Free Long Holler Road - A Dark Southern Thriller by David Lee Malone

when he was drinking, but occasionally got adventurous and would take off in his old log truck. They had both pulled him over a couple of times and taken him home. They never put him in jail because they felt sorry for his wife and boys. He had never hurt anyone and his old log truck wouldn’t go fast enough to pose much of a danger to other cars. Hugh barely crept along when he was sober and drove even slower when he was full of liquor.
      The two deputies turned their car down the dirt road beside Hugh’s house. There were a few other people who lived on the road and the squad cars had been down the road several times, so the men didn’t think anyone would think anything of it. They pulled their car into a little side road that led into one of the neighbor’s pastures and got out. There wasn’t a house in sight where they had parked and hoped no one would notice. They were wrong. As soon as they had gotten out of the car and were about to cross the pasture fence, two pick-up trucks pulled up. Both were farmers who lived nearby and one had his wife with him.
      “What seems to be the trouble, boys?” J.F. Baxter asked in an excited tone.
      Yates answered, “Nuthin’ to worry about. We’re just stoppin’ to stretch our legs a little.” The two deputies could tell J.F. wasn’t buying it, though. Mack Simpson, the other farmer, got out of his truck and walked over to where J.F. was sitting in his truck, his wife at his heels.
      “Reckon what’s a-goin’ on, J.F?” Mack asked.
      “They said it wasn’t nuthin’. Said they was stretchin’ their legs. Sure picked a fine place to do that.”
      Deputy Goodman wanted to be nice, but he didn’t want the whole neighborhood knowing what they were doing, either. “You men need to move along now. We are here on business for the sheriff.”
      “Thought you was just stretchin’ your legs,” Mack retorted, spitting a stream of snuff on the ground.
      “We are,” Goodman said. “We’re gonna walk across this pasture here and give them a good stretchin’. We don’t need any help doin’ it either, so just go on about your business.”
      Mack walked back to his truck, his wife following him like a little puppy. J.F. told the deputies if they needed any help to just blow their horn or shoot their pistols in the air and he and Mack would be there in a minute. Goodman told him he would do just that. That seemed to satisfy him and Mack and they drove away slowly, looking back the whole time.
      The deputies crossed the pasture and entered onto the back corner of Hugh William’s forty acres. Hugh’s pasture was all grown up from years of neglect. The only exception was the few places his two milk cows had grazed it down. There were also a few of Hugh’s hogs that had rooted out from under their pen running around. Yates kept a close eye on the old sows. They were known to bite once in a while. They finally made their way down to where Hugh’s pasture joined Jack Bynum’s property, Big Wills Creek being the dividing line. From there they walked along the creek bank to where an old road ran from Hugh’s house down to the creek. If there was a still it would most likely be near the creek, close to the water source.
      They decided to walk up the road a ways before exploring the creek to see if there were any fresh tire tracks. When they had gone maybe fifty yards, Yates spotted two barrels that looked out of place. The lids were sealed tight and someone had used a lot of tape doing it.
      “Do you think there’s ‘shine in them barrels?” Yates asked Goodman.
      “Ain’t but one way to find out,” he answered, pulling out his pocket knife.
      “We need a warrant, don’t we?”
      “Do you wanna walk all the way back to the car, as hot as it is, drive to the courthouse to get a warrant, and have to walk all the way back out here?”
      “I guess not. But what if it’s not ‘shine and we ruin somethin’ that belongs to Hugh?”