A door behind opened inward, admitting the two into a small recess from which another door opened into a cellar dug deep into the hill.
Undoubtedly this had once been used as a frost-proof storeroom.

A small ventilator pipe opened--so Nolan told Casey--in the middle of a greasewood clump.

Nolan lighted a gasoline lantern that shed a white brilliance upon the room.

On the long table which extended down one side of the room, Casey saw boxes of bottles and other supplies which he did not at the moment recognize.
"We'll have to rebottle all the whisky," said Nolan.
"You'll see a certain mark blown into the bottom of each one of these.
The champagne, I'm afraid, I must either confiscate and destroy or run the risk of marking the labels.

The hop we'll lay aside for further consideration." Casey grinned, thinking of the speedy downfall of his enemies, Smiling Lou and Kenner--and, as a secondary consideration other crooks of their type.
"So now we'll unload the stuff, Ryan, and get to work here." Nolan adjusted the white flame in the mantle of the gasoline lantern and led the way outside.