The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1902-08-15
SLEEPY. CREEK FOLKS


Sleepy Creek, but there are other seasons,
as well, which afford pleasures of their own.
There's the fall of the year, when the even
ing air is redolent Of dead leaves and fresh
sausage meat a-frying; there's the spring
time, when Mr.. Mac takes down the
choicest jowl from the smokehouse rafter
to boil with the greens just sprouting III
the garden; and there's the depth Of winter
the subject of this chapter.
1t was a bitter February day when the
passenger alghted from the express train
at the little Sleepy Creek station. The
transition from the warm parlor car to the
biting mountain atmosphere fairly took
ones breath away. In this mountain ati-
tude there is difference of ten or 10 de-
grees from the city temperature. summer
and winter.
Old Jim Mosely was waiting on the plat
form, his face enveloped in an ample Com
forter,' wound around head and ears, and
his baggy overcoat reaching to the top of
his heavy boots.
I'VE crossed the river6n the ice to-day"
he said. There's u inches of ice, and six
inches of snow atop of that. But | tell
You the wind is a-howln' down Sidelng
hill hit to sweep you away so bundle up
good"
swept over the snow-covered surface of the
river in screeching gale, and with an edge
like razor. The two pedestrians trudged
along, crunching through the dry, powdery
snow that squeaked under their feet But
1T was glorious; the air was like champagne,
and the eNertlon of breasting the gale drove
the blood through the veins until ones
cheeks tngled again. So, up the hill to Mr.
Macs house, and to rest moment on the
veranda, to blow
Through the tall pines. up the gorge, the
sinking sun made a red glow on the sur
face of the snow and sent long shadows.
like black streamers, across the cleared
spaces. Old Broadbacll doomed up white
mass in the distance, and Sideing hill
looked cold and frosty, the pines swept clear
OF snow by the wind. AS the two men
looked that way, there appeared just for a
moment, in the red path of the sun on the
slope, moving figure.
Game" queried the passenger.
You bet. Well git deer, shore, to-
morrow"
Inside the house cheering prospect ap-
peared. A roaring fire of hickory logs
blazed in the ample fireplace, casting weird
shadows on the walls. Little Hank was sit
ting close to it, rubbing his shins, which al
most scorched, while his back was still cold,
and old Sport, the deer hound lay blinking
and doing The door into the kitchen
opened and most appetzng odor of coun-
try cooking followed Mrs. Mac into the sit
tlng-room After supper the three men
sat around the fire discussing plans for the
morrow, and exchanging city and country
news.
This here's a queer country, in some
ways, says old Jim Mosely. as he spat with
careful aim at glowing coal on the end
OF a log and eNtinguished it.
How so?"
We'll, the country is all right, but there
shore air some queer people in it, After
local option was done away with and the
county took to issuing liquor license, we all
thought 'moonshining' would be broke UP.
there the risk to be run, and the moon
SHINE liquor am nigh so good as the store
hquor, although cheaper. But reckon til
Just because some people is plumb ornerv
and eussed, that they'd ruther encourage
'licit distllon, as the revenoo officers call
it, than to pater'nize Hazard store
81 was riding long one day last fall. about
20 miles back in the mountains. and met
up with a fellow used to know when | was
young and worked at peelng bark for the
tanneres.
We rode along together and finally
aNed him ii he was not doing a little moon
shining onst IN awhile. He laughed and
lowed that maybe he might work up a lit
Tie OF his spare corn and apples, sometimes
But | make good liquor, he says; none of
the stuff you buys around here
That shore is bad LIQUOR | saws. and
what on airth is it made of, Biz | axed
him
- tell you, jim, he says, what they do;
they distills some alcohol from grain. puts
in some plug tobacco to give it color, some
pizen oak vine to make it bite some Shawn
soap to give it a bead and it shore is the
fghtin est liquor you ever see
"And it shore is continued Moselv. 81
remember political meeting we had onst
acrost the river and back in the hills. A
fellow was runnin' for sheriff, wild. reck-
less good-natured sort of fellow. He was
as brave as a grizzly bar, but powerful
fond of liquor and ightin'. | think he was
maxim his campaign on them two qualitica-
tons, lowln that a sheriff who would not
tight at the drop of the hat was not a pub
hc-splrlted officer, and that one who would
not take drink every chanst he got was
fit subject for impeachment
This meetin' was held at a place called
Turkey Neck, collection of four or five
iio'9sS, d Posp OIllce ana seven saloons,
Tins candidate for sheriff, whose name was
Potter, rented one of the saloons and
stocked it with whisky. | suspect that he
got some of his moonshine friends back in
the hills, that he promised to protect to
put up the liquor, for it turned out to be
some of the brand that my friend Bill de-
scribed as the "fghtin' est liquor.
''Well, the people came in for miles
around a-hoseback end in wagons, the
wmmen folks sittir' In chairs in the wac-
gins. Every newcomer would waltz up to
Potter's headquarters as he called his
place, and take drink The speakin' was
due to begin at two o'clock, but when that
hour arrived a big dispute was goin' on
between Candidate Potter and fellow who
was runnin' against him, named Jinkins,
as to who should speak last, this ben' a
joint debate. Potter finally proposed tc
call off the speakin' and settle the matter
with fist fight. He was to pick out five
of his men and the other fellow five on his
side, and the whole bunch was to fight /:
whoever cried enough first was to drop out