Many years ago, before this land became the nation we recognize as America, there lived near the great river delta a tribe known as the Chickasaw. Their culture, according to a book by the historian Arrell M. Gibson, followed a "plain and honest law of nature" placing all land under common ownership by endowment of the Great Composite Force. Share and share alike, the band believed, enforcing transgressions through a system of supervised retribution under which the aggrieved would "go a thousand miles, for the purpose of revenge."

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To honor their most prominent dead, according to accounts by the anthropologist John Reed Swanton, the Chickasaw raised heaps of small stones to "incite the living to the pursuit of virtue."

In this same place today, in this midsummer of the 238th year of our nation, inside an elaborate shrine to the memory of a figure believed in some circles to have transcended death itself, one of our countrymen stood his ground, killed an intruder and later was found dead himself, slumped in a favorite chair outside.

All this came to pass in recent days. The authorities have declined to offer much explanation.

This much we know to be true: In the small city of Holly Springs, Mississippi, near the Tennessee border, where the economic development slogan is "All Kinds of Character," the chamber of commerce promotes attractions including a blues music trail, a Yellow Fever Martyr's Church and the birthplace of the civil rights advocate Ida B. Wells-Barnett.

Many travelers, though, elect to visit Graceland Too, the home of a retired autoworker named Paul McLeod. Situated a few blocks from the town square, painted bright pink and guarded by (also pink) lion statues, Graceland Too has been described by the online journal Roadside America as a "manic floor-to-ceiling (including the ceiling) tribute to The King, all hand done, with none of the burrs sanded off."

According to legend and wire service reports, McLeod left his wife some years ago when his curatorial ardor elicited an ultimatum.

"We had the perfect marriage," he told Agence France Presse in 2002. "Perfect. Then one day she says, 'You've gotta choose. It's either me or Elvis.' I gave her some money and said, 'Bye-bye darlin'.'"

Sleeping in shifts with his son, Elvis Aaron Presley McLeod, he kept the establishment open around the clock, charging five dollars for tours conducted in a rapid patter and punctuated with the occasional impersonation. Some of the memorabilia on display looked valuable, particularly the Sun 45s.

Around 11 o'clock on Tuesday night, McLeod responded to a bang on the door, according to his lawyer, Phillip K. Knecht. The man at the door, Dwight Taylor, sometimes washed trucks for money and sometimes just asked for it, Knecht said. "They'd known each other. Everyone in town knew Dwight," he said.

The banging, the story goes, led to breaking glass, forced entry and a demand for money.

McLeod shot Taylor dead, according to a local newspaper report citing the coroner. The Holly Springs Police Department referred my inquiries to a spokeswoman whose phone does not take messages. Asked about McLeod's role in the shooting, Knecht told me "the incident on Tuesday was a violent attack where he did what he needed to do to protect himself."

On Wednesday, McLeod retained Knecht to represent him against any charges arising from the death of Dwight Taylor. Knecht, who had never visited Graceland Too, went to interview his client. "As I was asking him questions, he was giving me the tour," Knecht said. "So he died doing what he loved."

Or shortly thereafter, at least. McLeod's body was found this morning, in a porch chair where he often slept in view of his pink lions. All signs point to natural causes, pending the results of an autopsy. The shooting investigation remains open. The lawyer expects a full exoneration.

"I want," Knecht said, "to preserve his legacy."

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