Just then Pole Baker, who has already been introduced to the reader, rode up to the fence and hitched his horse. He nodded to the two men on the veranda, and went round to the smoke-house to get a piece of bacon Bishop had promised to sell him on credit.
“Huh!” Dole grunted, and he crossed his long legs and swung his foot up and down nervously. He had the look of a man who was wondering why such insufferable bores as Abner should so often accompany a free dinner. He had never felt drawn to the man, and it irritated him to think that just when his mental faculties needed rest, Abner always managed to introduce the very topics which made it necessary for him to keep his wits about him.
“Take that feller thar,” Abner went on, referring to Baker. “He's about the hardest customer in this county, an' yet he's bein' managed right now. He's got a wife an' seven children an' is a holy terror when he gits drunk. He used to be the biggest dare-devil moonshiner in all these mountains; but Alan kept befriendin' 'im fust one way an' another tell he up one day an' axed Alan what he could do fer 'im. Alan ain't none o' yore shoutin' kind o' Christians. He shakes a nimble toe at a shindig when he wants to, an' knows the ace from a ten-spot; but he gits thar with every claw in the air when some 'n' has to be done. So, when Pole axed 'im that, Alan jest said, as quiet as ef he was axin' 'im fer a match to light a cigar, 'Quit yore moonshinin', Pole.' That was all he said. Pole looked 'im straight in the eye fer a minute, an' then said:
“'The hell you say! By God, Alan Bishop, you don't mean that!'
“'Yes, I do, Pole,' said Alan, 'quit! Quit smack off!'
“'You ax that as a favor?' said Pole.
“'Yes, as a favor,' said Alan, 'an' you are a-goin' to do it, too.'
“Then Pole begun to contend with 'im. 'You are a-axin' that beca'se you think I 'll be ketched up with,' he said; 'but I tell you the' ain't no man on the face o' the earth that could find my still now. You could stand in two feet of the door to it all day an' not find it if you looked fer it with a spy-glass. I kin make bug-juice all the rest o' my life an' sell it without bein' ketched.'
“'I want you to give it up,' said Alan, an' Pole did. It was like pullin' an eye-tooth, but Pole yanked it out. Alan is workin' on 'im now to git 'im to quit liquor, but that ain't so easy. He could walk a crack with a gallon sloshin' about in 'im. Now, as I started to say, Alan 'ain't got no cut-and-dried denomination, an' don't have to walk any particular kind o' foot-log to do his work, but it's a-goin' on jest the same. Now I don't mean no reflection on yore way o' hitchin' wings on folks, but I believe you could preach yore sermons—sech as they are—in Pole Baker's yeers till Gabriel blowed his lungs out, an' Pole ud still be moonshinin'. An' sometimes I think that sech fellers as Alan Bishop ort to be paid fer what they do in betterin' the world. I don't see why you fellers ort always to be allowed to rake in the jack-pot unless you'd accomplish more'n outsiders, that jest turn the'r hands to the job at odd times.”
Dole drew himself up straight and glared at the offender.