How much is your load ?" "Sixty gallons--bottled, most of it.

Two kegs in bulk." Young Kenner was proceeding stoically with the unloading.

Casey, his mouth clamped tight shut, was glaring stupifiedly straight out through the windshield.
"Pile out thirty gallons of the bottled goods by that bush.

You can keep the kegs." The big man's eyes shifted to Casey Ryan's expressionless profile and dwelt there curiously.
"Seems like I know you," he said abruptly.

"Ain't you the guy that was brought in with that Black Butte bunch of moonshiners and got off on account of a nice wife and an L.A.alibi?
Sure you are! Casey Ryan.
I got yuh placed now." He threw back his head and laughed.
Casey might have been an Indian making a society call for all the sign of life he gave.