He no longer shunned his fellow men or glared suspiciously when strangers approached.

Instead he was very nearly the old Casey Ryan, except that he failed to state his name and business to all and sundry with the old Casey Ryan candor, but instead avoided the subject altogether or evaded questions with vague generalities.
But as an understudy for Ananias, Casey Ryan would have been a failure.
In two hours or less he had made easy trail acquaintance with six different men, and he had unconsciously managed to vary his vague account of himself six different times.

Wherefore he was presently asked cautiously concerning his thirst.
"They's times," said Casey, hopefully lowering an eyelid, "when a feller dassent take a nip, no matter how thirsty he gits." The questioner stared at him for a minute and slowly nodded.

"You're darn' right," he assented.

"I scursely ever touch anything, myself." And he added vaguely, "Quite a lot of it peddled out here in this camp, I guess.