Restored, an hour later, by hot coffee and whiskey, Black Tom told his story, colorfully embellished with profane metaphor, and a squad went riding "hell-fer-leather" to the still of "Little" Jake Kinnard.
When the sun was fully revealed they were back again, with another man, feeble and half-frozen of body, but molten-hot of spirit to vouchsafe indignant evidence.
The cup of Towers' fury was brimming over, but before its first bitterness had been quaffed yet other heralds of tribulation arrived to pour in fresh wormwood. "Thar's still-house quiles hangin' all up an' down ther high-road," they lamented.
Kinnard looked at his henchman out of eyes somberly furious and his florid face turned a choleric purple.
"Thar hain't but one way ter treat sech a damn' pest es thet," he said slowly with the implacable manner of one passing final sentence. "He's got ter be kilt—an' kilt quick." But a sudden reflection obtruded itself, snarling the simple edict with complication. "Hold on!" he added with a less assured finality. "Hev any stills been tampered with among his own folks—or air hit jest over hyar?"
"We hain't heered much from ther yon side yit," admitted the news-bearers. "Thar's one thet Dog Tate used ter run, though, thet's hangin' high as Haaman. Dog's a kinsman of his'n but he dwells nigh ter hyar."
"Hev some fellers ride over thar an' talk with him," commanded Towers with prompt efficiency. "Ef I war sure they wouldn't all stand behind him, I'd take a crowd of men over thar an' hang him in front of his own house. Yestiddy they didn't seem ter hev much use fer him."
Of one thing, however, he failed to take adequate cognizance. That turning away of the clan, yesterday, in cool or angry repudiation had been less unanimous than it seemed. There were elders among them who had for years deplored the locked-in life of their kind and to whom this boy's effrontery secretly appealed. None of their own heritage and breed had ever before dared to raise his voice against forcible scourging out of a tolerated practice—but that did not mean that all men sanctioned it in their hearts.
So as the Stacys had scattered they had discussed the matter, guardedly save where the speaker was sure of his auditor, and Kinnard would have been astonished to know how many of them said, "I reckon mebby ther boy is fittified—but ef he could do what he seeks ter, hit would sartain sure be a God's blessin' ter these hills."
"I don't see no diff'rence atween what he aims at, an' what them damn' revenuers seeks ter do," suggested a young man who had fallen in with Joe Stacy after the gathering and rode knee to knee with him. "Myself I don't foller nuther makin' hit ner drinkin' hit. Hit kilt my daddy an' my maw raised me up ter hate ther stuff—but I'm jest tellin' how hit looks ter me."