As night fell for the first time in this new town, the group gathered in the general store to prepare a meal. Tim asked Bob about something that he had been wondering about.

"Tell me something, Bob. When the government made it illegal to own guns, I know they sent out people to collect the ones that weren't turned in. And don't get me wrong, I glad you didn't, but how did you keep them without anyone knowing about it?"

"In a word, misdirection. Like the magician that gets you to watch the right hand, while he's pulling the trick with his left. In this case, I did turn in my weapons. Well, at least the ones they knew about."

"They must have known about all of them, didn't they? I mean they were registered and everything."

"Not exactly. You see it was a common misconception that all firearms had to be registered. That was what the government wanted everyone to believe, so they fostered that idea. The truth was that in most of the country private sales of weapons weren't required to be registered. So I didn't. The only weapons that went on the roles were those bought from dealers. Knowing that the time was coming when they would come after the weapons, I bought a few that were registered. When the time came, I dutifully went down to the police station and turned them over."

"Didn't they check you out to make sure you didn't have any more?"

"Yes, they did. But by the time they got to me, there weren't any in the house. I had hidden them nearby."

"Let me guess. You buried them?"

"Some of them, but not all."

"Weren't you afraid they'd find them?"

"Not really. Where they were hidden wasn't on my property, so they could have belonged to anyone. And as they used to teach us in the infantry 'know thy enemy'. If you know what he is likely to do, you can take counter measures. The weapons I buried, I put down far enough that a metal detector wouldn't find them. The others were hidden in places where there was too much metal for there to be any hope of them being noticed."

"Where was that?"

"A junkyard."

Kathy looked at Bob. "You know Bob. When we fist met, I just thought you were a 'good old boy' redneck."

"I am. I like hunting, fishing, camping, old pick up trucks and all the rest of it. Even hound dogs named 'Blue'."

"Bob, you are much more than that. What is your I.Q.?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never taken an I.Q. test."

"I know they gave you one when you joined the Army. Everyone takes it."

"So, is that what that was?"

"Bob, you're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Playing dumb. I know you are more intelligent than that. What was your score?"

"Oh yes, I remember that test. Highest possible score was 140. Minimum to be allowed into the service was 80. To be an officer was at least 115."

"And your score?"

"Well I wasn't an officer, just a grunt."

"BOB! Stop being evasive."

A brief smile crossed his face. Bob looked down and half mumbled. "127."


BW, Vietnam Vet