r thet blockade still of mine," he drawled
reflectively. "My old woman's been faultin' me erbout hit fer a long
spell, an' seekin' ter prevail on me ter quit. She 'lows hit'll cost
more'n hit comes ter afore we gits through an' I misdoubts she hain't
fur wrong." He chewed on the pipe-stem yet a while longer, then
suddenly he announced: "I reckon thet still don't owe me nothin' much.
Hit's about wore out anyhow. Let's go over thar an' bust her up--an'
straightway start hell a-poppin'."

Bear Cat Stacy glanced keenly at Joe Sanders who had remained a pace or
two apart, holding his counsel with a face that bore no index to his
sentiments. "Air you with us, too, Joe?" he demanded. "This-hyar
business hain't a-goin' ter be no frolic. We don't want no men thet
don't aim ter go through with hit."

Joe scratched his head, speaking cautiously. "I works fer wages myself.
Dog hires me--albeit I'd ruther do any other fashion of labor.
Howsoever, I don't aim ter make common cause with no revenuers. I
hain't no Judas priest."

"Revenuers--hell!" exploded Bear Cat Stacy. "I don't make no common
cause with 'em nuther. I'm willin' ter let ther govern_ment_ skin hits
own skunks."

For so portentous a decision, Joe Sanders gave a disproportionately
laconic reply. "All right then. Ye kin count me in es fur es ye goes."

It was a night of fitful moonlight, breaking through a scud of windy
clouds, only to be swallowed again, when by the flare of a lantern the
three men stood over the ruins of what had been a crude distillery--its
erstwhile proprietor grinning sardonically as he surveyed the
completeness of his vandalism.

"I reckon thet finishes ye up, old whiskey-snake," he commented in grim
obituary. "I boughten thet piece of copper offen a feller thet murdered
a revenuer ter save hit--so hit's due fer punishment."

"Thet's all right so far es hit goes," Bear Cat reminded him crisply,
"but hit don't go far enough. We've got more work ter do yit. When men
wakes up ter-morrer, they've got ter hev proof thet I've started out in
earnest." Around the fire the three squatted on their heels, and talked
in low voices.

"I knows of three more stills sca'cely more'n a whoop an' a holler
distant from hyar es ye mout say," volunteered Joe Sanders. "I hain't
settin' hit out fer gospel fact, but I've heered hit norated round
about, thet Mark Tapper don't even try ter molest these stills on
account of a deal he's made with Kinnard."

"Wa'al,