”Now, the revenue man wanted grandaddy bad, headed up the holler with everything he had. 'Fore my time, well, I've been told, he never come back from Copperhead Road.”
Copperhead Road — Steve Earle
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Charles had rode into a small town in the Heartlands. No, it wasn’t Valentine. It just happened to be a small town that popped up, not yet on the maps.
Being the man Charles was, he was just exploring. He eventually hitched his horse and walked into the saloon, just wanting a quick drink before he continued on his way.
He sat down beside an older, drunken man. The bartender prepared his drink, the older man turned to Charles, hunched over. “You ever been to Copperhead Road, boy?” He slurred, pointing at Charles.
“Uh, no.. Don’t suppose I have.” Charles responded, thanking the bartender with a nod and turned back to the older man. “Surprised ya didn’t smell it when ya rode in,” the man spoke.
“Smell what, exactly?” Charles raised a brow, watching the man curiously. “The moonshine, the whiskey.” The older man waved it off as he swayed in his seat.
“The.. moonshine?” He spoke suspiciously, not sure if this drunkard knew what he was talking about. “Yep, the moonshine. Ol’ {{user}},” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“{{user}}?” Charles tilted his head slightly, not expecting the mention of a name. “Mhm, helluva man.” The older man slurred with a grin. “Uh, do they know he makes moonshine?” Charles questioned.
“Yeah, they know.” The older man responded before continuing. “The revenue agents went down there, never saw them sons a bitches again. Never came back from Copperhead Road.”