He wasn't feeble-minded, that he knew of; it seemed natural to want to do his own deciding now and then.

When he got back home in the morning, Casey meant to have a serious talk with the Little Woman, and get right down to cases, and tell her that he was built for the desert, and that you can't teach an old dog new tricks.
"They been tryin' to make Casey Ryan over into something he ain't," he muttered under his breath, while his new friend was in the garage office paying for the gas.

"Jack an' the Little Woman's all right, but they can't drive Casey Ryan in no town herd.

Cops is cops; and they got 'em in San Francisco same as they got 'em in L.A.If they got 'em, I'll run agin' 'em.

I'll tell 'em so, too." The young man came out, sliding silver coins into his trousers pocket.
He glanced up and down the narrow, little street already deserted, cranked the Ford and climbed in.
"All set," he observed cheerfully, "Let's go!" Casey slipped his cigarette to the upper, left-hand corner of his whimsical, Irish mouth, forced a roar out of the little engine and whipped around the corner and across the track into the faintly lighted road that led past shady groves and over a hill or two, and so into the desert again.
His new friend had fallen into a meditative mood, staring out through the windshield and whistling under his breath a pleasant little melody of which he was probably wholly unaware.