He got so desperately wrathful that he lifted the car perceptibly off its right front wheel with every heave, but he felt as if he were trying to lift a boulder.
It was past supper time at Lucky Lode when Casey arrived, staggering a little with exhaustion, both mental and physical.

His eyes were bloodshot with the hot wind, his face was purple from the same wind, his lips were dry and rough.

I cannot blame the men at Lucky Lode for a sudden thirst when they saw him coming, and a hope that he still had a little left.

And when he told them that he had filled his engine with syrup instead of oil, what would any one think?
Their unjust suspicions would not have worried Casey in the least, had Lucky Lode not possessed a lady cook who was a lady.

She was a widow with two children, and she had the children with her and held herself aloof from the men in a manner befitting a lady.