That night Casey patched tires and tubes.

At six o’clock Smith pounded on the back door and called in to Casey that he would have to have some gas before he started.  So Casey pulled on his pants and gave Smith some gas, and paid the garage out of his own pocket.  He didn’t swear, either.  He was past that.

That afternoon Casey watched apprehensively the road that led west.  It was two-thirty when he saw them coming.  Casey set his jaw and went in and hid every blow-out patch he had in stock, and all the cement.

Smith went into camp, sent Greeley after the Oasis tub and watered the goats from one of Casey’s water barrels.  Casey went on with his work, waiting upon customers who paid, and tried not to think of the Smiths, although most of them were underfoot or at his elbow.

“Them tires you mended ain’t worth a cuss,” Smith came around finally to complain.  “I didn’t get ten mile out with ’em before I had another blowout.  I tell yuh what I’ll do.  I’ll trade yuh goats fer tires.  I got two milk goats that’s worth a hundred dollars apiece, mebby more, the way goats is selling on the Coast.  I hate to part with ’em, but I gotta do somethin’.  Er else you’ll have to trust me till I c’n get to my brother an’ git the money.  It ain’t,” he added grievedly, “as if I wasn’t honest enough to pay my debts.”

“Nope,” said Casey wearily, “I don’t want yer goats.  I’ve had more goats a’ready than I want.  And tires has gotta roll outa this shop paid for.  We talked that all over, the first night.”

“What am I goin’ to do, then?” Smith inquired in exasperation.

“Hell; I dunno,” Casey returned grimly.  “I quit guessin’ day before yesterday.”

Smith went off to confer with maw, and Casey overheard some very harsh statements made concerning himself.  Maw Smith was so offended that she refused to borrow coffee from Casey that night, and she called her children out of his garage and told them she would warm their ears for them if they went near him again.  Hearing which Casey’s features relaxed a little.  He could even meet customers with his accustomed grin when Smith in his anger sent the goats over to the water tank next day, refusing to show any friendship for Casey by emptying a water barrel for him.  But he had to fire Juan for pouring gasoline into the radiator of a big sedan, and later he had to stalk that lovesick youth into the very camp of the Smiths and lead him back by the collar, and search him for stolen tools.  He recovered twice as many as you would believe a Mexican’s few garments could conceal.

Casey was harassed for two days by the loud proximity of the Smiths, but not one of them deigned to speak to him or to show any liking for him whatever, beyond helping themselves superciliously to the contents of his water barrel.  On the morning of the third day the lean man presented his thin shadow and then himself at the front door of the garage, with a letter in his hand and a hopeful look on his face.