E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Project Gutenberg Beginners Projects,
Charles M. Bidwell, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
Author of "Chip of the Flying U", "Rim O' the World", "Cow-Country", etc.
1921
[Illustration: Casey reached for his pocket, and the white man alsoreached for his. FRONTISPIECE. See page 237.]
From Denver to Spokane, from El Paso to Fort Benton, men talk of CaseyRyan and smile when they speak his name. Old men with the flat tone ofcoming senility in their voices will suck at their pipes and cacklereminiscently while they tell you of Casey's tumultuous youth—when hedrove the six fastest horses in Colorado on the stage out from CrippleCreek, and whooped past would-be holdups with a grin of derision on hisface and bullets whining after him and passengers praying disjointedprayers and clinging white-knuckled to the seats.
They say that once a flat, lanky man climbed bareheaded out at the stagestation below the mountain and met Casey coming springily off the box withwhip and six reins in his hand. The lanky man was still pale from hisride, and he spluttered when he spoke:
"Sa-ay! N-next time you're held up and I'm r-ridin' with yuh, b-by gosh,you s-stop. I-I'd ruther be shot t-than p-pitched off into ac-canyon, s-somewhere a-and busted up!"
Casey is a little man. When he was young he was slim, but he always hasowned a pale blue, unwinking squint which he uses with effect. He haltedwhere he was and squinted up at the man, and spat fluid tobacco andgrinned.
"You're here, and you're able to kick about my drivin'. That's purty goodluck, I'd say. You ain't shot, an' you ain't layin' busted in no canyon.Any time a man gits shot outa Casey Ryan's stage, he'll have to jump outan' wait for the bullet to ketch up. And there ain't any passengers offn'this stage layin' busted in no canyon, neither. I bring in what I startout with."
The other man snorted and reached under his coat tail for the solacingplug of chewing tobacco. Opposition and ridicule had brought a littlecolor into his face.
"Why, hell, man! You—you come around that ha-hairpin turn up there on twowheels! It's a miracle we wasn't—"
"Miracles is what happens once and lets it go at that. Say! Casey Ryanalways saves wear on a coupla wheels, on that turn. I've made it on one;but the leaders wasn't runnin' right to-day. That nigh one's cast a shoe.I gotta have that looked after." He gave up the reins to the waitinghostler and went off, heading straight for the station porch where waiteda red-haired girl with freckles and a warm smile for Casey.
That was Casey's youth; part of it. The rest was made up of fighting,gambling, drinking hilariously with the crowd and always with his temperon hair trigger. Along the years behind him he left a stragglingprocession of men, women and events. The men and women would always knowthe color of his eyes and would recognize the Casey laugh in a crowd,years after they had last heard it; the events were full of the true Caseyflavor,—and as I say, when men told of them and mentioned Casey, theylaughed.
From the time when his daily drives were likely to be interrupted byholdups, and once by a grizzly that reared up in the road fairly under thenose of his leaders and sent the stage off at an acute angle, blaz