would seem so," Son agreed.
"So, what are you going to do about it?" Son looked at him, drawing on his cigarette. "I don't see as it's my problem."
"You don't care what happens to them?" "I think the Blackwell boys and the other s a re big enough to take care of themselves." "After I put them out of business?"
"If you can do it. You haven't showed anybody how big you are yet."
"How about when they see their stills in little pieces?" Long was working in gradually, keeping his gaze on Son now. "They see thei r e quipment shot full of holes and all busted to hell and they see the smoke still curling up from your cooker. What do they think then? The Prohibition man hits them where they live, but he don't lay a goddamn finger on his friend Son Martin. How do you think that will set with them?"
"I think you got to bust a still first," Son answered. "And I think you got to have more than that army automatic hid under your coat."
"But let's say I can do it."
"Frank, we'll be here. Show us something." "I just want you to realize what's going to happen."
"If I don't tell you where the whiskey is."
"That's right. It's in your hands," Long said. "I promise you, if you don't do the right thing your neighbors are going to come down on you like a herd of bulls."
"Frank, you should have stayed in the Army where you got somebody to think for you. You start using your own head it's likely to get blown off."
"You keep thinking I'm alone."
"All I see is you."
"And all I got to do is call Frankfort and you'll see more Prohibition agents than you can count. I'm offering the easy way, Son, because we soldiered together and were buddies. But if you want me to be mean about it then boy you got trouble."
"Because we were buddies," Son said. "I appreciate that. Listen, because we were buddies I'll do you a favor, Frank, I'll give you an ax and let you go down there and chop up my still and pour out any whiskey you find. You write a report and say you found only one still in Broke-Leg County and you busted hell out of it and your boss says, Frank, you did a dandy job, now we'll send you some place else. Then you go there, wherever they send you, forget all about any hundred and fifty barrels a drunk soldier told you about. Figure it was drunk talk and go about your business and maybe you'll live to enjoy old age."
Frank Long grinned, shaking his head. "It is surely good to be talking to an old buddy again. Yes, I'm certainly glad I came here. Son, I'm not going to bust your still. I told you why. But I wouldn't mind taking a look at it--see where the best moonshine in the county comes from."
"Down there in the house." Son nodded toward the roof showing in the trees below. "How do I get to it?"
"Path over there, through the bushes." "Show me."
Son had dropped his cigarette stub. He paused now to fish another out of his pocket and light it. "Go ahead, I'm right behind you."
Long moved through the brush and stopped at the edge of a dry wash that came down from the slope above and dropped down steeply a good hundred feet to Son Martin's, where the bank of the wash had been lined and built up with stones, diverting the course o f t he gully away from the house. Frank Long looked down the open trough. It looked dry or crusted over; you couldn't tell about it this time of the year. He looked over his shoulder at Son coming up behind him.
"Is this all right?"
"That's the quick way, Frank. You can take it or go on over aways and find a switchback trail the ladies use to go down."
"I asked you if it's all right."
"Well, it looks all right to me."
Long would have to agree to that, but he didn't know when it had rained last and he didn't know if the wash was dry or only covered with a thin dry crust. He stepped down off the bank, took another step and one more before his foot went through the crust. Long hopped as his foot sank into the mud, but with the next step his shoe disappeared and as he struggled to pull his foot out and keep his
"So, what are you going to do about it?" Son looked at him, drawing on his cigarette. "I don't see as it's my problem."
"You don't care what happens to them?" "I think the Blackwell boys and the other s a re big enough to take care of themselves." "After I put them out of business?"
"If you can do it. You haven't showed anybody how big you are yet."
"How about when they see their stills in little pieces?" Long was working in gradually, keeping his gaze on Son now. "They see thei r e quipment shot full of holes and all busted to hell and they see the smoke still curling up from your cooker. What do they think then? The Prohibition man hits them where they live, but he don't lay a goddamn finger on his friend Son Martin. How do you think that will set with them?"
"I think you got to bust a still first," Son answered. "And I think you got to have more than that army automatic hid under your coat."
"But let's say I can do it."
"Frank, we'll be here. Show us something." "I just want you to realize what's going to happen."
"If I don't tell you where the whiskey is."
"That's right. It's in your hands," Long said. "I promise you, if you don't do the right thing your neighbors are going to come down on you like a herd of bulls."
"Frank, you should have stayed in the Army where you got somebody to think for you. You start using your own head it's likely to get blown off."
"You keep thinking I'm alone."
"All I see is you."
"And all I got to do is call Frankfort and you'll see more Prohibition agents than you can count. I'm offering the easy way, Son, because we soldiered together and were buddies. But if you want me to be mean about it then boy you got trouble."
"Because we were buddies," Son said. "I appreciate that. Listen, because we were buddies I'll do you a favor, Frank, I'll give you an ax and let you go down there and chop up my still and pour out any whiskey you find. You write a report and say you found only one still in Broke-Leg County and you busted hell out of it and your boss says, Frank, you did a dandy job, now we'll send you some place else. Then you go there, wherever they send you, forget all about any hundred and fifty barrels a drunk soldier told you about. Figure it was drunk talk and go about your business and maybe you'll live to enjoy old age."
Frank Long grinned, shaking his head. "It is surely good to be talking to an old buddy again. Yes, I'm certainly glad I came here. Son, I'm not going to bust your still. I told you why. But I wouldn't mind taking a look at it--see where the best moonshine in the county comes from."
"Down there in the house." Son nodded toward the roof showing in the trees below. "How do I get to it?"
"Path over there, through the bushes." "Show me."
Son had dropped his cigarette stub. He paused now to fish another out of his pocket and light it. "Go ahead, I'm right behind you."
Long moved through the brush and stopped at the edge of a dry wash that came down from the slope above and dropped down steeply a good hundred feet to Son Martin's, where the bank of the wash had been lined and built up with stones, diverting the course o f t he gully away from the house. Frank Long looked down the open trough. It looked dry or crusted over; you couldn't tell about it this time of the year. He looked over his shoulder at Son coming up behind him.
"Is this all right?"
"That's the quick way, Frank. You can take it or go on over aways and find a switchback trail the ladies use to go down."
"I asked you if it's all right."
"Well, it looks all right to me."
Long would have to agree to that, but he didn't know when it had rained last and he didn't know if the wash was dry or only covered with a thin dry crust. He stepped down off the bank, took another step and one more before his foot went through the crust. Long hopped as his foot sank into the mud, but with the next step his shoe disappeared and as he struggled to pull his foot out and keep his
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