Old Adam - a Backwoods Tale

The old guy sups his whiskey. Sniffs.

"Couple years back, fellah lived up top of the mountain road. Had a cabin there. Scratched a living trapping. Came down for provisions, that's all. Kep' to hisself.

Another sup.

"Well¦ he doesn't show for a week. Then two. Folks starts wonderin'. Bunch of fellahs goes up to look. Cabin door's open. Empty, though. They search around inside, find a journal he'd been keeping. Last entry was two weeks before.

Something's up the woods. Awful sounds in the night. Going up tonight to investigate.

"They take their guns, follow the track. Two miles in, they find his boot. Nothin' else¦ 'ceptin' his foot, still inside. They do the sensible thing. Skee-daddle.

The bar-room glooms up. Clouding out there.

"Next day, a possee gets up. All the townsmen. Every one ' 'ceptin' me, who's dead drunk.

He shakes his head.

"Never see'd any of 'em again. Twenny-six men, three generations. Gone.

A sudden wind bangs the shutters.

"Just me left now. Me¦ an' thirty lonesome womenfolks.

He finishes his drink, pours another.

"Guess I oughta go up there, too.

A twist in his mouth. Spark in his eye.

"Thing is, just ain't found the time.