He had hoisted the jug to pour, but now a startled look ran across his face and he looked sharply at me. "Say, you ain't a revenooer, are you?"

"No," I said, "I'm not a revenuer." He resumed the pouring operation. "You never can be sure," he said. "They come pussyfooting around and there ain't no way to know them. Used to be a man could spot them a country mile, but now they're getting tricky. They fix themselves up to look like almost anybody."

He shoved one of the glasses across the table at me. "Mr. Smith," he said, "I am downright sorry about not being able to oblige you. Not right away, at least. Not tonight, not with this storm coming up. Come morning, I'll be purely tickled to hitch up a horse and drag your car out of there."

"But the car is across the road. It is blocking traffic." "Mister," said the woman standing at the stove, "that needn't bother you. That road don't go nowhere. Just up the hill a piece to an old abandoned house and then it peters out."

"They do say," said the man, "that the house is haunted."

"Perhaps you have a phone. I could call…" "We ain't got a phone," the woman said. "What a man wants with a phone," said the man, "is more than I can cipher. Jingling all the time. People calling up just to jaw at you. Never gives a person a purely peaceful moment."

"Phones cost money," said the woman. "I suppose I could walk down the road," I said. "There was a farm down there. They might be able…"

The man wagged his head. "Go ahead and grab that glass," he said, "and put a snort inside you. Worth your life to go walking down that road. I ain't one to say much against a neighbor, but no one should be allowed to keep a pack of vicious dogs. They guard the place, of course, and they keep the varmints off, but a man's life ain't worth a hoot should he stumble on them in the dark."

I picked up the glass and sampled the liquor and it was pretty bad. But it did light a little fire down inside of me.