By that time Casey knew a lot more, I suspect, than he could put into words.
Casey says that he heard them blatting around outside, but he was busy trying to straighten a radius rod--Casey _said_ he was taking the kinks outa that hootin'-annie that goes behind the front ex and turns the dingbats when you steer--for a man who walked back and forth and slapped his hands together nervously and kept asking how long it was going to take, and how far it was to Barstow, and whether the road from there up across the Mojave was in good condition, and whether the Death Valley road out from Ludlow went clear through the valley and was a cut-off north, or whether it just went into the valley and stopped.

Casey says that the only time he ever was in Death Valley it was with a couple of burros and that he like to have stayed there.

He got to telling the man about his trip into Death Valley and how he just did get out by a scratch.
So he didn't pay any attention to the goats until he went back after some cold water for the white little woman in the car, that looked all tuckered out and scared.

It was then he found the whole corner chewed off one water bag and the other water bag on the ground and a lot more than the corner gone.

And the billy was up on his hind feet with his horns caught in the fullest barrel, and was snorting and snuffling in a drowning condition and tilting the barrel perilously.