height, was usually called "Long Tom." In his
cavernous mouth he held an immense chew of tobacco, and ever and anon
he squirted tobacco juice into the fire with a precision and force
which showed long practice.

"I wish the devil would kill the whole crew of revenue officers," said
Wiles. "Why should we be hunted like wild beasts for makin' a few
gallons of whisky? Do we not raise the corn, and have we not a right to
turn it into drink? You fellers know how hard it is to make a living on
these hills; and if we make more money by changing corn into whisky,
why should we be hindered and our lives put into danger? We have a
right to make whisky and to drink it and to sell it, and I'm goin' to
do it in spite of all the officers in Kentucky," and he brought his big
fist down with a thwack on his knee to give emphasis to his words.[1]

[1] It was impossible for this lawbreaker to foresee that in
about one hundred years the whole whisky business in its
beverage aspects would be prohibited by law in the United
States, and that the sophistry he used would be employed by
multitudes in denying the eighteenth amendment to the national
constitution.

"Now yer speaking the truth, pardner," drawled Long Tom as he ejected
from his mouth a generous quantity of tobacco juice. "My father fit in
the Revolutionary War for liberty 'way down in ole Virginy, and I'll
never submit to have my right to make home-distilled whisky taken
away."

"Always stick to that and you'uns will be a man, even if you'uns die
with yer boots on."

The speaker was Zibe Turner, a creature who would pass for a Calaban. A
monster he was except his legs, which were short and slim, giving him a
dwarfish appearance. So he was a monster dwarf, if such a term is
allowable. His head was immense in size, covered with long unkempt
hair. His shoulders, arms and trunk would become a giant. A look at his
face showed a low forehead, black, restless eyes, wide apart, flat
nose, and large mouth.

Like Calaban he could be called "hag-seed," or the son of a witch and a
devil.

His moral nature was as misshapen as his body. His mind was degraded,
yet keen in plotting mischief and violence. His affections were
debased. Prospero's description of Calaban applied to him:

"Abhorred slave which any print of goodness will not take
Being capable of all ill."

The words of Saint Paul to the sorcerer fitted him: "O full of al