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"Umph," snorted Esther.

"So, ah, he did let him bother him?" I asked.

"Well, the one thing that caused him even more sleepless nights than anything else was them free range chickens.  It was the Depression and all and..."

He turned toward his wife.  "That don't give nobody the right to take what ain't theirs.  I knew ever one of them free range layers and when one was taken by some passin' hobo, I got mad as a hornet."

"He knew them hens, sure enough.  As a matter of fact, he gave each and every one of them names."

"Like what?" I asked with my pen poised.

"Well, since he was a religious man, he named them names like Abigail, Abishag, Dorcas and such from the Holy Book."

"Back then, I took great pleasure in gatherin' them eggs.  I treated them free range hens with respect.  I thanked them, personal like, for each double-yolked."

"That personal relationship was why he got so violent sometimes," said Esther.

I sat up straighter.  "You, Mr. Jefferson, got violent."

"Oh, yeah, I did.  When I found one of my named layers done killed and cooked and eat, I got about riled up as a man can get."

"Riled up?" interjected Esther.  "He used to cry like a baby."

"I was real upset, don't you know.  I was miserable for days, cause I just couldn't get over it.  I wanted nothin' more than to get my hands on the murderer, not because of the value of them eggs, but because of the harm he done to them hens, my friends.  I ain't all that large a man, but I knew how to use my fists and my muscles were hard, and even if I have to say so my own self, I had a bunch of courage back then.  After one of my hens was eat up, I did stuff that for the first time riled my Momma.  She prayed to God for me to just forget about it, but I couldn't."

"His Momma told him he had enough eggs from all the other hens, and he shouldn't try to find those what did it since they could kill him or, worse, he could do something to make his life miserable.  But Mr. Jefferson didn't care about that none.  He would keep lookin' until he found the wrongdoer.  Then it came to blows, and terrible fights took place there out in the out-of-the-way meadows.  Sometimes Jeremias won, sometimes he came home broken and bleedin'."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing, I finally got the word out that them hens was mine, since I put up a hell of a fight."

"Watch your mouth, Jeremias."

"Sorry, Mrs. Jefferson."

"So you ran all the chicken thieves off?" I asked.

"Well, most of the land owners liked me being around from time to time to look after their property.  I was kinda like a unpaid game warden is what I was.  A couple of times a farmer would ask me to tell him when I noticed somethin' suspicious and me and him would go out and wait.  When we found them fellas, I would run out and be a brawlin' with 'em, then the farmer would rush in and beat them with a stick or something.  It was a thing to see.  It didn't take too many of them beatin's for the hens were left pretty much alone."

"How long did you sell eggs?"