Part 9 (1/2)
”That's what I say,” piped Jim Cal's reedy voice from the interior. ”Is it true that you've done made up the Shalliday fuss over that thar cow, Creed? I thort a jestice of the peace was to he'p folks have fusses, place o' settlin' 'em up.”
”That's what everybody seems to think,” replied Creed rather dolefully.
”I can't say I'm very proud of my part in the Shalliday matter. It seemed to be mighty hard on the widow; but the law was on her brother-in-law's side; so I gave my decision in favour of Bill Shalliday, and paid the woman for the cow. And now they're both mad at me.”
Old Jephthah narrowed his eyes and chuckled in luxurious enjoyment of the situation.
”To be sh.o.r.e they air. To be sh.o.r.e they air,” he repeated with unction.
”Ain't you done a favour to the both of 'em? Is they anything a man will hate you worse for than a favour? If they is I ain't met up with it yet.”
”That's what I say,” iterated Jim Cal. ”What's the use o' tryin' to he'p folks to law and order when they don't want it, and you've got to buy 'em to behave? When you git to be a married man with chaps, like me, you'll keep yo' money in yo' breeches pocket and let other folks fix it up amongst themselves about their cows an' sech.”
”I had hoped to get a chance to do something that amounted to more than settling small family fusses,” Creed said in a discouraged tone. ”I hoped to have the opportunity to talk to many a gathering of our folks about the desirability of good citizens.h.i.+p in a general way. This thing of blockaded stills keeps us forever torn up with a bad name in the valley and the settlement.”
Old Jephthah stirred not a hair; Jim Cal sat just as he had; yet the two were indefinably changed the moment the words ”blockaded still” were uttered.
”Do you know of any sech? Air ye aimin' to find out about em?” quavered the fat man finally, and his father looked scornfully at him, and the revelation of his terror.
”No. I don't mean it in that personal way,” Creed answered impatiently.
”Mr. Turrentine, I wish you'd tell me what you think about it. You've lived all your life in the mountains; you're a man of judgment--is there any way to show our people the folly as well as the crime of illicit distilling?”
Jephthah surveyed with amus.e.m.e.nt the youth who came to an old moons.h.i.+ner for an opinion as to the advisability of the traffic. He liked the audacity of it. It tickled his fancy.
”Well sir,” he said finally, ”the guv'ment sets off thar in Was.h.i.+ngton and names a-many a thing that I shall do and that I shan't do.
Howsomever, they is but one thing hit will come here and watch out to see ef I keep rules on--and that's the matter o' moons.h.i.+ne whiskey.
Guv'ment,” he repeated meditatively but with rising rancour, ”what has the guv'ment ever done fer me, that I should be asked to do so much for hit? I put the case thisaway. That man raises corn and grinds it to meal and makes it into bread. I raise corn and grind hit to meal and make clean, honest whiskey. The man that makes the bread pays no tax; guv'ment says I shall pay a tax--an' I say I will not, by G.o.d!”
The big voice had risen to a good deal of feeling before old Jephthah made an end.
”Nor I wouldn't neither,” bleated Jim Cal in comical antiphon.
In the light from the open doorway Creed's face looked uneasy.
”But you don't think--you wouldn't--” he began and then broke off.
Old Jephthah shook his head.
”I ain't got no blockade still,” he a.s.serted sweepingly. ”I made my last run of moons.h.i.+ne whiskey many a year ago. I reckon two wrongs don't make a right.”
Creed's dismay increased. Inexperienced boy, he had not expected to encounter such feeling in the discussion of this the one topic upon which your true mountaineer of the remote districts can never be anything but pa.s.sionate, embittered, at bay.
”You name the crime of makin' wildcat whiskey,” the old man's deep, accusing voice went on, after a little silence. ”It ain't no crime--an'
you know it--an' no guv'ment o' mortal men can make a crime out'n it. As for the foolishness of it,” he dropped his chin on his breast, his black eyes looked out broodingly, his great beard rose against his lips and m.u.f.fled his tones, ”I reckon the foolishness of a thing is what each feller has to find out for hisself,” he said. ”Daddies has been tryin'
since the time of Adam to let their knowin' it sarve for their sons; but ef one of 'em has made the plan work yit, I ain't heard on it. Nor the guv'ment can't neither. A man'll take his punishment for a meanness an'
l'arn by it; but to be jailed for what's his right makes an outlaw of him, an' always will. Good Lord, Creed! What set you an' me off on this tune? Young feller, you ort to be down yon dancin' with the gals, instead of here talking foolishness to a old man like me.”
Creed arose to his tall young height and glanced uncertainly from his host to the lighted room from which came the sounds of fiddle and stamping feet. It was a little hard for a prophet on his own mountain-top to be sent to play with the children; yet he went.