"I am, yes.

But the mule I'm hunting is white!" Casey studied that until he had the fresh pipeful of tobacco going well.

Then he looked up and grinned understandingly.
"So it's White Mule you're trailin'." He kicked a stub of greasewood branch back into the flames and laughed.

"Well, the tracks is deep an' plenty, and if that's the trail you're takin', I'm with yuh.

You ain't a cop--leastways you don't spread your arms every time you turn around.
Gosh, I hate them wing-floppin' kind! They's one thing an' one only that I hate worse--an' that's bootleggers an' moonshiners.