There used to be an old man who lived about a mile and a half from me, a very small acreage farmer, who had a little country store. Not much in it, really understocked, but he did keep cold drinks and a few snacks. The most notable thing he had in there was a machine gun on a tripod, sitting on a counter and pointed at the front door. I have no idea what happened to that thing, as he was not exactly a "friend of the family". As my Grandaddy told it to me, when he bought the farm and house I live in/on, in 1919, this fellow was living in this house, as sort of a self appointed caretaker. When he got word that Grandaddy had bought the place he sent word to him that if he set foot on the place he would "leave him in his tracks". Grandaddy took a horse and buggy to the county seat, Waynesboro, to see the sheriff about it and told him the deal. Sheriff handed my grandaddy his personal sidearm and said to him "You can handle it, can't you?". Grandaddy took his pistol and went on to Augusta and bought another revolver, a Colt. When he got back to this farm that he had bought he approached the man, who was in the mule lot. According to Grandaddy, he told the man "I got the message you sent me. I bought this place, and me and my wife are going to move into this house and farm here. I aim to settle this, this day. If you want to "shoot it out", I brought two pistols. If you want to "cut it out", I brought two knives. If you want to settle it with our fists, well, that's the other option, but we're gonna settle it now. Fellow said, "Fists", to which Grandaddy replied "In the middle of the public road", and started towards the dirt road in front of the house. They got about halfway and the squatter said "No, you bought it ...........I guess I'll move".
That guy's granddaughter lives in the house he died in, close to me, and is a flaming liberal. Hates Trump. The apple usually doesn't fall far from the tree.
SRH
