Champion of Sourwood Mountain

Champion Of Sourwood Mountain by BILLY C. CLARK When I get to thinking how greediness got hold of me I want to crawl off in a hole somewhere and die. I mean you got no way of knowing how all-fired powerful greediness can be unless you been cleaned out once yourself. And then life ain't worth living. There I was in high clover. I mean I had it all—two dollars—and plans for spending it that took a backseat to nothing. I mean you took a look at Tallie Marcum down at revival last Sunday and seen her pop me with the big-eye about the center of "Canaan Land" and, well, shucks almighty you know you can't go gambling with something like that. You know right off that them kind of lookers don't have to go around picking up strays. Well, she big-eyed me on Sunday and I started cutting at a cord of wood for Sam Bascum on Monday. Sam runs the feed store down at the mouth of Bear Creek and sells everything from aspirins to horse collars. He'd pay on Saturday and I'd be back down there on Sunday at revival with some green to back me up. I mean I had plans to ask Tallie Marcum if she'd maybe like to take in a movie on Monday night. Try to get acquainted ahead of the other boys since Tallie had just moved in down where Tom Ramey used to live about two weeks ago. She was new here. But from her house it couldn't of been no more than a three mile walking distance to the movie house. And I figured if she'd be willing to walk we could get by on a dollar including a little popcorn during the main feature. You know, do it up right, be down there first class. Then, you see, I'd take this big green I'd be saving back and if me and Tallie shucked up all right I'd have something to make another turn with. Not like blowing it all in one shot and having nothing left to reload with. I got the cord of wood finished for Sam around five o'clock on Saturday which didn't leave me too much time being that I wanted to make a sashshay around Tallie Marcum's house to see if any of the fellows were hanging around down there. So I hurried into the feed store and said: "AU done there Sam." He counted out the two dollars and I turned to go out the door. That's when I saw Eb Sarce sitting over in one corner on a feed sack forking his finger for me to come closer. Well, Eb is one of them fellows you don't know too much about except that he Uves close by. For Eb it was a small shack stuck on the side of a hill up a spur hoUow off Bear Creek called Roe Branch. You seen him now and then grubbing along the hills for other people—sawbriars , scrub timber, and blackberry vines— him looking old and weathered under a hot sun but not supposed to tire from it. For you never expected to see a man Uke Eb doing anything else. Just Uke he was part of the land and meant to do just that. And then you could, and expected, to see him on the road any Saturday going to, or coming from, the feed store with a brown coffee sack slung over his shoulder to carry a week's grub in. Fact is, I couldn't picture 35 him without his old broad-rimmed hat on his head to ward off the sun and a sack over his back for a week's grub. The rest of him was sorta quiet and mysterious as a shadow. I scooted a little closer to Eb but still kept my sights on the door knowing that time was running out and if the boys were hanging around down there at Tallie's house they'd be able to hide in the bushes on me after...