Chapter XVIII: Business Plans

Through the early morning's shifting mist--the haze that foretells a fine day--two men felt their way up the side of Buzzard Mountain. They followed no path,--indeed, there are few trails to follow,--but they climbed steadily on, as if they knew well their way, and as if speed were of importance.

With all their perseverance they could not cover much ground, for the ascent is sharp enough to clutch the lungs, and the mist covered for them a world of stumbling-blocks.

"H'm," grunted the leader, Pink Pressley. "They oughter be a black oak about here with a varmint hole in hit."

He stopped and peered about him through the gloom, while Bud, his companion, took the opportunity to lay his burden upon the ground while he wiped his forehead with a blue handkerchief. He made no response to his friend's remarks, but wore the air of one who does what he is bid, and follows where he is led. Pink swung himself into motion again.

"Ah reckon we ain' high enough, yet," he growled, and swore softly as he struck his foot against an unseen stone.

"Hang ye, don' do that," he cried, angrily, as he heard the breaking of a branch behind him. "Why don' ye blaze yo' way right along, or mark yo' path with a rope? Do you wan' the whole settle-_ment_ follerin' us up here?"

With praiseworthy discretion Bud still refrained from speech. A particularly steep bit of climbing silenced his companion as well. Yarebrough was the first to discover the landmark.

"Is that the black oak?" he asked.

"Where?"

He pointed above them and a little to the right, to a veteran whose side had been cut by hunters for the discomfiture of a 'coon or 'possum that had taken refuge within.

"Yep."

They climbed to it, and both men set their heavy loads upon the ground.

"Much further?" asked Bud.

"No, come on. Sun'll be up soon 'n we'll be late gettin' down."

Pressley pointed to the east, where a sort of inner glow seemed to illuminate the haze and make it thinner and more penetrable. They shouldered their packs and again Pink led the way. He advanced, now, with a certain care. From the tree he counted a hundred paces to the right, and called Bud's attention to the number.

"That brings ye to this hickory--see?--with a rock under hit. Now, then, straight up from this is the place we's after, twenty-five steps, about; but hit's hard to tell, hit's so steep."

He deposited his load upon a flat platform of rock, above which, at a height of a dozen feet, the bank overhung. Under the bank was a hole, not clear enough to be called a cave, nor of any great size. Bud sank down, gratefully, beside his leader, and scrutinized the place.

"Not overly large," he commented, "but Ah 'low hit 'll be right smart bigger when hit's cleaned out."

"Hit is," returned Pressley, laconically. He spoke with so much decision that Bud looked at him sharply.

"You-all ain' ever----?" He hesitated.

"Used hit before? Not much! Ah ain' a plumb fool! But they's nothing like comin' from a fam'ly that's observin' an' contrivin'."

A smile of self-appreciation swept over his face.

"Ah've knowed about this place ever since Ah was fryin' size. In fact, mah father--well, never min' him. Only you'll fin' they's plenty o' room inside to stow away that rubbish an' all our little do-es beside."

"Whereaway's the water?"

"They's a spring over yonder a little bit."

Bud stared at the hole sullenly, and slowly scratched his head. Pressley, unlashing a mattock and shovel from his pack, did not notice him.

"Ah swear, Pink," broke out Yarebrough, in puzzled indecision, "Ah swear Ah donno's Ah like this business."

Pressley sneered.

"Don' talk so loud. Yo' rather late findin' hit out."

"No, Ah ain'. Ah ain' never been sho'."

"Sho' 'bout what?"

"Oh, Ah donno. Kin' o' hard to say. You-all don' think we'll get caught?"

"Not 'f you keep that big mouth o' yo's shut."

"Mr. Baron did."

"Mr. Baron's a fool. He trusted a stranger."

"Hit'll kin'er make ye uneasy 'bout talkin' to fellers on the road, won' hit?" said Bud, who was the most sociable man in the settlement.

"Hit'll sharpen yo' judg-_ment_. The way you-all go on now you ain' fur off Mr. Baron fo' never suspectin' nobody."

It was this very quality in Bud that was playing into Pink's hands. Yarebrough, however, felt properly rebuked.

"Ah ain' had yo' experience, ye know. Ah never see but one marshal to know him."

"When ye do see one, an' yo' sho', never forget him. Hit's the only way. Here, take this mattock 'n pull those small rocks out, 'n pile 'em on this crocus-sack so's they won' make any trash on this-yer platform."

Bud did as he was bid, and the men worked quietly and steadily for ten minutes.

"Here she is," Pink whispered, at last, and peered excitedly into the cavern.

It was, as he had said, not very large, but large enough.

"Now pick up that sack with me an' tote hit in here. We mus'n' leave anythin' roun'. Here, this corner 'll do. Now bring me in that pipe 'n the little keg. We c'n leave all the tools here _ex_-ceptin' our axes. Axes looks well 'f we meet anybody goin' down."

"H'm," grunted Yarebrough once more, and scratched his head again. He stepped out of the cave on to the platform that Nature's hand had laid. The brightening light indicated the approach of dawn, though the sun had not yet risen. The mist was not dispelled, but it had grown thinner, and trees at some distance down the mountain began to have individual shape through the veil of dry haze that inwrapped them. The air was cool and sweet. The birds were singing, though still sleepily, but one in a tree over his head burst into a glorious heralding of the morning. Bud thrust his hands into his pockets and whistled softly. Pink roused him roughly from his reverie.

"Come, boy, we gotter fix up this yer openin' somehow."

Bud answered irrelevantly:

"Ah wisht Ah was certain about M'lissy."

Pressley let fly the bush that he was bending across the mouth of the cave.

"What about her?" he asked, sharply.

"Oh, everythin'!"

Explanation was difficult to his slowness of thought.

"She'll be wonderin' what takes me away from home so much at night; an' Ah don' much like to leave her alone, neither."

"Cain' ye trust her?" jeered Pink, with an evil scowl, but Bud turned on him so fiercely that he added, hastily,--"to keep still if ye tell her?"

"Tell her? Tell M'lissy! Ah wouldn' tell her fo' a good deal! You-all don' know M'lissy."

"She'd jump ye, Ah reckon."

"No, Ah don' allow she'd say much. The way hit is, ye see, M'lissy,--hit's foolish 'f her,--but M'lissy kinder thinks Ah ain' a right bad feller, an' Ah sorter hate to disabuse her min' o' that opinion."

"She mus' know you-all drinks."

"Yes, Ah 'low she do."

"An' ye play craps."

"Oh, well, that ain' anythin'."

"An' ye fight chickens."

"Of co'se; everybody does that."

"'N you've killed paddidges befo' the law was off."

"Who hasn'?"

"If she knows all those things she sho' cain' think yo' a plumb angel."

"Ah don' s'pose she's lookin' fo' wings. All the same, Ah do hate to have her know Ah'm about to do this."

"Oh, this is all right. She don' know yo' in debt an' need the money."

"No, she don'."

"Would that worry her?"

"Ah reckon hit would, specially if----"

"If what?"

"You seem powerful eager to know what'll worry M'lissy."

"If ye don' know what worries people ye cain' know how to help 'em." Pink was suavity itself. "If what?"

"Ah was goin' to say, specially 'f she knowed it was you-all Ah owed hit to."

"Lemme tell ye somethin' right now, Bud: M'lissy wouldn' fin' everybody clever 'nough to len' money to a no-'count feller like you. She better like me 'f she don'."

"She don' know hit, ye see. 'N she never shall 'f Ah c'n help hit."

Pressley grunted and seemed to reflect. Then he shook his head and muttered to himself.

"Hit might spoil the other."

"What ye say?" asked Bud.

"Nothin'. Ah'm studyin' 'bout fixin' a sort o' do' fo' here, so's the light won' shine out none when we-uns is workin'."

"Where's the smoke goin' to?"

"They's a split in that upper rock, fur back, we c'n run a bit o' pipe through. Leastways, they was when Ah was a kid."

"'N 's they ain' been no _con_-vulsion o' nature since that happy time, you 'low hit's still there."

"May be filled up; 'twan' overly big. But that's easy fixed."

"Say, Pink, don' you think we'd make any money--jus' as much money--'f we paid the tax, 'n could retail openly?"

"Paid the tax? Paid---- Fo' the Lawd's sakes! Pink Pressley payin' the gover'men' tax!"

He gave a great burst of laughter, which he quickly strangled, looking about suspiciously, and shook and shook with suppressed mirth. Bud stared at him seriously, and with some offence.

"Ah don' see nothin' e'er so ludicrous about that suggestion."

"Oh, Lawd!" Pink was rocking gently from side to side. "You don'? Jus' look yere, then. Have you-all got twenty-five dollars to pay the Federal gover'men' fo' this privilege? 'N fifty to pay the State? 'N fifty to pay the county? 'F you got a hundred 'n twenty-five dollars to spen' so free, Ah'd like to see hit!"

Bud rubbed his head and said nothing.

"'N who'd ye get to go on yo' bond? Mrs. Carroll 'n Miss Sydney, Ah s'pose! Oh, dear!"

Again he laughed, soundlessly.

"If ye go into hit so expensive, ye gotter have the plant to do a big business, 'n where'd ye get that? 'N ye'd have to get mo' co'n 'n you 'n me c'n make ourselves, 'n that'd mean ye gotter buy hit, or rent mo' lan' 'n hire niggers to work hit, 'n how'd ye pay fo' that?"

Bud listened gloomily, chewing the side of his finger.

"Them gover'men' fellers cain' make nothin'," went on Pink. "Firs' place they's co'n at fifty cen's a bushel. One bushel o' co'n makes about two gallons o' whisky; they's an _ex_-pense o' nigh twenty-five cen's a gallon to begin with. Then the gauger comes 'roun', 'n ye have to pay a tax on all he's smart enough to fin',--a dollar 'n ten cen's a gallon. They's a dollar 'n thirty-five cen's a gallon befo' the stuff's lef' yo' sto'house. 'N what payin' market c'n ye fin' fo' hit when any feller who wan's c'n get all the moonshine he needs fo' a dollar or a dollar 'n a quarter a gallon? Oh, Ah tell you, 'f ye wan' to make any money with a gover'men' still ye gotter have a switch-off that the gauger cain' fin. 'N 'f ye do that, ye might's well's, far's yo' morals is concerned, do hit all moonshine 'n save those ex-penses Ah listed fo' ye right now."

"Ah s'pose yo' right," assented Bud. "Blockadin's blockadin', whether ye do hit by moon or day. Do you-all 'low Calkins might inform on us?"

"Him's runs the still back o' Buck? Ah don' guess so. He knows Ah could tell the sto'keeper the whereabouts o' a pipe in his still-house that don' run into no sto'house. Oh, no, he won' inform on us."

"Ah hope not," said Bud, dismally. "Anyway, you-all better come on down now. Gimme that axe, will ye?"

"We gotter be right careful not to make no path comin' here. We better never come twict the same way."

Bud nodded his understanding.

"Come on," he urged. "Ah'm's empty 's a gun."