by Raymond K. Paden

The old man walked slowly through the dry, fallen leaves of autumn, his practiced eye automatically choosing the bare and stony places in the
trail for his feet. There was scarcely a sound as he passed, though his
left knee was stiff with scar tissue. He grunted occasionally as the tight
sinews pulled. Damn chainsaw, he thought.

Behind him, the boy shuffled along, trying to imitate his grandfather, but unable to mimic the silent motion that the old man had learned during
countless winter days upon this wooded mountain in pursuit of game. He's
fifteen years old, the old man thought. Plenty old enough to be learning.
But that was another time, another America. His mind drifted, and he saw
himself, a fifteen-year-old boy following in the footsteps of his own
grandfather, clutching a twelve gauge in his trembling hands as they
tracked a wounded whitetail.

The leg was hurting worse now, and he slowed his pace a bit. Plenty of time. It should have been my own son here with me now, the old man thought
sadly. But Jason had no interest, no understanding. He cared for nothing
but pounding on the keys of that damned computer terminal. He knew nothing
about the woods, or where food came from...or freedom. And that's my
fault, isn't it?

The old man stopped and held up his hand, motioning for the boy to look. In the small clearing ahead, the deer stood motionless, watching them. It
was a scraggly buck, underfed and sickly, but the boy's eyes lit up with
excitement. It had been many years since they had seen even a single
whitetail here on the mountain. After the hunting had stopped, the
population had exploded. The deer had eaten the mountain almost bare until
erosion had become a serious problem in some places. That following
winter, three starving does had wandered into the old man's yard, trying
to eat the bark off of his pecan trees, and he had wished the "animal
rights" fanatics could have been there then. It was against the law, but
old man knew a higher law, and he took an axe into the yard and killed the
starving beasts. They did not have the strength to run.

The buck finally turned and loped away, and they continued down the trail to the river. When they came to the "Big Oak," the old man turned and
pushed through the heavy brush beside the trail and the boy followed,
wordlessly. The old man knew that Thomas was curious about their leaving
the trail, but the boy had learned to move silently (well, almost) and
that meant no talking. When they came to "Coffin Rock," the old man sat
down upon it and motioned for the boy to join him.

"You see this rock, shaped like a casket?" the old man asked. "Yes sir." The old man smiled. The boy was respectful and polite. He loved the
outdoors, too. Everything a man could ask in a grandson ....or a son.

"I want you to remember this place, and what I'm about to tell you. A lot of it isn't going to make any sense to you, but it's important and one day
you'll understand it well enough. The old man paused. Now that he was
here, he didn't really know where to start.

"Before you were born," he began at last, "this country was different. I've told you about hunting, about how everybody who obeyed the law could
own guns. A man could speak out, anywhere, without worrying about whether
he'd get back home or not. School was different, too. A man could send his
kids to a church school, or a private school, or even teach them at home.
But even in the public schools, they didn't spend all their time trying to
brainwash you like they do at yours now." The old man paused, and was
silent for many minutes. The boy was still, watching a chipmunk scavenging
beside a fallen tree below them.

"Things don't ever happen all at once, boy. They just sort of sneak up on you. Sure, we knew guns were important; we just didn't think it would ever
happen in America. But we had to do something about crime, they said. It
was a crisis. Everything was a crisis! It was a drug crisis, or a
terrorism crisis, or street crime, or gang crime. Even a 'health care'
crisis was an excuse to take away a little more of our rights." The old
man turned to look at his grandson.

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