Along the years behind him he left a straggling procession of men, women and events.

The men and women would always know the 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 Casey flavor,--and as I say, when men told of them and mentioned Casey, they laughed.
From the time when his daily drives were likely to be interrupted by holdups, and once by a grizzly that reared up in the road fairly under the nose of his leaders and sent the stage off at an acute angle, blazing a trail by itself amongst the timber, Casey drifted from mountain to desert, from desert to plain and back again, blithely meeting hard luck face to face and giving it good day as if it were a friend.

For Casey was born an optimist, and misfortune never quite got him down and kept him there, though it tried hard and often, as you will presently see.

Some called him gritty.

Some said he hadn't the sense to know when he was licked.