Zeb White's Escape
One day as I was out on the Cumberland mountains with Zeb White, the possum hunter of Tennessee, I asked him if he was ever engaged in the manufacture of moonshine whisky. He waited awhile before replyiug, as ii wondering whether he covdd trust rne or not, aud then replied: "Yes, I went into it, like most of the rest of 'em around yere, but it was e long time ago, and I had sien a narreí escape that I was glad to sell out the still and quit the bizness. " "Revenue officers get af ter you?" ] asked. "It was a quare bizness - mighty quare, " he said as he sat down on a rock tofill his pipe. "I scraped togethei inoney 'nuff to buy a still in Cincimiati and git down yere. I set it up in that big ravine east of the cabin and began work. I had to have hedp, and I had te buy co'n, and of co'se all the men folks around yere cum to know of the still. The only one I was afeerd of was a feller named Torn Dittson, who sortei owed me a grudge, but I had to trust him along with the others. A still ain't no great account to anybody. It's just turnin co'n into whisky, and I couldn't make above $2 a day. However, as nobody gin me away and thiugs was runnin all right I was satisfied. One night arter I had been runnin fur three months tho ole woman woke up and sez, sez she: " 'Zeb White, I've had a mighty cur'us dream about yo', and yo' jess look out fur trouble!' " 'What sort of a dream?' " 'I drein pt of seein a possum on a log nigh the still, and he had a face jess like Tom Dittson's. Away behind the possum was three or fo' revenue officers, and they was arter yo'. ' " 'Dreams don't count, ' sez I, and 3 falls asleep ag'in, but drat my hide if 1 didn't go at it and dream the same drearu myself! Yes, sah, I saw that yere possum plain as I see yo', and he looked 'zactly like Torn Dittson. Behind him in the bresh was three or fo' men, and I woke up half skeared to death. I ■ was lyin thar and wonderin about it when the ole womau sits up in bed and sez: " 'Zeb White, thar's trouble ahead fnr yo'. ' " 'As tohow?' " 'As to that still. I've drempt that same dream over ag'in. That yere Torn Dittson has betrayed yo' to the reverme. ' " Waal, " contiuued the old man as he filled his pipe a secoiid time, "I was kinder frightened at that aud got up and waited fur daylight. With the first stroak of day I was over in the ravine, and when I got nigh that still my heart jumped into my throat. Thar was a possum on a log, jess as we had drempt, and he looked so much like Tom Dittson iu the face that I was rninded to cali out to hiru. I reckoned to see three or fo' men behiud hiru, but uobody was thar. I heaved a club at the possuru, and he scampei'ed off, and then I went back to the house to teil the ole wornan. " 'I know what it means, ' sez she. 'That skunk of a Tora Dittson bas sold yo' out to the reveuue. Git yo' breakf ast, and then git the boys together, and we'll remove the still. ' " 'líot fur a dream, ' says I. " 'Then yo'll find yo'self in state prison ! Theru revenue fellers will be yere befo' night!' "I wasn't gwine to mind the dream, but she said so ruuch that I got three or fo' men together, and befo' noou we had the still hidden in a cave two miles , ■way. Au hour arter dinner, as I sot on ! the doahstep smokin my pipe, alone ! comes flvc men, and Torn Dittsou was one of 'ein. The rest of 'era was revenue fellera and had guiis. Torn Dittson grinned at me and had nuthiu to say, but the leader of the men bows to me and befiius: " ' Kin I take it that yo' name ax' Zeb White?' " 'Yo' kin, sah.' " 'Slayer of coons, possums andother varmints?' " 'The same.' " 'Also maker of rnoonshine whisky?' " 'Not any. I've bin so thirsty fur a drink of co'n juice fur this last month that I'mwillin to trade off mycoonskin cap.' " 'Jess so, Mistan White, jess so. That's what we are yere fur - to pervide yo' with a drink. Hev yo' any mortal objeckshun to takin a walk?' " 'Not a one, sah. ' " 'Jess as lief walk over to the big ravine?' ' ' ' Yes, sah. ' "I started out with 'em, and that yere Toni Dittson was chucklin to hisself all the way, and tlie other fellers looked niighty peart aud happy. We slid down into the raviue and walked to the place whar tho still was, and Tom looks all around like a man lost in the woods. We'd cleared up the ground, and they couldn't find nuthin. " ' SVhar's the still?' asked the leader of Tom. " 'Dunno. It orter be right yere. ' " 'But it ain't. ' " 'No, I don't see it. ' " 'But yo' said it was aud took $10 of my money to bring us yere! What sort of a game ia this?' "Then the gang feil upon Tom fur a liar and kicked hira till he was tired, and when they let up ou him he could skasely crawl away. When the miserable critter was onter sight, the leader turns to me and stz, sez he: " 'I believe yo1 name ar' Zeb White?' " 'The same, salí. ' " 'Slayer of coons, possums and other varmints?' ' ' ' Yes, sah. ' " 'And the cutest old cuss on the Cumberlcvnd range. Tom Dittsoa located the still fur us, but yo' got -wind and moved it. I didn't cotch yo' thia time, but yo' look out in fucher!' " . "And so you went out of business?" I asked, as the old man scemed to have finisbed. "Yes; sold the still to a man who moved it over into No'th Keerleeny. It was sich a close shave that I dasn't try it again. Dreams an possums don't allus turn out that war, yo' know. " "And so Torn Dittson sold you out j for money?" "Fur $10, sah. " "And what became of him?" "He died, I believe. " I asked no more questions. We sat smoking for about five minutes, and then the old man added: "Yes, I believe he was fonnd dead ia the woods!"
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Ann Arbor Democrat