The Davids

I saw David S. in church tonight, at Dorothy's Memorial Mass.  This is what I remember about him:   we lived for a while as tenants in his parents' house, near the reservoir. He was the youngest of three brothers as I recall, the elder two grown up, and though he must have been several years older, he used to play with my brother after his farm chores were done.  There was another boy who lived in an old brown house across the road a short distance away, David Owens I think was his name, and he would sometimes join the games played, which were always either Cops and Robbers or Cowboys and Indians.  Dorothy was too young to play outside, but I was old enough to at least observe the games.  One time I walked into the woodshed and saw one of the Davids holding my brother at gunpoint (or by a stick shaped like a gun), so I had to  help him.  I picked up a piece of wood and hit the David with it, trying for his head.  The David never turned around when I entered the shed, and when struck immediately fell to the ground.  I was little enough to have thought I knocked him out and saved my brother, too young to realize it was all part of the game. 
     Another day one of the boys brought his BB gun when he came to play, or hang out, as they say now. They seemed to me to be big boys, and I was not much interested in their doings until one boy, most likely on a bet, put the gun against another boy's leg and pulled the trigger.  BB's were not supposed to hurt; they were not considered real guns.  The shot victim David immediately let out a yell, and burst into tears, loud enough that my mother came outside to see what was wrong.  She ended up prying the BB out of the leg with a large sewing needle.  Most likely she doused it with Mercurochrome or Iodine, depending on his tolerance for pain.  Most likely of all is that no one ever told any of the parents; in those days that would have meant a major hurt for everybody involved.