WHEN HE GOT TO THE HEAD OF the hollow he rested, watching behind him the while. The tracks he followed had water standing in them and they went up the mountain but they did not come back down. He lost them later and found some different ones and he spent the afternoon in the woods stalking about like any hunter but when he returned to the cave just short of nightfall with his feet numb in the leaky shoes he had not found any of the whiskey and he had not seen Kirby.

He ran into Greer the next morning. It had begun to rain, a small cold winter rain that Ballard cursed. He lowered his head and tucked the rifle under his arm and stepped to one side to pass but the other would not have it so.

Howdy, he said.

Howdy, said Ballard.

You’re Ballard ain’t ye?

Ballard did not raise his head. He was watching the man’s shoes there in the wet leaves of the overgrown logging road. He said: No, I ain’t him, and went on.

LORD THEY CAUGHT ME, LESTER, said Kirby.

Caught ye?

I’m on three year probation.

Ballard stared around the little room with its linoleum floor and cheap furniture. Well kiss my ass, he said.

Ain’t it a bitch? I never thought about them bein niggers.

Niggers?

They sent niggers. That’s who I sold to. Sold to em three times. One of em set right there in that chair and drunk a pint. Drunk it and got up and walked out and got in the car. I don’t see how he done it. He might of drove for all I know. They caught everbody. Got old lady Bright up in Cocke County even and she’s been sellin whiskey non stop since fore I was born.

Ballard leaned and spat into a can sitting in the floor. Well fuck it, he said.

I sure would of never thought about them sendin niggers, said Kirby.