Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1890-01-02


lage. Caney Fork, tributary of the
Cumberland River, rises in the noun.
tains, and surges over the rocky lodges
n full hundred feet into the sequestered
valley below. And it is this cataract
that is known as Falling Water.
The surrounding country is Wild
lonely, and romantic, and was favor
ite resort of the moonshiners, until the
United States revenue officers swept
down upon them, shooting a few OF
them dead and sending many of them
to the penitentiary.
Not far from Falling Water is q
deep, precipitous ravine, the sides OF
which are covered with pines and an
impenetrable underground of vines
and shrubbery. The density of the
foliage hides the bottom of the
ravine from view, but if you follow
the road, you will find that ii
leads to the door of an old cabin sur
rounded by stake-andrid fence,
half hidden by blackberry bushes,
sassafras, and weeds.
This cabin was the home of old Mel
ton, a moonshiner, and his family, I'M
til the spring of 1879.
The still was located within stones
throw of the house, between two gigan-
tic powders, and so cleverly was it
hidden by the rocky walls that lowered
up on three sides of it, and so cur
tanned in was it on the remaining side
by the vines that fell in green festoons
from the gray lodges of free-stone
OH hot oil g.1
himself perfectly safe from the prying
eyes of both officers and informers.
One evening about dark, as old Melton
sat in the gallery of his cabin, drawing
consolation alternately from stone
Jug and a corn-cob pipe, he was saluted
by n 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 Cookeyille?"
Bout fo' miles, stranger, replied
Melton rising to his feet and slouching
forward. "Hev yo' lost yer bearin's 2"
Yes; went down to old Davenant's
to collect 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 Squar Mills place."
q did; but l took the wrong road
out in that confounded fiat woods"
"Jesso jesse! Been thar myself
"Iis puzzle to stranger. An what
shell | call yer name?
"Wilford- Harry Wilford."
Any relation t. the Wilfords down t
Smiths Fork 2"
"No; my home is in Nashville Am
a professional man there. Had to look
after farm of mine down in DeKalb
County, and so l concluded to ride up
here and collect 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 l can reach Cooke
Vile"
"I dunno. P'r'aps Henry Q. could
keep yo'."
Who is Henry O., and where does
he reside?"
Henry Q. Clark, yo' know. Lives
bout quarter out on the Cookeville
road yander," pointing to the left.
Henry Q.'s rich-Henry Q. is. His
house must "a cost a cool five hundred.
Jest foller thet--"
A binding flash, Handicapped and
driving torrent of rain interrupted
the speaker.
wall, / say, Mr.. Wilford. if thet
ares ther way ther weather's .r-gwine
ter act, low yod better stay with
we'uns. We haint much t. offer Int
sech ez we hev yo're welcome to-"
Wilford leaped from his saddle, threw
the reins over sapling hough, and
bounded gracefully over the grass into
the cabin. He was a tall, slender,
handsome young fellow, with blonde
hair, beardless face, and large blue,
winning eyes, that sparkled with humol
or scintillated with wrath according tc
his varying moods.
Mrs. Melton was sitting before the
huge fireplace, industiously dipping
snuff She was a lank and angular
woman OF forty, barefooted and dressed