4

Alabama "Uncle Bud" Ryland 4

and I'll feed you some canned meat and loaf bread. I have
some down there in the boat."

His lined face beamed.

"Yo're moughty thoughtful," he said at last.

After he had cooked, and we had eaten together, we
drew up willow-bottomed chairs on the porch that faced the
river. It was night now, and the darkness was like pitch.
Crickets were fiddling away in the surrounding forest, and
far away a hound dog wailed. Somewnere out in the dark
water, a fish came to the surface and rolled over with
a resounding splash.

"Sounds like a durned cow turnin' over," Uncle Bud
observed, and then he lit his stumpy pipe and tilted his
chair back against the wall. It was a never-failing
signal that he was ready now to dip his thoughts back
into the past.

I asked, "When did you stop keeping your gun in your
lap?"

He drew upon his pipe in silence for several moments,
and then he gave an indirect answer.

"I don't have t' carry hit no more, son," he said,
and then added fervently, "Thank God!"

He went on, "Fer seven years, I was never without a
gun on me. I either toted a rifle or a pistol. Fer
seven years, I never set down an' et but wnat I kept my
back to th' wall, so that I could be facin' th' door. Hit
worried me bad. Hit made me sleepless many nights; but I
don't have t' worry no more."

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