“Traipsing about a Cemetery” (Openings Exercise)

Pete was nervous. Why shouldn’t he be? This was the first time he’d done anything like this, and already he was beginning to regret it. It was Bill’s idea -thanks a lot Bill- to go hunting around a graveyard in the afternoon, in the blazing sun!
What was he thinking?!

Old Mac ‘what’s-his-face’ guarded that cemetery. There was no church near by, just a crumbling, dusty gathering of stones with undefinable names scribbled on them. In the middle of no where, it was difficult to locate such a place, but Pete had stumbled upon it and now Bill wanted to go dance of the graves of the deceased, looking for treasure.
This whole plan was absurd! It got Pete all worked up and sweaty. But what he was really afraid of was, in fact, McGregor -yes that was his name- McGregor. Everyone in town feared him, and there were rumors that if he caught you traipsing around his family graveyard he’d shoot you dead as a
mongoose.

Yes, dead as a mongoose! Pete and his dad used to camp out down by the river and there were dozens of those red-eyed devils peaking their noses out of holes and whisking up to sniff at whatever might be cooking on the grill. Then Pete and his dad would have to chase them away before they got at the Saturday morning Breakfast Bacon and Eggs. Sometimes, on these occasions, Pete would wish he had a gun, to fire into the air and chase the little blighters away.
He was sure Mr. McGregor had a gun. A long one that would put a hole in him before he had a chance to explain why he was fooling about in the old man’s cemetery.

He didn’t know much about Mr. McGregor. Only that all his family was under the dirt, and that he lived alone on a diet of who-knows-what. Mongoose perhaps?
There was the odd story or two about Mr. McGregor; about how he fought in the Boer War, and then got his good arm blown off by a stray cannon ball. About how he went mad after that and lived in mud holes like a warthog. But he could still shoot, even with only one arm. They called him “Firearm McGregor”. And it was this fire arm that poor Pete was afraid of.

But if only he knew the true story of the “Firearm”. The story in which he’d sailed all the way down from Europe to start a new life in Southern Africa. The story about how he had in fact fought in the Boer War, but had married before that and had children. How the children had gotten feverishly ill and died so young. Mr McGregor had braved on through that difficult time, supporting his heart-broken wife, and ploughing the fields of his land. Then going out to fight and losing his arm to the cannon ball, only to come home to find his wife dead; taken by the very same sickness that had stolen his children. Also his land was destroyed because of the war.
The hero of that tragic story -if we could call him a hero- was the very same man who sat watching Bill and and Pete through the tall grasses that surrounded his family graveyard. The graveyard through which the boys were trespassing. Mr. McGregor had his gun ready. It was resting on his knee.