Part 13
The Final Confrontation
Sheriff Muletrain and Deputy Goofer were in their swamp buggy, searching for the Boggs kids and Buford. Already, they were venturing into the deepest part of the swamp. Goofer stood on the prow, aiming his searchlight through the gloom. "Woooody! Cindy Mae!" he hollered.
"They probly can't hear you, Goofer." said Muletrain,"but keep searching. I'm certain those kids went this way. They said the island they found those tracks on was right about here someplace."
"Hey sheriff!" yelled Goofer. "Ah see something!"
"Where?"
"Over there, by them cypresses." He shone the brilliant beam in that direction.
Sheriff Muletrain looked, and saw that, for this once at least, the deputy was right. A large net hung suspended from one of the cypresses, and he could see struggling figures within. He couldn't make them out very clearly, but there seemed to be four of them. There was an empty swamp buggy nearby, but it looked like one of the rentals from the Fenokee Recreation Department.
"Think it's them kids, sheriff? Looks like they got two other fellas with'em".
"I ain't sure, Goofer. Let's take a closer look."
"Rawt, Sheriff".
As they neared the net , they soon saw that the captives were four men. The Boggs kids were no where in sight. These people didn't even look like locals. Then the sheriff recognized one of them. It was Mr. Martin, the agent of Duchess the Wonder Dog.
"Holy crabapples!" exclaimed Goofer "Ain't thet Mr. Martin, the showman?"
"I cen see thet, Goofer. C'mon, ya lunkhead, let's get 'em down".
"We're sure glad you guys showed up." said Mr. Martin, once he and the camera men had been freed. "Some poachers snagged our boat, and captured us".
"Poachers, eh?" snorted the sheriff. "Just like ah figured".
"Yeah," said Goofer "like Cindy Mae said—"
"Never mind that, Goofer!" reprimended the sheriff, "Mr. Martin, mind telling us why yore back in Fenokee in the first place, 'an out here in this swamp?"
Mr. Martin told the story of how they had flown Duchess back to Fenokee after her New York tour was cancelled, and how they had agreed to follow the Boggs kids and Buford out here in the swamp, hoping to get some shots for their new movie.
"Holy cow! So Duchess is with Buford and the Boggs kids right now"?
"That's what we hope. We promised to keep an eye on her, but then those poachers nabbed us, and we think they might have gotten those kids as well".
"Then there's no time loose. Goofer, let's go. Mr. Martin, you and the rest of you, come with us".
A few miles distant, Woody, Cindy Mae, Buford, Duchess, and the Tarkins Brothers had landed the swamp buggy, and were heading inland through Fenokee. They had seen the direction the poachers had taken, and before long, had located the stolen conservation buggy. Buford and Duchess, had no difficulty picking up the men's trail.
They continued to follow the men's tracks deep into the swamp, when at last they heard the men's voices.
"Everyone, down!" said Cindy Mae. They all ducked behind a screen of thorny briars. And peered out. The voices grew louder. Before long, the two poachers stepped into the clearing beyond. Sure enough, it was Mitch Crathers, and Lou Danielson. They had backtracked, and apparently had not been able to bag the panther, as they had so recently boasted. Cindy Mae breathed a sigh of relief at this.
The two men came to a halt in the clearing. "Well, what do we do now, Lou?"
"Right now we wait for Mando to show up. I know he wants his payment, but we'll have to tell him we didn't get the cat".
It was just then that they heard someone else coming through the woods in their direction. The group crouching behind horn barrier almost drew a collective gasp as none other than Jenna Crowley stepped out of the bushes.
"It's Jenna!" whispered Woody. "What does she want with those guys?"
"Just keep watching Woody", smiled Cindy Mae. "Ah think we're all about to find out".
The old swamp hag paused in the middle of the clearing. "Well?" she asked. But her voice was deep, sly, oily—and though the sinister secretive tone was not lost, the voice was this time definitely that of a man—just as Cindy had expected. And they saw that s/he was carrying a rifle too.
"Well, we didn't git 'im Mando." Lou explained. "We had the varmint in our sight, but someone sabotaged our bullets."
"What?" replied Jenna/Mando "How? Never mind ---I've done my part, leading those nosey kids and their hound away. They just had to get involved, just like you said they would. But remember you promised me a third of the loot you get from that panther's hide, and I mean to collect! Here, take this rifle. Then meet me at Jenna Crowley's shed if the sheriff doesn't catch you first! Then we can make our escape. But next time, be sure you bring the cat's hide with you."
Mando took the men's rifles, and gave the poachers his. Mando had a strange accent that sounded almost foreign. Lou Tarkins gazed at the man disguised as a hag sourly. "We'll git 'im this time. Count on it."
"Make certain!" snapped Mando, before he turned and disappeared into the trees.
"Think we can pick up that panther's tracks?" said Mitch
"Shore we cen! You heard the man! C'mon!" They turned back the way they had come.
The group behind the briars remained in hushed silence for several minutes, before Cindy Mae spoke.
"Gosh sakes!" You know what this means?"
"Ah think so, Cindy Mae." Said Woody.
"We've got to find thet panther before they do!"
"We'll come with you," said Steve Tarkins.
"But what about those poachers?" asked Bill
"Ah think maybe we can lay a trap fer them scallywags". Woody said.
"Right!" said Cindy Mae. " But first, we got a special job for Buford."
"You do?" asked Buford, puzzled.
"We'll circle around them guys", explained Cindy Mae, "An see if we can't find that panther's trail first. Think you cen do thet, Buford".
"Uuuuh. Ah think ah can." mumbled the hound.
"Ooooh, sure ya can, Buford." Duchess nuzzled Buford's jowl.
"Awwwwww." said Buford. But then his canine brain snapped full alert. Here it was, the moment he had been anticipating and dreading. Following Woundfoot's trail meant that he might end up face to face with the puma once again. It wasn't likely, he reminded himself, but it was possible nonetheless. And with Duchess near him he would have to be very brave—after all, both her life and his might actually depend on it!
"Get goin' Buford." Woody said. "Sniff 'ol Woundfoot out".
Buford began sniffing. And as he had both hoped and feared, Duchess began sniffing too, right along side. The others seemed to think that was right swell, having the two of them onto the trail, but it did not relieve his initial worry any.
About a half-mile distant Woundfoot and Slyface were heading back toward the center of Fenokee, but neither one had guessed that the poachers were back onto their trail again.
"Where do we go now, my lord?" Slyface asked.
"We keep going until we reach the bayou". his lord answered. "Then we follow the water's edge back to where we can reach the bridge to the island".
Then they heard the unmistakable sounds of men back in the woods. The two poachers had found the cat's tracks again, and figured where he was headed. But this time they hurried onto his trail, and were a bit careless at first, snapping twigs and branches as they came.
"It's them men with guns!" said Slyface. "They must have figured where we were!"
"Those fools are back!" snarled Woundfoot. "Come on, let's move it!'
They made in the direction of the nearest bayou. They were headed toward a narrow triangle of land at the tip of the forested peninsula they were on, flanked on either side by wide banks.
As the trees thinned out, the poachers got a glimpse of Woundfoot as he dashed across a grassy clearing. "There 'e is!" Lou hollered.
"Shoot 'im!" yelled Mitch.
Lou aimed in the cat's direction fired. It was along way off, and the shot wasn't clear, but the shot managed to graze the puma's left shoulder. Woundfoot screamed.
"Got 'im!"
The men crashed in cat's direction certain of an easy kill.
"Lawdship!" cried Slyface, terrified of his master winding up marketable skin. "They got you! Oh, they got you!"
Woundfoot only hissed at him. Blood was streaming down his side, as ran, the 'possum scampering to keep up.
But hot onto his trail in the other direction were Buford and Duchess, followed by the twins and the Tarkins boys. Buford had struck the cat's scent a while back. It was still faint, but the scent was most definitely that the same cat which had accosted him on the fallen tree. He could barely make out the scent of 'possum as well. Woundfoot was close by. His nose began flashing loudly. "This way." he said to Duchess.
Duchess caught onto Woundfoot's scent as well. She began following it eagerly, right beside Buford. Then one of Buford's ears went up as he detected the sounds of men. He turned his nose in their direction, and again his nose flashed with a new scent. It was men, all right, and he could tell they were the two poachers. They must be closing in on the cat. Buford threw up his muzzle and howled, hoping to warn Mith and Lou.
In a nearby grove of trees, Mitch and Lou stopped. "A bloodhound!" exclaimed Mitch. "Someone's onto us!"
"You fool! We ain't turning back now! We're bagging that feline!"
"It could be them kids 'an their dog! Ah told you they'd escape!"
"So we'll go a little slower. But thet panther can't go far now! Ah got 'im good, 'an I ain't lettin' 'im go!"
Buford and Duchess continued in the cat's direction. At last, Buford happened onto the puma's fresh tracks. From the scent, he'd been through here not more then five minutes earlier. And something else. Buford smelled fresh blood. The cat had been wounded! At that meant he could be very dangerous. He realized that they dared go no further.
Buford sat down on the path next to tracks to wait for the others. "We'll wait here." he mumbled to Duchess. "Too dangerous to follow 'im". Then with shock he realized that Duchess was no longer beside him.
She was dashing up the path, straight in Woundfoot's direction. Upon smelling the puma's tracks, she had gotten excited, had rushed in a headlong chase. Buford looked after her in horror. Did she think Woundfoot was just some overgown alley cat? It occurred to him that Duchess had lived all her life as a city-bred hound surrounded by showbiz people. She probably had never heard of a bobcat, let alone a swamp panther! Maybe she had seen the lions and tigers at the circus, but they were safely under control. Here in Fenokee swamp---
Buford wasted no further thoughts. In a lavander blurr he dashed after his canine sweetheart. "Duchess! Wait! Come back!"
Buford galumphed down the path in Duchess' direction, calling to her. But she was already far ahead of her. Buford increased his speed. Then, in the trees ahead, came the drawn-out scream of a wounded panther! Followed by a yelping, fear-choked cry from Duchess. The sounds combined to cause Buford's heart to freeze in sudden horror. He sped down the path and crashed out into a loamy bank looking out over the bayou. The first rays of the new sun were already streaming through the drifts of Spanish moss across the glimmering water.
And before him, Buford saw Woundfoot, coat glistening blue-black in the dawn's fresh light. The puma had been wounded, plain enough, grazed by a bullet on his left shoulder, from which fresh crimson streamed. The cat's lips were drawn back snarling and spitting with insane fury. Slyface was there too, a few feet away, cringing on the sandbar. And straight in Woundfoot's path was Duchess starring wide-eyed in helpless terror at the cat, backed up against a tree. Starring into the cat's gaze, she was unable even to move.
Buford felt as another of his dreams had sprung to vivid life—this time the one where he had imagined himself as the World's Strongest Dog, and had saved Duchess from a hungry lion. Only now he wasn't the World's Strongest Dog, and there was no way he could pull Woundfoot inside out like he had that lion in his dream. But he had to do something, and fast.
Duchess whined in terror, as Woundfoot crept upon her, the look of madness in his eyes. The cat sprang for Duchess. In another moment, he would sink his fangs into her throat.
Buford wasn't even fully aware of what happened next. Like a flash of enraged purple lightening he exploded into the cat, catching Woundfoot in midleap. Duchess gasped in fright, as Woundfoot was knocked off balance and thrown back by the sheer force of the hound's assault. The puma landed stunned on his back on the sandbar, Buford standing over him, snarling in fury.
Dazed, the puma blinked in confusion. Then he registered who it was that had dared attack him. Woundfoot was astonished. When he had found Buford before, terrorizing the hopelessly outmatched little raccoon, he had thought him something of a coward. Now he wasn't so sure. Never before had anyone attacked him with such ferocity.
But the puma recovered quickly. With a savage swipe, he threw the hound off. Buford yelped in pain, as Woundfoot's talons raked furrows down his flank. The cat regained his feet, hissing savagely at the hound.
"You…you dare lay your paws on me!?!" Woundfoot screamed. "This time I'm going to tear you limb from limb!" He charged Buford in fury, hissing and spitting with rage. But this time Buford returned his attack, barking savagely, and rushing in to tear at the cat's hide. He was even more maddened than the wounded puma had been.The sight of Duchess in peril had driven all concern for his own safety from him. He only knew he had to defeat this cat who was threatening her.
The combatants circled each other in a raging blurr of purple and black. Woundfoot slashed and tore at Buford with his claws, and the hound returned the favor with his teeth, fighting with a fury he had never known before, while Duchess watched the battle in stunned awe.
As the sun rose pink and golden over Fenokee swamp, the cries of herons and egrets signaled the dawn of a new day. Sheriff Muletrain and Deputy Goofer, along with Mr. Martin and the other showmen, following in their own buggy, had heard Buford howling in the nearby cypresses.
"That's Buford", the sheriff said. "Ah bet them kids is right over there. Ah think this could mean trouble. Step on it, Goofer!"
"Right, sheriff." Goofer yanked the lever with such force that Muletrain was knocked clean over on his back. "GOOOOOFER!!!!!" he yelled.
"Sorry, sheriff. But ya told me to hurry."
They were off across the bayou at a furious pace. "Awright, awright, sos ah did!" grumbled the sheriff. "make fer that land".
Buford was fighting more furiously than he ever had in his life. But Woundfoot outweighed him by several pounds, and the cat was slowly winning. Duchess, though still terrified of the puma, realized that Buford was fighting for her very life, and that she had to do something and now! Growling in threat she rushed the puma's flank, and barreled into him, knocking him off balance.
Buford, though weakened, renewed his attack, and slammed into the confused cat from the other side. The puma, too, has weak from battle, and the two hounds were together able to back him to the edge of the sandbar.
Buford and Duchess snarled at him. Woundfoot snarled back, the pure light of hate shining from those firey green orbs. Though cornered, he hissed at them shrilly "You think you can defeat me? This swamp is my hunting grounds from this day foreward! I take whatever I want, whenever I want it! Every stockade in Fenokee will be my larder!! And no hound-dog will ever stop me! Do you hear?!!"
Buford heard, but he wasn't listening. He snarled over at Duchess, "Let's finish him."
He saw in Duchess eyes that she was still somewhat intimidated by the cat's words, but the look in Buford's eyes gave her the confidence to do what they did next. Both hounds looked back at the cat. And for the first time, the light of uncertainty came into those supremely arrogant eyes.
The threw themselves into the cornered puma with all the strength they had, propelling him back and into the bayou with a splash. The cat rose to the surface hissing and spitting. Like most cats Woundfoot despised the water.
Through the trees behind them came the shouts of Woody and Cindy Mae. "Buford!" they cried. "Buford!" The hounds turned and ran weakly to them.
And then a blinding white light shot through the trees in their direction. Woundfoot, realizing the humans and hounds had him outnumbered, spat once more in protest, then began swimming toward the far shore.
Right before Sheriff Muletrain's buggy came tearing through the trees!
Part 14
The Last Knots are Tied
Goofer, pulling the lever back as far as it would reach, made no effort to stop on the shore. Sheriff Muletrain was shouting frantically for him to hurry, so he simply kept on going until the buggy careened out of the water and into the woods. Goofer then tried to halt the craft, but the buggy kept on crashing over shrubs and saplings.
"Goooooofer!!!" hollered the sheriff, holding on to his hat, barely able to contain himself, before they came crashing to halt into the bole of large cypress tree. The Tarkins, the Boggs kids and the two hounds threw them selves out of the way.
"It's Goofer!" yelled Woody.
"And the sheriif!" yelled Cindy Mae.
Goofer had managed to hold onto the lever when they had crashed. "Howdy, kids." Said Goofer, getting out of the swamp buggy. Mr. Martin and the two cameramen got out of their own buggy, and came through the trees.
"Where's the sheriff?" Cindy Mae asked.
Goofer looked around, but there seemed to be no sign of him. "Yoo-hoo!" Goofer called. "Sheriff Muuuuletrain! Where in tarnation did you get to?"
"Up here, Goofer, you pimple-brain!" said an angry voice from somewhere above them. They all looked up. Goofer shone his searchlight up in the cypress. There was the sheriif, his overweight body slung over one branch.
"Oops, sheriff. Sorry 'bout that".
"Not as sorry as you'e gonna be, if ya don't git me down from here, Goofer! Yer gonna be pullin' desk duty for a month!"
As usual, the sheriff had spoken without thinking. "Don't worry, sheriff," said Goofer. "I'll git ya in no time rawt away." He aimed his revolver at rotten place near the base of the branch and fired.
Muletrain started to protest, but it was too late. As the wood cracked, the sheriff fell into the brambles below. "Gooooofer!!!!" he shouted again.
"But ya jest told me to—"
"Never mind!" said the sheriff, getting up, and dusting himself off. "What in tarnation is going on here."
"I'll tell you what, sheriff." Said Cindy Mae. "Take a look there."
They all did. Pinned under a sapling, a few feet away, were the two poachers, Mitch Crathers and Lou Danielson, trapped under a small tree, that the sheriff's buggy had uprooted when it had crashed. They were still wearing the conservation uniforms they had stolen.
Those are the poachers, been trying to catch the real Woundfoot, sheriff". Cindy Mae explained. "And these are the real Tarkins brothers!" She introduced the two men who had been captured.
"That's right, sheriff." Said Steve Tarkins. He explained as best he could what had happened.
"You cant' prove nuthin' " yelled Steve.
"Oh, yes we can," said Cindy Mae pertly. "Buford, take a look a sniff in their pockets."
Buford did, red nose flashing. Sure enough he scented the sharp odor of latex. The hound pulled a rubber mask from Lou' s pocket, and then did the same with Mitch. He brought both to Cindy Mae, who showed them to the sheriff.
"Well, mah grits and gravy." Said Multrain. "So that's how they fooled us".
"Right." Said Cindy Mae. "After they kidnapped the real Tarkins brothers, they stole their boat, and then their van. They already had a trained panther they'd sprayed black to make him look like the real Woundfoot. They staged the raid on the Jenkins farm, by prying the doors open. Then they used a dog whistle to get the cat to steal into the shed and make off with one of Jenkins' hogs. They'd tried to do the same thing at Huffsteaders, but before they could get back to their van and get the trained panther, the real Woundfoot struck!"
"Golly!" said Goofer. "Yah mean thar really is a swamp panther runnin' loose?"
Cindy Mae nodded. "Uh-huh. It was him that was responsible for raiding the other Fenokee farms. These poachers wanted to catch him and sell his hide, sos they just took advantage of the situation. They impersonated the Tarkins brothers so they could get the real panther, an bring him back to their camp in the swamp we found. They was gonna skin him right there. They've got all kinds of poacher stuff and aimal hides. Ah figure they've been at it fer along time!"
"An we would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for you meddlesome brats!" snorted Mitch.
"Aw, shet up!" said Lou.
"But what about old Jenna Crowley?" Woody asked. "How does she fit in with all this?"
There was the sound of snapping branches as someone approached. "Ah believe we all're gonna find out, sheriff."
All heads turned in the direction of the sound, as Jenna Crowley stepped from the woods. "What's going on here?" Jenna demanded in a masculine voice. "I heard the commotion, and headed—holy god!"
Jenna—or whoever he truly was—turned to run. "Sic 'im Buford!" said Woody.
Buford, though weakened with his fight with the puma, dashed across the clearing, easily overtaking the man in drag as he made a cluimsy effort to escape. With a single pounce, Buford had him pinned to the ground. "Get off me, you crazy dog!" Jenna yelled.
"Now—" said Cindy Mae. "Let's see who 'ol Jenna really is!"
She reached down and pulled off the rubber mask she knew was there. Every drew a collective gasp. The face beneath the mask was that of a slickly handsome, aristocratic-looking man. He had somewhat swarthy complextion, a small trimmed mustash, and slicked-back, oily looking blue-black hair. He retained Jenna's piercing black eyes that had so mesmerized Buford.
The sheriff gave him a good long look. "Ah know this rascal. This here's Boris Mando, 'an he's been wanted in four states for years."
"Boris who?" asked Woody.
"Mando. An ex- professional magician." explained the sheriff. "Claims he could really read folks minds. But then he got into some real shady activities. Charging people money saying he could change their futures."
"Ah-hah!" said Cindy Mae. "So Mando here musta been financing those two crooks for their poaching operation. They was probably gonna pay him half the profit in return. 'An he tried to distract u ine we got involved, by impersonating Jenna Crowley. That explains the playing cards Buford found in her hut."
"That's correct." snapped Mando. "They wanted me to get you kids off their trail if you ever got involved. And we nearly pulled it off too!"
"Well, Mando." said the sheriff "Ah got you a new place fer your tricks. Mah jail!" Buford stepped off Mando, as the sheriff hauled him to his feet and snapped on the handcuffs. "Same goes fer you two scallywags!" he told the poachers. Goofer and Muletrain ushered the three crooks into their buggy, once they had managed to push it off shore.
"Sheriff! There's one more thing ah think you should know!" said Woody.
"An what might that be?"
"Duchess! Buford saved Duchess, sheriff! He fought 'ol Woundfoot hisself jest 'afore you showed up, 'an plumb saved Duchess life".
"Buford saved Duchess life?" Mr. Martin asked. He and the camera men were standing nearby.
"He shore did, Mr. Martin."
"That so Duchess?" Mr. Martin asked. Duchess nodded eagerly. He looked at Buford, and with shock noticed the long red furrows marking his flank. "Well I'll be---It looks like we really owe dog of yours this time kids! Look at those scratches. You better get our hero to a vet –and fast!"
Buford was slumped on the ground still weak and dizzy with the effort of fighting. The rage he had felt when defending Duchess from the cat had now all but vanished, replaced by a lazy kind of inner peace. Duchess came over and kissed him.
"Mah hero, Buford," she whispered. "You really are my hero. More now than ever.'
"Awww, shucks, it weren't nuthin'" Buford said, very weakly, before his head sank back to the loam. As badly as the cat had torn him, Buford couldn't have been happier at that moment.
Suddenly, his nose flashed red. Buford blinked rapidly, and saw a smallish, furry object lying not more than a few feet away. Curious, he got to his feet, wobbling slightly, and shuffled toward the object. He saw then that it Slyface. During the heat of battle, the 'possum had fainted dead away. Only Buford knew 'possums well enough to know that Slyface was far from dead. He sniffed at the "corpse" and growled slightly. But Slyface didn't twitch.
Goofer looked over his shoulder at them. "Well, whatcha got there, Buford." He came over to take a look. "If it isn't some ornery 'ol possum. Looks dead to me, sheriff. Ya know 'possum 'an sweet taters is mighty good eatin'. Did ah ever tll you 'bout the time when—'
That was enough for Slyface! He sprang to life at the sound of Goofer's words, causing Buford to yelp in astonishment, as the 'possum raced for the shore. He dived in and began paddling across the bayou in the direction his master had gone.
"Well I'll be a three-toed tree frog, sheriff." said Goofer "Thet there 'possum wasn't dead, after all."
Buford slid off his feet again, feeling like nothing but sleeping.
"Golly!" Woody said. "We do gots to get him to the vet, Sis."
"You can take our buggy, kids." said Mr. Martin. "Come with us."
But then Buford remembered something. The sheriff and Goofer were already getting in their buggy, Mando and the poachers in tow.
He raced toward the buggy and threw his front paws onto Mando, growled ominously.
"Get off me, you cursed dog!" shouted Mando. But Buford's eyes bore into his. Mando was supposed to be a charlatan, but what did Multrain know? Buford wasn't so sure. How could he have known about him and the Raccoon, back at Jenna's hut? The thought of his first encounter with Woundfoot made the hound bristle with anger was he starred into Mando's eyes.
"You said I'd git thet raccoon!" Buford growled.
Then a strange light came into Mando's eyes making them shine with black luster. "Well, so I did." He smiled. Mando gazed into Buford's eyes with his glinting black ones. "Ah, I see. You did get him, didn't you? Just like in your dreams."
Buford gulped suddenly, realizing that in his dreams he always captured the Raccoon, but he woke before he could do him any harm.
"Of course I said you'd get the raccoon." said Mando with oily mirth. "I never said what would happen after you got him!" Mando through back his head and laughed in his darkily haunting voice. As the buggy sped away over the bayou in the morning light, the dark laughter continued to ring n Buford's ears, long after he collapsed to the ground again, and his friends had loaded him into Mr. Martin's buggy.
The next night, Woundfoot and Slyface had circled back, and were now approaching the east end of the Fenokee fairgrounds. "Ya think he'll be here, my lord?" the 'possum asked.
"I don't know, Slyface. Be careful, while we check the bakery. Then we'll both be gone from this place. You are certain there are no humans?"
"No, my lord. I searched the entire perimeter. But I found no sign of the little head-banded one either."
When they examined the bakery, they found that the shoo-fly pies for the local bake-sale had been totally pilfered and gobbled up. The Little Raccoon, his debt repaid, had not waited for them. He had located the pies himself, and had eaten was many as he could hold. Then he had doubtless found a hollow stump or log somewhere, and spent the day sleeping it off.
"There's nothing further to keep us in this swamp". Woundfoot said, as they departed the fairgrounds. "We must find fresh hunting grounds elsewhere."
"But my lord—"
"There's too many humans here. That swamp was swarming with them. They know about us, and will hunt us down. There are other communities we can steal from safely. And another thing. The hound I fought with did so bravely. I could still have killed him, if the humans hadn't shown up, but he wants us gone from these parts, then I believe he has earned that right. Come."
That very night, on the porch at Boggs landing, the kids, Buford, Duchess, the Tarkins brothers had gathered, along with Mr. Martin, and some of his crew. Buford had just spent a whole day at the Fenokee veterinary clinic getting a dozen stitches for the gashes Woundfoot had put on him. It was an ordeal to say the least, but Duchess had been there all the time telling him how brave he was. He knew it could have been much worse.
"Ah tell you again, we're very much obliged to you kids." said Steve Tarkins.
"We'll still track that panther down 'an catch, if he's still in Fenokee."
"He isn't." mumbled Buford.
"What's thet, Buford?" Cindy Mae asked.
"He said," Woody informed her. "That 'ol Woundfoot ain't comin' back!"
And somehow Buford knew he wasn't. He knew the swamp panther had left Fenokee for good. Maybe it was because the sheriff and Goofer had frightened him off, but deep down, Buford knew the reason. He had fought so ferociously with the cat, that Woundfoot had allowed a special truce to pass between them. In Woundfoot's mind, Fenokee swamp now rightfully belonged to Buford—a right the hound had earned. But really, it now belonged to him and Duchess. At least, that was how Buford wanted to think of it.
"Well, ah guess our business here is over." said Steve. "But keep in touch, 'an let us know if he shows his face in this swamp".
The Tarkins brothers got in their truck. "'Bye, kids! 'An thinks again!"
"'Bye!" Woody and Cindy Mae called.
"Well kids," said Mr. Martin. "We're all very obliged to you too. And Buford especially".
"Hey, where thet crazy hound-dog get to anyway?" Cindy Mae aaked. They all looked around, but Buford seemed to have vanished. Then a long mournful howl cut through the night. No—it wasn't really mournful. They all knew it was meant to be happy. Then it was joined by another.
A full moon had risen over the waving cypresses. Together,Woody Cindy Mae, and Mr. Martin walked across the law to where they could see a small knoll, not far from their pickup.
Buford and Duchess were perched on it each taking their turn howling at the moon, their outlines clearly visible.
"Ya have to admit,' said Cindy Mae, "They really are beautiful together. "'specially after all Buford and Duchess have been through."
"You shore got thet right Sis."
All of them stood listening to the love-chorus of the two hound dogs, as it played through the cypresses, over the moon-drenched bayous, and away into the night.
FIN