Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1888-08-22
"Kivered." "

/
While he may be classed with the
whites as far as color goes, his tastes,
habits, characteristics and mode of
life are peculiarly his own. If he
likes you he will make any sacrifice to
oblige you. If he hates you. he will
seek your life with a determination
which nothing can damp. The great
world beyond his mountain home is a
sealed book to him. He lives in HIM
self, by himself and for himself.
was riding over that spur of the
Cumberland Mountains which Gener-
al Morgan (FederaD held so gallant
ly while Buel and Bragg were driving
each other by turns over Kentucky,
when l lost my way. The mountain
trails of the South are dangerous puz-
zles to a stranger. They run up and
down-twist, turn, dodge-lose them
selves in dark ravines and seem to
suddenly end in dark and lonely gaps.
There is feeling of loneliness which
you cannot shake of, and a feeling of
anxiety which rides with you and
keeps every sense on the alert. Ev-
cry rod of the trail has its ambush,
and every quarter of mile it's cliff,
seemingly ready to fall upon you. /
came to spot where three trails
branched away. 1t was luck and
chance. took one which led me in
to a long, dark ravine, where the
summer sun has never yet touched
the icicles on the rugged rocks, nor
cooled the mountain rivulet pouring
over the moss-grown lodges. After
going mile ! felt that was wrong,
and was about to turn back, when a
voice suddenly called out through the
semi-darkness
Stranger, you ar kivered Throw
up your hands! !"
If that command ever reaches your
ears, obey it at once and do your ar
guing subsequently. 1t means that
your head or your heart is in point
blank range of bullet or buckshot,
with finger resting on the trigger and
ready to pull if you do not obey the
summons.
Up went my hands.
After long half minute a noun
taineer, who had dead sight on me
with double-barreled shotgun across
a point of rock twenty feet ahead 4,
stepped into view on the trail and
said:
Stranger, slip down p
| slipped off the saddle.
Now lead yer mule up that ravine
to the right !"
| simply saw a man six feet high,
straight as an arrow, long-haired,
whiskers unkempt, dress, that of a
mountaineer. Yes, saw more. He
held the gun fair for my breast. One
suspicious move on my part and l was
dead man. He spoke in low voice
but there was that in his tones which
chilled me. Without second look
at him ! took the mule by the bits
and led him up the ravine. We had
not gone twenty rods before l scented
whisky STILL AT the end of FIVE
rods more we were in rude camp
Two moonshiners sat on a log, guns
across their knees, and back Of and
behind them still was running off
its extract of corn.
"One o them spies" said the man
who had followed me as / let 90 of
the mule and sat down on stump.
"A good ketch v' growled one of
the sitters.
Mighty kind in him to come yere!'
chuckled the other.
They were moonshiners, and they
took me for spy sent out by the gov
ernment official of that district. /
looked from one to the other. There
was determination in each look-an
implacable sternness of expression
which would have warned a genuine
spy that his hour had come. Not one
glance of pity-not one line of mercy.
A prisoner at the stake among the
Apaches would have had more hope.
These men were w-breakers-out-
laws--being hunted after every day
in the year. Whyl Because they
were making living-keeping body
and soul together-in the only way
left to them. The bits of valleys in
the grim Cumberlands will grow corn
and potatoes. The potatoes are want
ed for the table. If there is more
corn than the razor-backed hogs or
the shackling mule can consume it is
a dead loss. Convey il to market
two days to go and 2 to come, and sell
it for two bits bushel, and the own
er and seller would starve on the way.
Make it into barrel or two of whisky
and it will bring cash on the spot, or
very near it. 1t is not to grow rich,
not hoping to better his condition, but