Uncle Sagamore and His Girls by Charles Williams Page B

Turpentine? ”
    “That’s right, Shurf,” Uncle Sagamore says. “I hear tell there’s right good money in it for a man that ain’t afraid of a little hard work. An’ with taxes the way they are—”
    “Shut up!” the Sheriff roared at him. The crowd was beginning to mutter now. One or two of the people snickered, and in the back somebody yelled, “What the hell is this? Why don’t you arrest him?”
    The Sheriff held up his hands for them to be quiet. Then he glared at Uncle Sagamore. “I see. So you take that sugar and corn meal, and when you run it off it’s turpentine?”
    Uncle Sagamore looked at him kind of surprised. “Why, Shurf, I don’t think you can make turpentine that way. Leastwise, I never heard of it. You make it out of rosum. You see, you take this here rosum—”
    “Just a minute!” The Sheriff held up a hand. “Let me see if I got it all straight now. You make this turpentine out of rosum you haven’t got, and that stuff in the tubs is hawg-feed for a hawg you haven’t got—”
    “Oh,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Sam, we plumb forgot about them hawgs. We better get ’em in the pen. You bring the trough.” He stepped off the running board and went around in back of the truck and picked up two orange crates, one under each arm.
    “Ain’t they beauties, Shurf?” he said, and started over to the pen in back of the barn. The whole crowd followed him. The Sheriff climbed down from the top of his car and came too, looking like he was going to split open, he was so mad. I ran over, and got there just as Uncle Sagamore stepped over the hog-fencing and put the two crates on the ground under the chinaberry tree. He pulled the tops off, and lifted out the hogs. “My God,” somebody says, and there was a couple of snickers among the crowd that was jammed up around the pen.
    I didn’t know much about hogs, of course, but they looked kind of little and scrawny to be able to eat all that feed. If they fell in one of the tubs they’d probably drown. One of ’em went over and leaned against the tree, and the other one just sat down on his hunkers, kind of discouraged about the whole thing.
    Uncle Sagamore looked at ’em real proud, and then at the Sheriff. “We decided to git two while we was at it, Shurf. If a man’s goin’ in business, there ain’t no sense in piddlin’ around.”
    “Hadn’t you better fasten ’em down some way?” Booger asked. “They might blow away.”
    “No,” Otis says. “Them’s weather-vane hawgs. They always turn in the breeze so it can’t get a-holt of ’em. Only trouble is you can’t see ’em edgewise, an’ if you ain’t careful you’ll run into one and cut yourself.”
    “Why, shucks, men, them hawgs’ll fatten right up,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Matter of fact, I think we ort to give ’em a bait of feed right now, Sam.”
    “Sure,” Pop says.
    “Sagamore Noonan!” the Sheriff roared, “if you think this is a joke of some kind—”
    “Joke?” Uncle Sagamore said. “Why, Shurf, you cain’t joke with a hungry hawg. He’ll swell up an’ won’t have nothin’ to do with you for a month.”
    Him and Pop went over to the shed at the side of the barn, with the crowd still following. Pop got a bucket, and Uncle Sagamore lifted the gunny sack off one of the tubs so they could dip out some of the feed. Then he sniffed, and bent over to look closer at the stuff. “Hmmm,” he says, sort of puzzled.
    “What’s the matter?” Pop asked.
    “Why, it looks to me like it’s turnin’ sour,” Uncle Sagamore says. “Look at them bubbles, Sam, poppin’ right up to the top.”
    “By golly, you’re right,” Pop says. He dipped up some in his hand and smelled it. So did Uncle Sagamore. They looked at each other kind of worried.
    “You reckon it’s safe?” Uncle Sagamore asked.
    Pop frowned. “I ain’t sure I’d trust it. Might give ’em heartburn.”
    “Well, ain’t that discouragin’?” Uncle Sagamore says. “What you reckon