CHAPTER SIX.
Casey awoke under the vivid impression that some one was driving a gadget into his skull with a "double-jack." The smell of bacon scorching filled his very soul with the loathing of food.

The sight of Joe calmly filling his pipe roused Casey to the fighting mood--with no power to fight.

He was a sick man; and to remain alive was agony.
The squalid disorder and the stale aroma of a drunken orgy still pervaded the dugout and made it a nightmare hole to Casey.

Hank came tittering to the bunk and offered him a cup of coffee, muddy from too long boiling, and Joe grinned over his pipe at the colorful language with which Casey refused the offering.
"Better take a brace uh hootch," Joe suggested with no more than his normal ill nature.

"I got some over at the still we made awhile back that, ain't quite so kicky.