I haven't any ways

The men took him, his heels dug in, parting dirt. And I stood aside the way sensible people do. I'd hazard my fate if I stepped in.

The man has different ways, they say. I don't know. I don't follow the goings-on. I'm out of the way. I sit down on the porch, knees chest high, and whistle. That's what I do: whistle. I haven't any ways.

A boy came to me and said, "Sir, a storm is on its way," and I said, "Nothing to worry, son, I'm not made for storms."