Out of the Frying Pan

Working on Uncle Clayt's Farm

So now you know about one of the codes of the hills: Never keep a man’s daughter out all night. Back then, such an act brought shame to the family and was certain to make the girl’s father mad enough to kill, and with my Uncle Clayt, it did just that.

My brothers and I would go and work on his farm from time to time; we even got paid. But the first thing we learned was that Uncle Clayt had rules. These rules were simple and enforced. You’re not allowed to speak at the table unless it was to ask someone to pass a plate. If you said grace, you kept it to yourself. No elbows on the table.

Here is the one I know the wimmins are going to like: After everyone is finished eating, the men can go to the parlor to talk and the women have to stay in the kitchen. Even his nieces (my Aunt Lottie and my mother) would do just that. Also, kids were only allowed to speak when spoken to. Now you know some of the rules.

We were working there, my brother and I. It was lunchtime, and we had been working out in the field and in the barn since five in the morning. My Aunt Lottie had a feast of a lunch prepared and we had just started to eat, when all of a sudden we heard a bull holler. Now bulls don’t make much noise unless it’s something serious like a rattlesnake or another bull wanting to fight for its claim to the herd. My Uncle Clayt’s head raised up and the bull hollered again.

He got up from the table and out the back door he went. In a moment, he came back inside, cussing and mad. My brother and I looked at one another but not at him – we both knew it was best not to make eye contact with our uncle right then. He left the kitchen and came back with a rifle. My aunt asked, “What’s going on?”

“Look and see,” he said, and back out the door he went.

My aunt was very short and couldn’t see out the east window. My brother and I rose up from the table to look. We didn’t see anything for a moment, but then something caught our attention just as we heard a gun roar from the back. We couldn’t believe our eyes and both of us sat back down. My aunt kept saying, “What? What?” So we told her.

We’d seen that there were two boys on the fence down aways in the pasture and as we’d watched, Uncle Clayt had shot them off the fence.

Uncle Clayt came back in and sat his rifle down. My brothers and I stared down at our plates, again avoiding eye contact.

My aunt asked him, “What did you do, Uncle Clayton?”

Uncle Clayt sat back down in his seat and picked up his fork. “There were two boys down in the pasture with BB guns, shootin’ my bull, so I shot ‘em.”

“Did you kill them?” It was clear that my aunt would not have been surprised if he had.

“Nope,” he answered, “I shot ‘em full of rock salt. Right about now they probably wished I had.” Uncle Clayt added a few choice words as he stabbed his fork into the meat on his plate. “Now let me finish my lunch before the Sheriff gets here.”

So there we sat, still eating. I glanced up to look at his rifle and it was his black powder rifle. Just like he said, as soon as he got done eating, he went out on the front porch and sat down to wait for the Sheriff. We went into the front room to watch.

It was a while, but sure enough, the Sheriff’s car and another cruiser drove up. The Sheriff got out of his car and waved back at the other one, then turned and hollered up at the porch, “You don’t have a gun, do ya Clayton?”

Clayton hollered back, “No sir, I don’t. Not with me, anyways.”

The Sheriff walked up to the porch and took his hat off. To our surprise, he said, “Clayton, what do you think you’re doing shooting two boys like that?”

“They were shootin’ my bull.”

“What?” asked the Sheriff. “I didn’t know anything about that.”

“Well, their guns are still laying down there in the pasture.”

“But Clayton, you should have called us first,” the Sheriff said.

“Yeah, and by the time you would have got here, my bull would have been a heifer, ‘cause that’s where they were shooting him at. And you know I have ‘No Trespassing’ signs up that say ‘Trespassers will be shot on sight.’”

“Now, Clayton,” the Sheriff said, “don’t get all riled up,” and he waved for the deputies to come over.

“Go down in the pasture and find those boys’ guns,” he ordered.

Clayton spoke up, “Watch the bull, he’s probably still pretty mad.”

The Sheriff turned back to Uncle Clayt. “I’ll tell the parents what the boys were up to and that you do have signs posted and such.”

“They better hope my bull can still breed and if I catch those kids here again, it won’t be rock salt next time.”

The Sheriff shook his head. “Clayton, if there ever is a next time, call us first.”

The Sheriff put his hat back on. The deputies came back with the kids’ guns. They all got into their cruisers and left.

We went back to work like nothing had ever happened.