Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 October 1898 — FOR POST-MORTEM USE. [ARTICLE]

FOR POST-MORTEM USE.

Why a Mountaineer Would Not Bell Hi* Crop of Walnmta. A* I palled up out of the steepest part of the Cumberland Mountain road and drove along the bench of the moontain with a beautiful view off down the valley I stopped a moment to gaze upon the loveliness of nature and to breathe in deep drafts of the invigorating mountain air. At a turn into a little recessed vale under the crag stood a vine-clad cabin much better in appearance than any I had seen since crossing over to the Tennessee side of the mountain. About it was a thrifty little mountain farm, and on the wood pile in front sat a solemn specimen of the male moun- ' taineer. “Good morning,” I said to this, “can you tell me where William Skaggs jiveh?” “What do you want uv him, stranger?” he replied. There was no use of contending a point on the ground that It was none of his business what I wanted with Mr. Skaggs, because I was sure to gain nothing by it, so I submitted. “I understand he has some walnut trees for sale,” I said. “He haln’t got any now.” “How do you know?” I asked In same surprise, for the usual mountaineer was not so communicative. ‘Caze I'm William Skaggs, an’ I reckon I-ought to know what Bill’s got." “Oh, I beg your pardon,” I hastened to explain. “Of course, I did not know who you were. They told me at Gray’s Mill last night that you had a lot of walnut." “Well, they wuz about half right, stranger, but since day before ylstiddy things has changed. The Skaggs has had a scrimmage with the Hankins, and there’s .likely to be war fer the next six months or a year. Thar’s about forty-six men on our side to about fifty on t’other side. But they air pore white trash livin’ in hog pens, kinder, while we has places like this,” sweeping his hand toward his house and farm, “and we air proud uv ourselves and ain’t goin’ to git below the level that we air useter. That’s why thar ain’t no walnut trees fer sale. Every one uv them Hankins that we air goin’ to do away with is goin’ to his last rest In a yaller poplar box, but when a Skaggs has a funeral you’ll see him goin’ down to his last restin' place In a walnut coffin. That’s what, and them trees uv mine’ll furnish the timber. That’s why they ain’t fer sale, mister, jlst at present.”—Washington Star.