We found him sitting on the side of his bunk with his legs stretched out and his feet crossed, his good hand thrust in his trousers pocket and a cigarette in one corner of his mouth, which turned sourly downward.

He cocked an eye up at us and rose, as the Little Woman had maybe taught him was proper.
But he did not say a word until the Little Woman walked up and kissed him on both cheeks, turning his face this way and that with her hand under his chin.
Casey grinned sheepishly then and hugged her with his good arm.

I wish you could have seen the look in his eyes when they dwelt on the Little Woman! "Casey Ryan, you need a shave.

And your shirt collar is a disgrace to a Piute," she drawled reprovingly.
Casey looked at me over her shoulder and grinned.

He hadn't a word to say for himself, which was unusual in Casey Ryan.
"It's lucky for you, Casey Ryan, that I remembered to go down to the police station and get the proof that you were pinched twice on Broadway just five days before Barney Oakes says he found you stalled in the trail north of Barstow; and that you had been pinched pretty regularly every whip-stitch for the last six months, and were a familiar and unwelcome figure in downtown traffic and elsewhere.
"The sheriff who raided Black Butte admitted to me that it is utterly impossible for the world to hold more than one Casey Ryan at a time; and that he, for one, is willing to accept the word of the city police that you were there raising the record for traffic trouble and not moonshining at Black Butte.