that was parked about ten yards from Curly’s truck. He climbed onto the top of it and held up his hands.
“Listen to me, everybody!” he yelled, trying to be heard over the loudspeakers.
Curly held up a hand to the crowd. “Wait a minute, folks; I think the Sheriff wants to say something. Maybe he’s going to tell us how to get down to the still—that is, if he’s managed to find it after twelve years.”
“Listen!” the Sheriff yelled. “I’m gettin’ sick and tired of bein’ rawhided about this. There ain’t no moonshine bein’ made on this place. Don’t ask me what Sagamore Noonan intends to do with that junk, but there’s one thing I can tell you for sure. He ain’t makin’ whiskey out of it!”
“Of course he ain’t,” Curly said through the loudspeakers. “Anybody can see what it is. It’s sparklin’ hog-feed. Hogs are crazy about it because the bubbles tickle their noses.”
The crowd let out another big laugh. “Give him hell, Curly!”
The Sheriff looked like he was going to explode. “Listen!” he roared. “I’m trying to tell you. There ain’t any still on this place. I’ve got 25 men out there that can tell you the same thing. Yesterday and today we’ve been over every foot of this farm at least twice, and we’ve searched every square yard of the adjoinin’ land for a mile on all four sides of it, and we’ve searched the buildings—”
“Say, mebbe he’s right,” somebody said out in the crowd. “The whole thing might be a fake.”
“Sure,” another one said. “Could be another one of Sagamore Noonan’s dirty tricks just to get everybody in a uproar—”
“I don’t know what it is,” the Sheriff went on. “All I can tell you is that there ain’t any still here, and you can all go home and stop bein’ made suckers of by Sagamore Noonan—”
He stopped then, and was staring up the hill. It looked like his eyes was going to pop right out of his head. Everybody else turned to look. “My God!” somebody said. Me and Murph jumped up on the back of the convertible so we could see too.
“Oh, no!” Murph whispered.
It was Pop and Uncle Sagamore. The truck was coming down the hill from the gate, and it was just loaded down with machinery. There was a couple of boiler things, and a big water tank, and a lot of pipe, and some more copper tubing.
Even Curly couldn’t seem to say anything. He just stood there as goggle-eyed as everybody else. The truck come on down and stopped just at the edge of the crowd. Uncle Sagamore stepped out onto the running board and looked at all the people and then up at the Sheriff.
“Evenin’, Shurf,” he says. “You reckon you could ask some of these fellers to move their cars so me an’ Sam can get over to that shed with our still?”
EIGHT
T HE CROWD JUST STARED , and it was real quiet. The Sheriff’s mouth fell open. “Still?” he says, like he was strangling. “Did you say still? ”
“That’s right, Shurf,” Uncle Sagamore says. “You see—”
The Sheriff seemed to come out of his daze then. He pointed a finger at Uncle Sagamore and barked, “All right, you’re under arrest.”
Uncle Sagamore looked around at everybody, kind of puzzled. “Why, what for, Shurf?”
The Sheriff smiled at the people watching, and made the crazy sign alongside his head. “I reckon it had to happen some day, after thirty years of drinkin’ his own rotgut. His mind’s give way.” Then he says to Uncle Sagamore, “You’re under arrest for makin moonshine whiskey. For possession of illegal mash. For possession and operation of an illegal still—”
“Why, Shurf,” Uncle Sagamore says, “I ain’t operatin’ no still. You can see for yourself it ain’t even hooked up yet. And it ain’t a illegal still nohow—”
Booger let out a groan. “Oh, God. Here we go again.”
“You see,” Uncle Sagamore went on, “me an’ Sam’s goin’ in the turpentine business—”
The Sheriff stared at him. “
“Listen to me, everybody!” he yelled, trying to be heard over the loudspeakers.
Curly held up a hand to the crowd. “Wait a minute, folks; I think the Sheriff wants to say something. Maybe he’s going to tell us how to get down to the still—that is, if he’s managed to find it after twelve years.”
“Listen!” the Sheriff yelled. “I’m gettin’ sick and tired of bein’ rawhided about this. There ain’t no moonshine bein’ made on this place. Don’t ask me what Sagamore Noonan intends to do with that junk, but there’s one thing I can tell you for sure. He ain’t makin’ whiskey out of it!”
“Of course he ain’t,” Curly said through the loudspeakers. “Anybody can see what it is. It’s sparklin’ hog-feed. Hogs are crazy about it because the bubbles tickle their noses.”
The crowd let out another big laugh. “Give him hell, Curly!”
The Sheriff looked like he was going to explode. “Listen!” he roared. “I’m trying to tell you. There ain’t any still on this place. I’ve got 25 men out there that can tell you the same thing. Yesterday and today we’ve been over every foot of this farm at least twice, and we’ve searched every square yard of the adjoinin’ land for a mile on all four sides of it, and we’ve searched the buildings—”
“Say, mebbe he’s right,” somebody said out in the crowd. “The whole thing might be a fake.”
“Sure,” another one said. “Could be another one of Sagamore Noonan’s dirty tricks just to get everybody in a uproar—”
“I don’t know what it is,” the Sheriff went on. “All I can tell you is that there ain’t any still here, and you can all go home and stop bein’ made suckers of by Sagamore Noonan—”
He stopped then, and was staring up the hill. It looked like his eyes was going to pop right out of his head. Everybody else turned to look. “My God!” somebody said. Me and Murph jumped up on the back of the convertible so we could see too.
“Oh, no!” Murph whispered.
It was Pop and Uncle Sagamore. The truck was coming down the hill from the gate, and it was just loaded down with machinery. There was a couple of boiler things, and a big water tank, and a lot of pipe, and some more copper tubing.
Even Curly couldn’t seem to say anything. He just stood there as goggle-eyed as everybody else. The truck come on down and stopped just at the edge of the crowd. Uncle Sagamore stepped out onto the running board and looked at all the people and then up at the Sheriff.
“Evenin’, Shurf,” he says. “You reckon you could ask some of these fellers to move their cars so me an’ Sam can get over to that shed with our still?”
EIGHT
T HE CROWD JUST STARED , and it was real quiet. The Sheriff’s mouth fell open. “Still?” he says, like he was strangling. “Did you say still? ”
“That’s right, Shurf,” Uncle Sagamore says. “You see—”
The Sheriff seemed to come out of his daze then. He pointed a finger at Uncle Sagamore and barked, “All right, you’re under arrest.”
Uncle Sagamore looked around at everybody, kind of puzzled. “Why, what for, Shurf?”
The Sheriff smiled at the people watching, and made the crazy sign alongside his head. “I reckon it had to happen some day, after thirty years of drinkin’ his own rotgut. His mind’s give way.” Then he says to Uncle Sagamore, “You’re under arrest for makin moonshine whiskey. For possession of illegal mash. For possession and operation of an illegal still—”
“Why, Shurf,” Uncle Sagamore says, “I ain’t operatin’ no still. You can see for yourself it ain’t even hooked up yet. And it ain’t a illegal still nohow—”
Booger let out a groan. “Oh, God. Here we go again.”
“You see,” Uncle Sagamore went on, “me an’ Sam’s goin’ in the turpentine business—”
The Sheriff stared at him. “
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