It was noon the next day when Nolan returned, and he did not explain why he was eighteen hours overdue.

Casey eyed him expectantly, but Nolan's manner was brisk and preoccupied.
"Help me unload this stuff, Ryan," he said, "and put it out of sight in the cellar.

We won't have to go through the process of making moonshine, after all." Casey looked into the car, pulling aside the tarp.

Four kegs he counted, and lifted out one.
"An' how many did YOU lick, Mr.Nolan ?" he grinned over his shoulder as he started for the door.
Nolan laughed noncommittally.
"Perhaps I'm luckier at picking my bootleggers," he retorted.

"If you carry the right brand of bluff, you can keep the skin on your knuckles, Ryan.