He sat behind the table, all his guns laid in a row. I’d spotted him, across the room, at our yearly town gun show.
His dark black beard and solid frame were daunting at first sight. Then I noticed his old shotgun. Looked to brighten up my night.
The grizzled man stared at me, then he handed me the gun. He said, “She’s sure a beauty. Take a closer look for fun.”
A Remington 870 with shorter barrel to boot. Had the butt snugged to my shoulder when I asked, “How does it shoot?”
He offered me a smile, and then he pinched another chew. He said, “There ain’t none better. This old gun is meant for you”
I slightly uttered, “What’s the price?” He asked a worthy fare. But my wallet fell a little short. I’d spent the cash elsewhere.
I feared someone would snatch the shotgun if I stepped away. So, I asked how much he’d need to hold while getting cash to pay.
He reached, then opened up a hand. His grip as hard as lead. “A handshake’s all I need today.” And he meant just what he said.
His eyes dang near looked through me. A keen but gentle look. Pure honesty conveyed to me. And a handshake’s all it took.
I found the nearest ATM and pulled out all my cash. I hurried back so doggone fast! A record ten-yard dash!
His shotgun now belonged to me. The gunsmith held his word. Another handshake clinched the deal. A marvel had occurred.
‘Cuz I’d found someone who wasn’t always out for number one. His handshake was his moral creed. An act that’s all but done.
Now, when I shake another’s hand. Dang sure he’ll get my eye. And if he’s thinking talk is cheap. My handshake’s not lie.