Gun slingers

In 1777 the community of Logan's Fort( now Stanford) was beseiged by a large mob of howling Indians and British sympathizers. The seige lasted nearly a month, and is today considered a battle of the American Revolution. Two men were killed,and one of the bodies was recently excavated by an archaeological excavation.Today, over 200 years later there are no doubt many more guns in Kentucky than in pioneer days. Thanks to Rep. Robert Damron(ironically a Lincoln County native ) we are allowed to obtain a concealed carry permit and pack weapons of deadly force to your hearts content. Liberals decried the bill and said it would herald in a blood-bath on the streets of Kentucky. Needless to say this hasn't happened. My theory is that everyone who got their permit were already packing concealed, and this only made them legal. I myself have been a proud holder of my permit since day one, and I haven't even thought about looking for my gun. My brother on the other hand carries a small handgun everywhere he goes. Since we work together and travel often together I am under his shield of shelter.I'm somewhat worried about his choice of weapons as a derringer doesn't comfort me much. My weapon of choice is a Ruger Super Blackhawk 44 magnum, the same caliber that Dirty Harry said would "blow your head clean off". The only problem is that this pistol is as big as a violin and doesn't conceal very well. I guess there could be some initial benefits gained by just jambing the barrel down the front of your trousers, but that could be dangerous as well as false advertising. Sometimes I carry a small snubnose 38 in my coat pocket, as well as my cell phone. Since most of our work involves banks and banking interiors we are often behind the tellers counters as much as the tellers. I live in fear that my phone rings, and I reach in my pocket and pull up a Chrome plated six shooter to my ear. If that doesn't bring the police nothing will.One evening my wife andI and our in-laws went to a little restaurant in the little community of New Salem.Being a rustic little place, the floors were concrete, and as we were leaving my father -in-law knocked over a tall wooden chair, which fell against the hard floor with a resounding crack much like a 22 pistol shot. Immediately most of the fine patrons in the restaurant went for the pieces they were packing. Men went to shoulderholsters,ankle holsters, or their pockets. Women went for their purses . A few even ran out the back door.Me, I just held up my hands and said"Sorry!"Calmer heads prevailed and the crises was over . Adam (father-in-law) never realized the imminent danger and we went home, secure that the world was as it should be.