Cricket carries a gun, precisely for occasions like this, when he's alone. He's never used it. Never even drawn it, but the Bondurants insist, and he does know what to do with a pistol if it's needed. When he hears footsteps in the shelter, he remembers it exists, but it stays where it is, tucked into his pocket, because he promised not to hurt the person unless they attacked him.

When the child emerges, he's immensely glad he took the high road. He's standing straight and tense and ready for trouble, but his expression and body language collapse at once into something more fretful and tender than defensive. "Jeezus, kid. Are you lost?? Hell of a place to rest for the night."

A meaner moonshiner could've shot first and asked later. Cricket takes a few seconds to consider the possibility the boy isn't alone, but dismisses it quickly. It's too quiet for anyone else to be inside, and there are no signs of other strangers.

He smiles a little, gently, and crouches slightly to be closer to his level. "You're a'ight. You ain't supposed to be here but I ain't mad as long as you promise to keep it secret. Can you do that?"