When I was a big kid, I don’t know how old I was, but big enough to make a hand. (In those days kids started working at about eight years old.) Mama and I lived on a ranch by ourselves for a while. We didn’t have electricity but the house had lots of windows to catch any breeze that came by in the summer. They were always open, we never locked the doors because in those days we didn’t need to.

One really dark night, we came home late. I went in the front door to go light a kerosene lamp and mama went around to the back door for some reason. I didn’t know earlier in the day that mama had hung some britches over a door to finish drying. And just so as I got even with the door, a big gust of wind blew the pants off the door and onto me. I hollered for mama to run because I thought there was somebody in our house!

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Who knew a pair of britches could cause that much commotion. If there had been one after all, there wouldn’t be enough of him left to bury after mama and I worked him over with the axe and butcher knife.