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Authors: Tabor Evans
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"You reckon I could do any business back here? You reckon I could buy me a load of whiskey back here and somehow think of a way to transport it?"
Carson 's shoulders made a faint shrug in the dim night. He said, "I reckon anything is possible. They'll freight it Out to the nearest railhead, but whether they'll do it or not for you is another question. As far as I know, they ain't looking for any more new customers."
It had come solid dark and it was only a quarter of a moon. Frank Carson had taken the lead and was following a trail that Longarm had a hard time picking out. He said, "Frank, are You sure you know where you are going? Seems to me that we're just riding between the high places."
Ahead of him, Carson chuckled. "That's damned near the case." He pointed, raising his arm to where Longarm could see. "See that little notch, way up yonder, far off at the top of that mountain? I'm just guiding on that. That will bring us into Salem Colton's place. That's where you can stay the night. I don't think he's going to let you stay more than one night, but he might pass you on up the line toward the old man's place."
"Who is the old man?"
Carson turned in his saddle and looked back. "If they want to tell you, that's okay with me, but I'm not going to be the one to tell you about the old man."
"What did you say the first man's name was?"
"Salem. His wife's name is Bathsheba. They've all got names out of the Bible."
"Churchgoing folks, then?"
Carson chuckled again. "I wouldn't count on it."
Gradually they had begun to climb to the first slight slopes of the mountain range. They rode into the tree line. Suddenly they were under a canopy of oak and sycamore and elm and maple and pine, all flushed out with spring leaf. If it had been dark before, it was even more so now. Longarm could barely make out the form of Frank Carson in the darkness ahead of him. He spoke in a low voice. It seemed to call for a low voice. He said, "Mr. Carson, I reckon you ought to throw me the end of a rope."
"Why?"
"Because it's done got as black as the inside of a cow, and if I lose sight of you and you get away from me in this pitch, I ain't ever going to find my way out of here. I don't even see how you know where you're going."
"Just keep looking through the trees at that notch in the top of that mountain and keep bearing on that," Carson said.
"Yeah, but we're going away from it right now."
"But as soon as I can, I'm going to cut to the left, back toward it."
They went down gentle draws, up sharp inclines, and then suddenly came into a broad meadow. It was wide enough that a little moonlight could filter through and Longarm could see long rows of young corn. He said, "By the by, you mentioned sugar as being one of the main costs of making whiskey. How come they can afford to put so much more sugar in their raw whiskey than you do?"
Carson said, "Yeah, that would be a question, wouldn't it? You know they grow sugar down in Louisiana. They've got a couple sugar mills down there. In fact, a couple of them are up pretty close to the Arkansas line. One of them is in Monroe, Louisiana, in the northern part."
"Yeah, but ain't Tennessee damned near as close to Louisiana as Arkansas?"
Longarm could hear Frank Carson spit tobacco juice, then he heard him clear his throat. Carson said, "Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?"
Longarm said, "You're being mighty careful not to answer my question."
Carson chuckled. "I'm trying not to tell you that about four years ago, there was a trainload of sugar stolen from northern Louisiana. They found the train in eastern Arkansas, but the sugar was gone."
Longarm said, "Oh. I reckon I don't want to know any more about that."
"It might be for the best. Ignorance can sometimes be a good friend."
Longarm said, "But what I don't understand is, we're back here in this wild-assed country. I need to buy a considerable amount of whiskey, and I sure as hell don't figure I can take it back to Little Rock and put
Carson 's shoulders made a faint shrug in the dim night. He said, "I reckon anything is possible. They'll freight it Out to the nearest railhead, but whether they'll do it or not for you is another question. As far as I know, they ain't looking for any more new customers."
It had come solid dark and it was only a quarter of a moon. Frank Carson had taken the lead and was following a trail that Longarm had a hard time picking out. He said, "Frank, are You sure you know where you are going? Seems to me that we're just riding between the high places."
Ahead of him, Carson chuckled. "That's damned near the case." He pointed, raising his arm to where Longarm could see. "See that little notch, way up yonder, far off at the top of that mountain? I'm just guiding on that. That will bring us into Salem Colton's place. That's where you can stay the night. I don't think he's going to let you stay more than one night, but he might pass you on up the line toward the old man's place."
"Who is the old man?"
Carson turned in his saddle and looked back. "If they want to tell you, that's okay with me, but I'm not going to be the one to tell you about the old man."
"What did you say the first man's name was?"
"Salem. His wife's name is Bathsheba. They've all got names out of the Bible."
"Churchgoing folks, then?"
Carson chuckled again. "I wouldn't count on it."
Gradually they had begun to climb to the first slight slopes of the mountain range. They rode into the tree line. Suddenly they were under a canopy of oak and sycamore and elm and maple and pine, all flushed out with spring leaf. If it had been dark before, it was even more so now. Longarm could barely make out the form of Frank Carson in the darkness ahead of him. He spoke in a low voice. It seemed to call for a low voice. He said, "Mr. Carson, I reckon you ought to throw me the end of a rope."
"Why?"
"Because it's done got as black as the inside of a cow, and if I lose sight of you and you get away from me in this pitch, I ain't ever going to find my way out of here. I don't even see how you know where you're going."
"Just keep looking through the trees at that notch in the top of that mountain and keep bearing on that," Carson said.
"Yeah, but we're going away from it right now."
"But as soon as I can, I'm going to cut to the left, back toward it."
They went down gentle draws, up sharp inclines, and then suddenly came into a broad meadow. It was wide enough that a little moonlight could filter through and Longarm could see long rows of young corn. He said, "By the by, you mentioned sugar as being one of the main costs of making whiskey. How come they can afford to put so much more sugar in their raw whiskey than you do?"
Carson said, "Yeah, that would be a question, wouldn't it? You know they grow sugar down in Louisiana. They've got a couple sugar mills down there. In fact, a couple of them are up pretty close to the Arkansas line. One of them is in Monroe, Louisiana, in the northern part."
"Yeah, but ain't Tennessee damned near as close to Louisiana as Arkansas?"
Longarm could hear Frank Carson spit tobacco juice, then he heard him clear his throat. Carson said, "Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?"
Longarm said, "You're being mighty careful not to answer my question."
Carson chuckled. "I'm trying not to tell you that about four years ago, there was a trainload of sugar stolen from northern Louisiana. They found the train in eastern Arkansas, but the sugar was gone."
Longarm said, "Oh. I reckon I don't want to know any more about that."
"It might be for the best. Ignorance can sometimes be a good friend."
Longarm said, "But what I don't understand is, we're back here in this wild-assed country. I need to buy a considerable amount of whiskey, and I sure as hell don't figure I can take it back to Little Rock and put
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