"Yes; right smart chance of funerals.  But they don't always kill.  Pa's got a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh much, anyway.  Bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom's been hurt once or twice."

"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?"

"Yes; we got one and they got one.  'Bout three months ago my cousin Bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side of the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping off and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so they had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up and shot him down.  But he didn't git much chance to enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid _him_ out."

"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck."

"I reckon he _warn't_ a coward.  Not by a blame' sight.  There ain't a coward amongst them Shepherdsons—not a one.  And there ain't no cowards amongst the Grangerfords either.  Why, that old man kep' up his end in a fight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and come out winner.  They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got behind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop the bullets; but the Grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around the old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them.  Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the Grangerfords had to be _fetched_ home—and one of 'em was dead, and another died the next day.  No, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards he don't want to fool away any time amongst them Shepherdsons, becuz they don't breed any of that _kind_."

Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybody a-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept them between their knees or stood them handy against the wall.  The Shepherdsons done the same.  It was pretty ornery preaching—all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and preforeordestination, and I don't know what all, that it did seem to me to be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.