Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1883 — THE SOW ALL RIGHT. [ARTICLE]

THE SOW ALL RIGHT.

There are some sections of Arkansas which, like some sections of Kentucky, are far removed from the active enforcement of the revenue laws. The laws of the State are respected, and even that part of the national statute which does not prescribe restraint on the eccentricities of personal liberty, nor make suggestions concerning the occupation a man shall follow, is regarded by the natives as not “all right,” but as something “that’ll sorter do.” The natives of these sections regard distilling as the common fight of all men and the law which forbids it is simply an enactment intended to oppress the people, consequently, illicit distillers are sheltered by people who take no active part in and receive no revenue from his unlawful kind of manufacture. A revenue officer is regarded as an enemy of the people, and any one who can succeed in misleading him and throwing him off the track is ever commemorated in the annals of neighborhood tradition as a man of great intelligence and worthy of emulation. Several days ago a party of revenue men stopped at the rude house of a “squatter. ” Railroads and other civilizing influences had from time to time driven the “squatter” before them until he had at last built his home in the mountains, where he lived in defiance of progress. When the men stopped, he saw at a glance who they were, and when they called to him he limped out to the fence—limped, for the “squatter,” like the old negro, always has an active engagement with rheumatism, or a memory of it that seriously interferes with his locomotion. “How do you do, sir?” said the commander of the squad. “We were told that if we came here you could give us some information concerning the lands of this neighborhood, as we wish to purchase a tract,” assuming the guise of immigrants, with a view to misleading the old fellow. “Putty well, thank yer. Won’t yer light an’ hitch ?” “No, we are in something of a hurry. What is good land worth ?” “I dunno. ” “Don’t you live here ?” “Yes, sorter.” “And don’t you know the price of good land?” “No.” “That’s singular.” “It mout be ter some fokes, but it ain’/t ter me. Say, thar, Jim,” turning to his son, “drive the sow out the house, fur she might turn over the sugar troif und spill the young ’un.” “How is it you don’t know the price of land?” “I do.” •Why, you said you didn’t!” “I never. Said I didn’t know the price of good lan’, an’ I don’t, ’case thar ain’t no good lan’ in this here community. ” “I unde i stand now. Well, what does average land bring?” “Brings about an average price.” “What would you call an average price ?” “What would you call an average lan’?” “Well, I hardly know.” “Wall, I hardly know.” x “Do you know a man in this neighborhopd named Bob Blakemore?” “Is he the son o’ ole man Blakemore ?” “Yes, I think so.” “Is he got a sort o’ moon eye on one side an’ a sort e’ rainy day eye on tuther ?” “That’s the man, I believe.” “Sorter walks like he didn’t kere whar he was gwine, do he ?’’ “Yes, from what I know of him he does.” “Sorter whines when he talks, like he was a longin’ fur suthin’ he ain’t got?” “He’s the man, I have no doubt.” “Wars a par o’ shoes what was made by Josh Simmons, with one heel thiser way an’ tuther thater way?” making signs with his hands. “That’s the individual. Where can I find him?” “Well, es yer know him as well as I do yer oughter know whar to find him.” “When did you see him last?” “Don’t riccolleck the last time as well as Ido the fust. The first time I ever seed him we fit. He flung me an’ I flung him. He drawd blood and I drawd blood. Then we fit an’ we fit till his wife she come, then we fit till my wife she come, then we all fit. Airter awhile we got mixed up. an’ my wife she fit me an’his wife she fit him, an’ —” “Well, we don’t care anything about that. I’d like to know where we can find him, as we can doubtless strike a trade.” “Yas, but lemme tell yer. Say, Jim, did yer drive out the sow ?” “Yas, pap.” “Did he spill the young ’un?” “No, pap.” “Wall,” again turning to the men, “I want ter tell yer ’bout Bob. My wife she’s gone ter one o’ the neighbors an* I ain’t pushed for time. Airter we’d fit

an’ fit, my wife she gave me a powerful lick over the eye— * “We don’t care for that.” “Yas, wall, 1 was gwine ter tell yer what give Bob that rainy day eye. Bob’s wife she snatched up a wet cob an’ give him a lick in the eye. Never was hit by a wet cob was yer? Wust thing in the world. Seed a nigger hit with one ;by ole Darb Sevier once. Didn’t know Darb, I reckin. Wall, it makes no difference, fur— * “lx>ok here, my friend.” “Don’t know as I’m yer friend, but I’m er lookin’ thar.” “We want to find Bob Blakemore.” “I’ll tell you how ter find him es that's what yer want. See that hog path ?” “Yes.” “Wall, take that path till yer come ter the deer-lick. Bob’s a mighty hunter an’ yer air mighty likely ter find him thar. ” “Suppose he isn’t there?” “Then I ken tell yer ’zackly whar he is.” “Where?” “Summers else. Say, Jim, is the sow all right ?” “Yas, pap.” “Look here—” “Lookin’ thar agin. ” “We want to go into the house.” “Sartinly, come in,” and the party dismounted and entered. After looking arorpid, and seeing nothing but a bed, a kettle, a sugar-trough cradle and a baby, they went away. After they had been gone a while, a blanket in one-corner of the room moved and Bob Blakemore’s head appeared. All the time the old “squatter" had been engaging the revenue men in conversation, Blakemore, who knew that flight would be useless, was digging a hole in the dirt floor, and when he had crouched down and covered himself with the blanket, the boy, Jim, discovered that the sow was “all right.”— Ar&ansaw Traveler.