The sheriff knows there’s a liquor still on that farm because he knows people who’ve bought moonshine from there. For years it’s been a game of hide-and-seek between the farmer and the sheriff until one night a deputy tells the sheriff a prisoner has some information.

The sheriff has the prisoner, known as "Pint," brought to his office. Pint is the county drunk but this kind of guy — a snitch — will provide information to law enforcement in exchange for small favors.

"I hear you got some information for me, boy," the sheriff says.

"Yessir," whimpers Pint. "I know you been looking for Judge Wendell’s liquor still. I know where it’s at."

The sheriff sits upright. "You talking about a liquor still on his farm?"

"That’s right, sheriff, it’s right there in plain sight, but nobody knows about it," answers Pint. "Will you turn me loose if I tell you where it’s at?"

"If it’s there I’ll turn you loose," says the sheriff.

It’s nearly sunset when the sheriff and two deputies ride out to Judge Wendell’s farm. They drive around the house and stop just short of the Judge’s hog pen.

Judge Wendell comes running off his back porch with a shotgun. "What you doing on my property without no warrant?" the judge yells at the sheriff.

The sheriff ignores the judge as he hauls an ax out of the trunk of his patrol car. The sheriff climbs over the fence into the hog pen and walks to the far corner where there’s a liquor still concealed by hay and split logs.

"I’m arresting you for operating an illegal still!" the sheriff declares.

"You can’t arrest me — I’m a judge," the county magistrate yells back.

"I don’t care if you’re the dad gum President of the United States — you are under arrest!" bellows the sheriff.

Deputies destroy the still and the judge is handcuffed and taken to the county jail.

The next morning Judge Wendell is released under his own recognizance by a magistrate from a neighboring county. Now, almost thirty years later, the case has never been scheduled for trial. Neighbors say the judge’s hogs actually cried over the loss of all that sour mash.