Longarm and the Whiskey Woman

by Tabor Evans

  "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 it on a train. How do they get it out of here? How do you buy it?"

  From up ahead, he could hear Frank Carson's voice through the black. "I think you're getting a little bit ahead of yourself. In the first place, you ain't got no guarantee that they'll even sell you any whiskey. Fact is, I'd say your chances are slim and none, and slim's gone visiting. But the way it comes is in ten-gallon demijohns. There's four demijohns to a crate, which they pack with straw. They've got some big, stout wagons and they've carved out a road to a little town north of here. There's a railroad spur line that comes through there. They'll get it to that line for you and after that, it's your whiskey and your problem, but they ain't going to sell any less than a thousand gallons, so if you've got anything less than that on your mind, you won't be doing any business with these folks."

  Longarm said, "Well, I was thinking bigger than that."

  He was suddenly conscious of Carson making a forty-five-degree cut to the left. He could barely make him out as he tried to follow, and then the ground began to descend. Carson turned his head and said over his shoulder, "We better be quiet from here on in. We're starting to get close. These folks shoot at sound. Understand?"

  Longarm said, "I understand, but I was under the impression that you did enough business with them that they wouldn't be likely to pop you out of the saddle."

  "In case you didn't notice, Mr. Long, it's a little black out here, and they just might not recognize me. I don't care to take the chance. Do you?"

  Longarm said, "You're doing the leading."

  They traveled on through the night over the rough ground for what seemed like, to Longarm, an eternity, though he knew it couldn't be more than fifteen minutes or a half hour. Then, almost as if they had parted a curtain, several lights suddenly shone through the dark. In a few more moments, they were at the edge of the tree line that surrounded a big clearing. Longarm could easily make out a long, rambling house that appeared to be made of rocks and logs and shingled with wooden shakes. He could see a number of outbuildings and through the black of the sky, he could see thin mists rising up that he guessed were smoke from the still fires. Carson called out, "Hellooo... helloo the house."

  For a moment, nothing happened. Carson called out again, "Hellooo the house."

  There were lights enough in several windows to make it clear that people were still up and around. Longarm said, "Might be they've gone to bed."

  Carson said, "No, this is a twenty-four-hour-a-day operation. They keep those stills running all night. Somebody has got to tend them. There's plenty of people awake. They're just giving us a little bit more time while they think about it."

  Longarm said, "Why don't we ride forward a little more, get out of the dark of these trees where they can get a look at us?"

  "That ain't a real good idea," Carson said.

  Almost before he had finished speaking, the door to the house suddenly opened and a woman stood there, framed in the light behind her. She called out, "Who be it?"

  Frank Carson called back, "That you, Bathsheba?"

  She said, "I'm doin' the askin'. Who be it?"

  "It's Frank Carson with a friend."

  The woman called, "Well, ride on forward a bit, but do it right slow. You know there's guns trained on ya."

  Carson said, "I'd be mighty disappointed if there weren't."

  The woman in the door cackled. She said, "Yep, that do be soundin' like you, Frank. Y'all come on and ride on UP."

  Carson said in a low voice to Longarm, "Take it real slow and don't make any sudden moves. There'll be at least three rifles dead on us."

  "Like I said, you're doing the leading."

  At a walk, they advanced their horses across the flat, open ground. It was at least fifty yards to the front of the big, rambling house. Longarm could feel the hair prickling on the back of his neck with every step of his horse. He could almost sense the rifles aimed on them with the hammers cocked. He desperately hoped that nobody got nerVOUS.

  They were about twenty yards from the front porch when Frank Carson said, "We better pull up here and let them get a good look at you." He turned and said to the lady standing in the doorway, "Bathsheba, my friend's name is Custis Long. I haven't known him very long, but he seems like a right enough fellow. Says he wants to buy some whiskey."

  She said, "Well, that be up to Salem and them others. Y'all come on up into the light so we can get a better look at ya."

  They nudged their horses forward until they came to a stop right at the porch of the house. Now Longarm could see that the woman in the doorway was probably forty years old, although she looked older. She was small and had rough-hewn features and was dressed in working clothes. She said, "Y'all step down and come on in. Salem says it's all right. You can tie up your horses and tend to them after you have a cup of coffee and maybe some supper. I've got some cold beef left I could heat up, and there's ham and some other fixin's. I'll make some biscuits."

  Carson said, "Bathsheba, don't go through any trouble for us. We're just obliged for a night's shelter."

  She said, "Oh, just hush up and get on in here. Salem and the others are sitting around the table right now."

  Carson and Longarm dismounted. As they started up toward the porch, Carson said, "Well, you're on your own now, my friend. I ain't going to take no responsibili
ty for your conduct, and I'm going to make sure that these here folks understand that. I'm going to tell them about you and Morton Colton and the trouble that you've had, and that's the best introduction you can get. Whether they'll sell you any whiskey, I don't know."

  Longarm said as they stepped on the porch, "You going to stay here tonight?"

  "Hell, yes. I ain't riding back through that country at this time of night."

  They walked forward across the porch and stepped through the door that the woman was holding open for them.

  CHAPTER 5

  Longarm stepped into a long, low-ceilinged room. To his right, he could see a set of stairs and he realized that the outline of the house was that of a two-story place. It seemed much bigger once he was inside. Directly in front of him was a large fireplace with a slow-burning log providing a small blaze. To his left, toward a door he guessed led into the kitchen, was a big, round table where three men were seated.

  One of the men, the oldest and biggest of the three, stood up. He said, "Carson, how be ya? Y'all come on over and sit down and take some whiskey. I reckon y'all could probably use a drink. I would expect you've been riding from town. Miz Bathsheba will fix y'all some vittles, so come on over and take a chair." He sat down.

  Longarm and Frank Carson walked across the wooden floor and pulled up straight-backed chairs at the table. The big man in the middle nodded at Longarm. He said, "My name's Colton. Salem Colton. Man to my left is my cousin and the one to my right is my brother. Their names don't mean a hell of a lot, since you ain't going to be here that long."

  Longarm was pulling out a chair. "Sounds fine to me. My name's Custis Long, and before Mr. Carson tells you, let me explain that I had a run-in with a man I reckon would be your cousin. Might even be a closer kin than that, for all I know. Name was Morton Colton. He was fixing to have me worked over by a couple of deputies in town and this gentleman," he jerked his head toward Carson, "managed to pull my bacon out of the fire. Now, I've got to tell you, I was a little surprised to find that he was carrying me to the kinfolk of the man I had the run-in with."

  Salem Colton laughed. He said, "Oh, Frank knows the business. Let me put it this way: you or any other stranger would be a hell of a lot more welcome here than Morton would. We don't know about you, but we already know all we want to know about Cousin Morton who may be the most worthless, no-count son of a bitch that ever roamed these hills."

  Longarm smiled slowly. He said, "Well, I've got to tell you, that gives me some relief."

  Salem Colton looked over to Frank Carson and said, "Well, what did they go to buttin' heads about?"

  Carson chuckled softly, that mild unhumorless sound he made. He said, "Oh, Morton was up to his usual tricks of trying to cheat at a poker game and this gentleman, being a gentleman, didn't know he wasn't supposed to do anything about it. He's still of the opinion that cheating at a poker game is not allowed. He stuck a gun in Morton's face, blessed him out pretty good, and then told him he was lucky to get off with no more than losing his money. Showed him the door in other words."

  All three of the men laughed, although Longarm thought the two younger men didn't seem to find the story as funny as Salem did.

  There was a big gallon jug sitting in the middle of the table, half-full of a clear liquid. About that time, the woman put a glass in front of both Frank Carson and Longarm. Salem Colton stood up, took the gallon jug, and poured them both a full measure. He said, "Drink up, gents. This stuff is damned near a week old."

  Carson said, "Prime stuff, huh?"

  "Yeah, we don't keep it a hell of a lot longer than that."

  Longarm took a healthy swig, wanting to show his appreciation. It burned his mouth, burned his throat, and seared his stomach. It tasted like the kerosene you put in a coal oil lamp. He gasped slightly, his eyes watering. He said, "My God! That's stout!"

  Now all three men laughed.

  Salem said, "Little strong for your taste?"

  Longarm said, choking, "I would reckon that stuff would fetch up a wildcat. My Lord! I think my tongue has gone to sleep."

  One of the younger men spoke for the first time. "I reckon that would be some pretty high-proof stuff."

  Longarm said, "That makes me come to a funny question that's in my mind. I'm new in this whiskey business--been in the cattle and land business out in Arizona--but I never had much to do with whiskey except to drink it. How do y'all come to this proof business? I've seen it printed on labels on bottles, but that there jug ain't got no label on it. How do you know what proof it is? I know the higher the proof, the stronger the kick is, and that particular mule that you've got in that bottle could kick a barn down."

  Salem said with a straight face, "Have you ever heard of a lap dog?"

  Longarm looked around at the three or four hounds lying around the room, their chins on their front paws. "Yeah, but I don't see any one here that would fit in anybody's lap, unless they had a mighty big lap."

  "Well," said Salem. "It's a bit different kind of lap dog. We've got a little drip that we run out of each still with a little tin pan there, and this here one dog we have goes over and laps up some from time to time. As soon as he keels over, we know it's strong enough."

  Everyone laughed at the table except Longarm. "Ain't that a bit hard on the dog?"

  Salem shook his head. He said, "Nah, we've got a pillow stuffed with goose feathers laying right there beside the pan, so when he falls over, he don't hurt himself."

  Longarm nodded. "I see. That's damned thoughtful of YOU."

  About then, the woman came in from the kitchen and set a plate of food in front of Longarm and Frank Carson. There was what appeared to be smoked ham and gravy and some mashed potatoes and some kind of garden peas. There was a big hunk of corn bread on each plate.

  Frank Carson said, "Bathsheba, you didn't have to go to this much trouble."

  Longarm said, "Mrs. Colton, I am much obliged. I was as hungry as a hog. Mr. Carson can give me his part if he don't want it."

  Carson said, "I never said that! I was just being polite."

  Longarm nodded at the woman. "I am much obliged, Mrs. Colton. This here ham looks mighty good."

  Salem Colton said, "Y'all go on and eat and then we'll talk after a minute. I'll be right interested to hear how come Mr. Long wants to go into the whiskey business."

  Longarm said, "Well, for the simple reason that the timber business has about played out."

  Salem Colton narrowed his eyes. "Timber? Ain't no timber in Arizona from what I've heard. It's mostly desert."

  Longarm began cutting his ham. He said, "Yeah, it's desert now, but it didn't use to be before I started into the timber business."

  That brought a pretty good laugh and seemed to settle the mood in the room. Even the two young men had stopped giving him hard looks.

  The three men were rough but cleanly dressed. Only the man in the middle, the older one, was bearded. The other two supported drooping mustaches. They didn't look especially mean, or inbred, or especially suspicious. Longarm reckoned that they led a lonely, hard life making whiskey and selling it. He doubted that they or their womenfolk got into town much. Even though the three men, whom Longarm guessed ranged in age from mid-twenties to late forties, didn't appear all that rough or tough, he expected that neither they nor any of their clan would be people to get careless with. When they had finished their meal, he and Carson, almost together, pushed their plates away. In an instant, Bathsheba appeared from nowhere to collect their knives and forks and plates. She headed for the kitchen, leaving the table and the conversation to the men.

  Salem Colton hunched forward a little, putting his big hands and forearms on the table. He said to Longarm, "Now, what's this about you wanting to buy whiskey? How much whiskey are you wanting to buy?"

  "Neighbor, I ain't been in this part of the country more than two or three days, and I'm just kind of getting my feet wet right now. I figure if you're willing to sell it and I can get it to a railroad someplace without
either drowning or falling off one of these damned mountains here, that I'd maybe like to take about two thousand gallons, depending on the price."

  Salem gave him a long look and then turned his head to spit tobacco. He said, turning back to Longarm, "Well, that's about the least we'll sell. Gonna cost you about a dollar and a quarter a gallon, but the selling of it ain't up to me."

  Longarm glanced around at Frank Carson. The price that Salem Colton had just quoted was almost double the amount Carson had said he had been paying. Longarm made no sign. He had no intentions of buying any whiskey, but he felt to be taken seriously, he ought to put up a show of bargaining. He shook his head and said, "That sounds mighty dear to me. That sounds like about twenty-five hundred dollars' worth of green whiskey to me. I'll have to do all sorts of doctoring up and getting it in bottles before I could ever make a profit. Gonna be quite a few costs to a middleman on this project."

  Salem shook his head. "Well, to begin with, we've got plenty of buyers for our whiskey, and then secondly, it ain't up to me. It's up to Asa. He might not be willing to sell you a drop, much less two thousand gallons."

  Longarm said, "Who's Asa?"

  Salem shrugged. "Well, I reckon you might have to call him the boss. He's my uncle, but since Joshua died, who was my daddy and several other boys' daddy, Asa kind of runs the show. He's the main man, you might say."

  Longarm said, "And where is he?"

  Salem nodded his head at Frank Carson. He said, "He knows. If he wants to see you buying any whiskey, he'll take you there or he'll point you there. I wouldn't recommend, however, you go by yourself. There's some pretty ticklish country between here and there, and I don't mean that you might fall off into a valley somewhere."

  Longarm gave him a thin smile. "You mean I might fall off with a bullet through my chest?"

  "That's about the size of it."

  "Well, how far is it?"

  Salem stretched. He said, "Oh, it ain't all that far in miles--maybe six or seven. I ain't never taken a count of it. But there's some real unfriendly folks you don't want to be passing without some word going on ahead that you're all right. See, what we're doing ain't exactly approved by some folks, the law and whatnot, though I'm sure by now Mr. Carson has told you what our cousin Morton Colton is good for. We call him the wagon-wheel grease. Keeps our wheels turning, if you take my meaning."