aware of specks of movement taking shape, the men spread out as they crossed the pasture, some of them heading for the yard. In the barn the two fox-hounds began barking and yelping to get free. In a minute then, from the other side of the house, Son picked up the faint sound of the cars coming up the hollow.
Close to him Aaron said, "Company tonight, everybody welcome."
Son walked along the edge of the grave mound that was covered with stones, to be moving, doing something. He put his hands in his back pockets. It was getting chilly. Maybe he should have put on a coat. No, he'd be warm enough pretty soon. He said to Aaron, "You might as well get it out."
"How much you think?"
"Lay that part-full barrel on the porch, with some jars."
"Or give them some we cooked yesterday." "No, out of the barrel tonight"
He could see them clearly now, most of them coming this way, a few straggling toward the yard. Headlight beams moved in the trees as the first car topped the rise out of the hollow. As the next cars followed, pulling into the yard, their headlights caught Aaron walking back to the house. Son waited for the group coming toward him. There weren't many bugs around the post light; it was still too cool. Another month he wouldn't be able to stand here for long they'd be so thick. Another month after that he wouldn't have to. He'd be gone.
Son looked down at the gravestone, at his shadow across the inscription.
John W. Martin
1867-1927
May he rest ever.
in the Lord's.
Eternal Light.
He looked up at the repeated sounds of a car horn. Headlight beams crisscrossed the yard with dust hanging in the light shafts; there were voices now and the laughter of grown men out for a good time, the men from the cars yelling toward the ones coming across the pasture. Out of the darkness somebody called, "Hey, Son, you up there?"
He hesitated. "Waiting for you boys!"
Now he set a grin on his face, relaxed it, and set it again, ready to greet them as they came into the light. Then he was shaking E . J . Royce's hand and E . J . was saying, "Son, where you been keeping yourself?"
"I been right here all the time."
"I know you have--I mean how come you haven't been down to see us?"
"You know how it is."
"Sure, up here drinking your own whiskey. Well, a man makes it as fine as you do, I can't say as I blame you."
Mr. Baylor gave E . J . Royce a sharp-pointed elbow pushing between him and the man next to him. He waited as Son nodded, then said, straight-faced and solemn as he could, "Son Martin, we have reason to believe you are presently engaged in the manufacture and commercial sale of intoxicating liquor in violation of the Eighteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution. Is that true?"
"Yes, sir." Son nodded respectfully, going along.
"Then as sheriff of this county I order you to produce it," Mr. Baylor said, "before all these boys here die of thirst."
By the way people came in, Lowell could tell if they'd been to the Hotel Cumberland before. If they walked right over to the main desk, knowing it was back of the stairway and partly hidden, they'd been here. If they came i n a nd looked around the lobby and up at the high ceiling and the second floor balcony and weren't sure where to go, it was their first time.
But the man in the dark suit and hat, carrying the big leather suitcase, stumped Lowell: he didn't walk directly to the desk but he didn't gawk around either. He came in the entrance slowing his stride, holding the bag with a couple of hooked fingers, and seemed to locate the desk without looking for it. He walked over, set his suitcase down, and spread his hands on the counter.
Coming up next to him Lowell said, "Evening," reaching over then to palm the desk bell, hitting it twice. The man looked at him and nodded. He looked tired and needed a shave and was a little stoop-shouldered the way some tall men carry themselves.
Mrs. Lyons came out of the office that was behind the main desk. She said good evening
Close to him Aaron said, "Company tonight, everybody welcome."
Son walked along the edge of the grave mound that was covered with stones, to be moving, doing something. He put his hands in his back pockets. It was getting chilly. Maybe he should have put on a coat. No, he'd be warm enough pretty soon. He said to Aaron, "You might as well get it out."
"How much you think?"
"Lay that part-full barrel on the porch, with some jars."
"Or give them some we cooked yesterday." "No, out of the barrel tonight"
He could see them clearly now, most of them coming this way, a few straggling toward the yard. Headlight beams moved in the trees as the first car topped the rise out of the hollow. As the next cars followed, pulling into the yard, their headlights caught Aaron walking back to the house. Son waited for the group coming toward him. There weren't many bugs around the post light; it was still too cool. Another month he wouldn't be able to stand here for long they'd be so thick. Another month after that he wouldn't have to. He'd be gone.
Son looked down at the gravestone, at his shadow across the inscription.
John W. Martin
1867-1927
May he rest ever.
in the Lord's.
Eternal Light.
He looked up at the repeated sounds of a car horn. Headlight beams crisscrossed the yard with dust hanging in the light shafts; there were voices now and the laughter of grown men out for a good time, the men from the cars yelling toward the ones coming across the pasture. Out of the darkness somebody called, "Hey, Son, you up there?"
He hesitated. "Waiting for you boys!"
Now he set a grin on his face, relaxed it, and set it again, ready to greet them as they came into the light. Then he was shaking E . J . Royce's hand and E . J . was saying, "Son, where you been keeping yourself?"
"I been right here all the time."
"I know you have--I mean how come you haven't been down to see us?"
"You know how it is."
"Sure, up here drinking your own whiskey. Well, a man makes it as fine as you do, I can't say as I blame you."
Mr. Baylor gave E . J . Royce a sharp-pointed elbow pushing between him and the man next to him. He waited as Son nodded, then said, straight-faced and solemn as he could, "Son Martin, we have reason to believe you are presently engaged in the manufacture and commercial sale of intoxicating liquor in violation of the Eighteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution. Is that true?"
"Yes, sir." Son nodded respectfully, going along.
"Then as sheriff of this county I order you to produce it," Mr. Baylor said, "before all these boys here die of thirst."
By the way people came in, Lowell could tell if they'd been to the Hotel Cumberland before. If they walked right over to the main desk, knowing it was back of the stairway and partly hidden, they'd been here. If they came i n a nd looked around the lobby and up at the high ceiling and the second floor balcony and weren't sure where to go, it was their first time.
But the man in the dark suit and hat, carrying the big leather suitcase, stumped Lowell: he didn't walk directly to the desk but he didn't gawk around either. He came in the entrance slowing his stride, holding the bag with a couple of hooked fingers, and seemed to locate the desk without looking for it. He walked over, set his suitcase down, and spread his hands on the counter.
Coming up next to him Lowell said, "Evening," reaching over then to palm the desk bell, hitting it twice. The man looked at him and nodded. He looked tired and needed a shave and was a little stoop-shouldered the way some tall men carry themselves.
Mrs. Lyons came out of the office that was behind the main desk. She said good evening
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