She said, “Billy, I feel the same way and would like to do something to help, but I guess there’s nothing we can do.
There are people like the Pritchards all through the hills.
They live in little worlds of their own and are all alone. They don’t like to have outsiders interfere.”
I told my mother I had been thinking about how dangerous it was to carry an ax while hunting,
and I had decided I’d save a few coon hides and get a good gun.
Boy, I just shouldn’t have mentioned getting a gun. My mother got “sitting-hen” mad.
“You’re not getting a gun,” she said. “I won’t have that at all.
I told you a long time ago you could have one when you are twenty-one years old, and I mean just that.
I worry enough with you out there in the hills all hours of the night, running and jumping,
but I couldn’t stand it if I knew you had a gun with you.
No, sir. You can just forget about a gun.” “Yes, Mama,” I said, and sulked off to my room.
Lying on my bed, still trying to figure out what I could do to help, I glanced over to the wall.
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