Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1890-02-08

lagc. Caney Fork, tributary of the
Cumberland River, rises in the noun
taius, and surges over the rocky lodges
full hundred feet into the sequestered
valley below. And it is this cataract
that is known as Falling Water.
II he surrounding country is wild,
lonely, and romantic, and was favor
tie resort of the moonshiners, until the
United States revenue officers swept
down uron them, shooting a few Of
them dead aud sending many of them
to the penitentiarv.
Not far from Falling Water is a
deep, precipitous ravine, the sides of
which arc covered with pines and an
impcnetrable underground of vines
and shrubbery. The density of the
foliage hides the bottom of the
ravine from view, but if you follow
a dim bridle-path trending from
the road, you will find that it
leads to the door of an cid cabin sur
rounded by stake-and- rider fence,
half hidden by blackberry bushes,
sassafras, and weeds.
I his cabin was the home of old Mel
ton, moonshiner, and his family, I'M
til the spring of 1879.
The still was located within a stones
throw of the house, between two gigan-
tic powders, and so cleverly was it
hidden by the rocky walls that lowered
up Oh three sides of it, and so cur
ia ned in was it on the remaining side
by the vines that fell in green festoons
from the gray lodges of freestone
above. that the old moonshiner felt
himself perfectly safe from the prying
eyes of both officers and info:mers.
One evening about dark las old Melton
sat in the gallery of his cabin, drawing
consolation alternately srom stone
Jug and corn-cob pipe, he was saluted
by young man on horseback, who had
ridden up from the right and whose
face betrayed an expression of keen
annoyance.
"Hello!" cried the horseman, draw
ing rein, "can YOU tell me how far it is
to Cookeville?"
Bout TO miles, stranger" replied
Melton, rising to his feet and slouching
forward. "Hev yo' lost yer bearins 2"
Eyes; went down to old Davenant's
to collect q bill this morning and"
Long Jack Davenant's, stranger?"
yes; up at the head of Caney Fork,
and"
"Why didn't yo' turn to the left when
yo' came to Sguar Mills place."
81 did; but L took the wrong road
out in that confoundnd flat woods"
"Jesso, jesse! Been thar myself!
IT'S puzzle to stranger. An what
she'll l call yer name:"
"Wilford Harry MILFORD"
"Any relation t. the Wilfords down t
Smiths Fork?"
mo; my home is in Nashville Am
q professional man there. Had to look
after farm of mine down in Dekalb
County, and so concluded to ride up
here and colleca bill from old Day
enant before | went back to Lebanon
The old man wasn't at home, though
By the way, could | find place here
or hereabout to stay all night? 1t will
rain long before 1 can reach Cooke
Vile"
II dunno. P'r'aps Henry Q. could
keep yo'."
Who is Henry O., and where does
he reside?"
Henry g. Clark, yo' know. Lives
bout quarter out on the Cookevilie
road yander," pointing to the left
Henry Q.'s rich-Henry Q. is. His
house must a cost cool five hundred.
Jest foller thet-"
A binding flash: a Handicapped and
driving torrent of rain interrupted
the speaker.
wall, l say, Mr.. MILFORD, if tibet
ares Their way Their weather's cr-gwine
ter act, l low yo'd better stay with
we'uns. We haint much t. offer, but
sech ea we hev yo're welcome to-"
MILFORD leaped from his saddle, threw
the reins over sapling bough, and
bounded gracefully over the grass into
the cabin. He was o tall, slender,
young fellow, with blonde
hair, beardle~s face, and large, blue,
" inning eyes, that sparkled with humor
IL scintillated with wrath according to
his varying moods.
Mrs. Melton was sitting before the
hinge fire place, industiiously dipping
stuff. She was lank and angula
woman CT forty. barefoo:ed and dressed