where's y'r White Mule?
Let 'er kick Casey Ry'n can lead 'er an' tame 'er an' make'r eat outa 's hand!" Following Joe, Casey stepped high over a rock no bigger than his fist. With a lurch he straightened and tried to pull his muddled wits out of the fog that was fast enveloping them. Dimly he sensed the importance of this discovery which Joe had forced upon him.
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