ind and rough. Behind the mill rises
an almost precipitous mountain-side. Much of the corn is brought in on
men's backs at the dead of night.]

He paused for a reply. Even then, with my limited experience in the
mountains, I could not help wincing at the idea. Often, in later times,
this man's question came back to me with peculiar force. Luxury! in a
land where the little stores were often out of coffee, sugar, kerosene,
and even salt; where, in dead of winter, there was no meal, much less
flour, to be had for love or money. Luxury! where I had to live on
bear-meat (tough old sow bear) for six weeks, because the only side of
pork that I could find for sale was full of maggots.

My friend continued: "Whiskey means more to us mountain folks than hit
does to folks in town, whar thar's drug-stores and doctors. Let ary
thing go wrong in the fam'ly--fever, or snake bite, or somethin'--and we
can't git a doctor up hyar less'n three days; and it costs scand'lous.
The only medicines we-uns has is yerbs, which customarily ain't no good
'thout a leetle grain o' whiskey. Now, th'r ain't no saloons allowed in
all these western counties. The nighest State dispensary, even, is sixty
miles away.[5] The law wunt let us have liquor shipped to us from
anywhars in the State. If we git it sent to us from outside the State it
has to come by express--and reg-lar old pop-skull it is, too. So, to be
good law-abiding citizens, we-uns must travel back and forth at a heap
of expense, or pay express rates on pizened liquor--and we are too
durned poor to do ary one or t'other.

"Now, yan's my field o' corn. I gather the corn, and shuck hit and grind
hit my own self, and the woman she bakes us a pone o' bread to eat--and
I don't pay no tax, do I? Then why can't I make some o' my corn into
pure whiskey to drink, without payin' tax? I tell you, _'taint fair_,
this way the Government does! But, when all's said and done, the main
reason for this 'moonshining,' as you-uns calls it, is bad roads."

"Bad roads?" I exclaimed. "What the----"

"Jest thisaway: From hyar to the railroad is seventeen miles, with two
mountains to cross; and you've seed that road! I recollect you-uns said
every one o' them miles was a thousand rods long. Nobody's ever measured
them, except by mountain man's foot-rule--big feet, and a long stride
between 'em. Seven hundred pounds is all the load a good team can haul
over that road, when the weather's good. Hit takes three day