The rule of command, mentioned earlier, where the oldest in the group had authority over, and the responsibility for all the younger ones, proved to be a poor ruling after kids become men. So I began to drift way from doing any and all things whatsoever Earl told me to do. After all, I was a big boy now, even big enough to drive a truck to Abilene, which was twice as far away from Hamlin as Earl drove his truck. His regular run was only to Stamford. At times I even hauled a lot more freight than Earl did. I had to deal with people he didn't even know and I had to conform to trucking methods which he had not been exposed to. Why, I saw trucks on U.S. Highway 80 headed for California with greater loads than Earl's truck and cargo combined. I saw those same trucks return with more miles added to their speedometers in one week than Earl might drive in ten weeks. I witnessed the advent of balloon tires on front wheels of large trucks and I saw them run as many miles as heavy duty, high pressure tires had been running on front wheels, and at half the cost--this before Earl realized that balloons were even being used on trucks. Conflict between Earl and me was inevitable. I realized that he was not just trying to shove me around--not trying to be bossy just to see if he could be. Rather he was trying to do what he thought was best for the company. But he didn't always know what was best for the company. Progress had gotten way out ahead of Earl and he had not realized it. What was good for Earl and the truck line to Stamford was not necessarily good for me and the truck line to Abilene. So, one day I thought it was time to disobey Earl and make some decisions of my own. I fought back. I was tired of listening to him and doing all the things his way. But he didn't think it was time for me to be weaned as yet, so he fought back also. We didn't take time to put the boxing gloves on; we just went to slugging, bare fisted. I wasn't mad at him, just tired of taking orders which didn't always fit the occasion. However, I was glad he remembered Papa's old rule of not hitting each other in the face. That could have hurt; noses bleed and teeth cost money. Our chests took a terrible beating--at least mine did. I'll admit he hurt me, and I tried to hurt him. It was not that I really wanted to hurt him, I just wanted him to get the idea that I was driving my truck and he was driving his. He was too small to drive both of them. Finally I said, "Boy, I'm tired and sore. How about you?" He said, "Naw, I'm not tired." I told him, "You sure jarred me. Did I hurt you?" Again he said, "No, I'm not hurt nor tired." Anyway, we stopped hitting each other, We rested awhile, got us a drink of water, and went on with the business of getting our trucks and cargo ready to roll. All this took place without a cross word from either of us--and without a witness. And with no witness, I can tell it like I want to; it's my word against his.