The men--there
were two of them--drew something over their faces, then ordered the boy
to advance.
He did so, and on drawing near saw that they now wore masks, and had
long sacks swung over their shoulders, with a load of some kind in
either end. When he saw the masks and the bags Ralph understood at
once what their business was.
"Who are you?" demanded one of the men, and the lad could see that he
held a pistol in one hand. "No lyin', now!"
"My name is Granger, and I'm from over on Hiawassee River way. Want to
get down into the low country. Got lost; stayed in a shack while it
rained, and--here I am."
"Be you a son of old Bras Granger?"
"No; grandson."
The two whispered together a moment, then one of them said:
"I reckon you're all right, boy. 'Taint wuth while to ast our names,
'cause d'ye see--we wouldn't tell."
"You'd be fools if you did," returned Ralph, his self confidence now
fully restored. "I ain't a wanting to know who you are. I know
already what you are."
"How's that?" came sharply back, and an ominous click was heard, which,
however, did not seem to alarm Ralph.
"Moonshiners," said the boy briefly. "Haven't I been raised among 'em?
I've got kin folks as stills regular, I'm sorry to say."
"Sorry! Ain't it a good trade?"
"Not when it lands you inside of some dirty jail. Besides, I don't
like the stuff, anyhow."
"No use to offer you a dram then?"
"Not a bit. But I say, if you'll let me go on with you till we get
down where there's some houses, I'll think more of that than if you
gave me a barrel of whisky.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37