Moe & Gertie: Continued Correspondence

Moe replies to Gertie's letter in the 11/30/22 PCN

Dear Gertie,

I went up the mountain yesterday to visit Granpa Mac. I parked my jalopy at the bottom of the trail and went to hoofin' up those switchback trails. His cabin is still neat as a pin.

We sat there jawin' awhile and then he started one of his recollections. I shore do like it when he gets to yarnin'. This one, he told about his moonshinin' days. This is the way he tells it:

"Jed gave me our birdcall signal when he seed them two revenuers skulking up the trail so I was ready for them. I told Gretta to make some sandwiches for I might be gone overnight. Then, I told her to act real scairt when they came to the door and point them up the trail where my still was hid. ‘Course it wasn't but I aimed to do some funning. I took my dog and up the trail I went.

“I got myself up to the point where I could lay down and watch them toilin' up the trail. I judged the time it would take to get them to where the trail curved around a steep drop-off. And when they was about there,I told Harley,“Harley,take it home."Now I had trained that dog myself and he knew when I said that he was to head on home-in a hurry. So I was layin' there and watchin' and when that big ol' Harley came gallopin around that curve where those two were standin' - gettin' their breath most likely - I knowed what was going to happen."

He was sitting there tee-heein' and had to take a pull on his corncob pipe afore he went on. I was just settin' there on pins and needles awaitin' for him to go on and after a couple of draws on his pipe, his eyes atwinklin' with the memory of it all, he swallowed air and went on:

"Well, Harley was a gallopin' right smart and he hit them head-on.They stumbled and they went over the drop-off atumblin' and arollin' to the narrow crick-bottom at that-there place.One guy's rifle got tangled up the brush about half-way down and the other one' s went flyin' elsewhere. I just lay up there and grinned.

"The sides was too steep for ‘em to climb up so I wondered whichaway they' d go. They went up and I knowed those bigsome boulders which had blocked the crick a-ways up there would be some troublesome. So I watched and they turned around and came downhill. About that time Jed, who'd been trailin' them let loose with his panther call. Now, Jed, he could imitate just about every sound heard on this here mountain-(tee-hee)-you shoulda' seen them scramble.

“When they got to where the crick branched off, they took the wrong turn. Jed' s panther called again; it was goin' on twilight and I knowed they wasn't goin' to get off the mountain this night. So I walked down the trail until I came to my hidey-hole. I took the blanket I'd brung, wrapped myself up and went to sleep.

"I was up before sunup; I heered Jed give a birdcall so I' d know where he wuz. I figured to let Jed foller them and I went on home.

"Jed hallooed the cabin the next afternoon a-grinnin' and a-laughin' and filled me in on his morning's doings. He said he let them shuffle around the crick bottom for a while, then, he accidental-like showed himself and offered to guide them out. They offered to pay him when they got back to their car. He didn't turn them down, so he took a couple of bucks off of each of them. He offered to split with me but I told him, “No,you earned it; it might be you next time needin' me.

“So, we et some of Gretta' s cornpone, and molasses cookies, fillin ourselves with coffee and smoked our pipes all the time watchin' the trail but we felt pretty sure we wouldn't be seeing those two ever again.

"Jed told me awhile later that his two boys clumb up and rescued them two rifles.Government issue, they shoulda' been purty good guns.

“Course, I don' t do stuff like that no more. I got religion and set myself on the straight and narrow but I do get to rememberin' every once in a while."

He's feeling pretty good for his years and still spry. His grandson lives with him now; he won't let Orville chaw tobacco nor use cornlikker, though his still abides to this day in that wallow he staked out for hisself. The revenuers never did find it. And just for cussedness he let it stand.

Well, that's about it for this time. Hoping to hear from you soon,

Your brother,

Moe

The author of these letters is longtime Phillips County resident Betty Munson. Munson wrote these letters while she was a resident at Havre's Eagles Manor. The characters in these letters are entirely fictional. Please enjoy!