The Tomahawk. [volume] (White Earth, Becker County, Minn.) 1903-192?, 1916-08-31
By WILLIAM ATHERTON DU PUY
Copyright by w. G. Chapman

questioned the wisdom of selecting
for task so difficult a man who knew
absolutely nothing about it. When
the work in hand was the apprehen-
sion of a band of violators of the law
who had for years defied and in
Inundated the whole countryside, this
course seemed even more unusual.
But the wonder would have still fur
Their multiplied itself if the casual OBJ
server could have given Billy Gard
the once over as he sat nervously on
the edge of the cane seat of the day
coach as the accommodation train
pulled into the hill country.
For this special agent of the depart
ment of justice, mind you, was to take
up piece of work upon which local
constables and sheriffs, United States
marshals and revenue agents had
failed. There was murder at one end
of the road he was to travel and the
gallows at the other. And Gard was
a nondescript youngster who looked
less than thirty, neither light nor dark,
large nor small-incOnspicuou easily
lost in a crowd. The careful observer
might have noticed the breadth Of
brow and the wrinkles that come to
the man who thinks, or the tenseness
of his slim form that indicated physi-
cal fitness. For to be sure, these fed
eral sleuths of the new school are
mostly college men, lawyers, expert
accountants, as was Gard, but young
sters in whom is to be found the love
of bit of adventure and the steel
of set determination.
And now this slip of lad was 60
ing back into the Cumberlands where
the whisky still whispers it's secret
to the mountaineer; where the rev.
enue agent penetrates at his peril and
the Long Tom speaks from the thick
cts; where the clansman sets what he
considers his rights above the law Of
the land and stands ready to lay his
life or that Of any who oppose him
on the altar he has built. Gard was
after a community Of moonshiners
who had defied all local authority and
thrown down the gauntlet to the fed
eral government itself. He came alone
with little wicker grip.
Il am looking for place to board
the special agent told Todd, the liv-
cry stable man at Wheeler, the noun
tain town at which he had stopped
off, II have been clerking in a store
in Atlanta and got pretty we'll run
down. The doctor said I ought to
stay in the mountains for month or
two"
How much car you pay?" asked
Todd.
II would like to get it as cheap as
five dollars a week." said Gard.
You can buy farm up here for
five dollars a week." said Todd.
well, 1 want good board where I
can get lots of milk to drink and eggs
and where 1 can tramp around and
shoot squirrels. Do you know such
a place."
The liveryman was accustomed to
driving summer boarders out to the
few places where they might stay in
the Cumberlands. He sketched these
possibilities and told of the location
of each. Gard already had the map OF
the country we'll in mind and selected
the farm near Sam Lunsfords, he
being the mountaineer whom the
agent most wanted to cultivate.
Todd reviewed the situation as be-
tween the mountaineers and the gov
eminent as he drove his customer out
to the Tenney farm where he was to
ask to be put up.
"You see," he said, they have al
ways made moonshine whisky around
here and they just won't stop for no
body. They amt many ideas gifts
into the head of a man who lives
in the mountains, and when one gifts
set there, you can't get it out. They
think they got right to make whisky
and whisky they are goin' to make
or bust.
Then along comes Tom Reynolds
and Sam Lunsford and me and some
more Of us. We see that it amt right
to fight the government and that Wh1s-
ky is no good anyhow, so whenever
we find out where there is a still, we
tell the revenue agents about it. Well,
we git warnin's that we better not do
it no more, but them fellers can't
skeer us so we go right ahead.
Then, one night, Tom Reynolds
starts home from Wheeler late in the
evenin' but he don't never get there.
Next mornin' we find his wagon stand
in off to the side of the road and
Tom is down in front Of the seat dead
with load of buckshot in his head.
Sam Lunsford has still got the
idea, though, that the boys ought not
to make moonshine so he goes right
ahead reportin' every still he finds.
So things goes on for two months.
Then, one night, Sam was up late with
one of his babies that had the collie.
He was settin' before the fire a rockin'
the baby when, bang! somebody shoots
him through the winder.
well that shot didn't quite get
Sam. Did you ever try to shoot the
head off of a chicken as 1t walked