i tried to run over MD with my Ford pickup and did a pretty good job of it. I caught him on his right hip, pelvis to be more exact and it spun him. He was trying to spin his ownself and I spun him a whole goddam more. I busted his pelvs, femur, tibia, fibia and all the bones in his foot. I knocked the wind out of him most of the way.

And yet that tweaking freak STOOD UP and pulled his .38. I knew he had that old pistol and was somewhat leery that he’d be able to make it work in my direction. His was the short barrel so I wasn’t too awful worried until we got close, but shit…we were already close. I’d wrassled my Uncle’s 30.06 from behind the seat of the truck and was fixin’ to blow MD to hell when he got off the first of some very lucky shots. Busted near ‘bout in half and completely out of his mind on the quick, he was none-the-less able to point shoot and hit me in my left thumb. And when someone shoots you from about 10 yards away with a .38 in your thumb, you don’t have a thumb no more. i immediately missed not having a thumb when I went to aim Uncle Rim’s rifle. i more or less had to handle the rifle like it was a pistol due to the extreme pain and numbness that was quickly becoming the center of my attention on my left arm/hand. As I was attempting to navigate the rifle like it was a pistol MD shot me again, from even closer, right over the top of the bed of the pickup really, kinda diagonal or so, but none-the-less, you get the picture, he shot me the second time right in my chin.

Fuck. When you get your chin shot off it hurts. You go temporarily insane. (in the case of all the people involved i should qualify insane as “more insane”. it was lively lot of rambunctious boys and girls out there in Happy Hollow that day.

After MD shot my chin off I was in the retreat mode. Retreat with me nearly always includes firing back at the people who are firing at me. And damned if I didn’t get the luckiest shot yet off. I clipped MD directly in the small part of his shoulder by his chest on his right arm. This immediately and permanently took most of the fight out of him. (Remember I said “most” of the fight out of him.) He was down now and in a position to negotiate. I was looking in the truck for the .45 caliber pistol I knew would end this fight if used properly. I found it and was clumsily trying to make sure there were enough shells in the thing with my 9 remaining digits. And the serious flow of blood pouring out of my mouth.

At the point my luck started south again in it’s ever widening spiral. MD had shot me with his left hand balanced against the rear number of the truck. He shot me pretty good that time. He was aiming for my balls I guess but he got me in the fat of my belly. That’s all. The fat. It bled like hell and traumatized me but it was not a serious injury. Neither of us knew this at the time.

I’ll tell you more about how this all turns out later. It is hard to kill a hillbilly.