Chapter 4: Losing Hand in a Stacked Deck

Think, Bo, think! The blond Duke's feet pounded in swift rhythm. He followed the deer path up into the hills where the underbrush opened up, then followed the easiest route along the gullies between the steep slopes. He just managed to keep a dozen yards ahead of the lead bloodhound, with two more behind it and the cowboy handlers trying to catch up. What would Luke do?

"Luke would come up with a plan to save your hide," he muttered aloud to himself. The string of game dangling from his hands slapped his leg again. He glanced down at it, then over his shoulder. As the gully sloped gently upwards, the dogs were gaining on him. Now's as good a time as any. With one hand, he pulled his knife from its case on his belt and cut the game line in half, flinging the trio of rabbits straight at the lead dog. Without stopping to watch, he darted into a thick growth of bushes on the hillside with a hope and a prayer.

The line tripped the bloodhound's long legs and set him crashing to the ground, and the two running behind him barreled straight into the tangle. Their prey gone from sight, the leader snarled and bit at the bloody rabbits, the scent attracting his ire. The distraction proved enough for Bo to scramble up the hill from one clump of bushes to the next, up and over the crest before the handlers caught up to the dogs and straightened them out. Bo didn't wait to watch them cast around to pick up his scent again - he ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

The extra distance, though, gave him the chance to try a few more tricks. He knew how tracking dogs worked - he'd hunted with deerhounds, coonhounds, bird dogs, and every other kind of working dog Hazzard County had to offer. If he stayed out of sight, they had to work by scent, which would slow them down and let him put more space between them. Then if, if he was clever enough, he could confuse the trail enough to lose them entirely.

Bo zig-zagged as much as he dared, racing down the far slope of the first hill and up the second. Each turn would slow them more. He heard the belling call that announced them back on the trail as he reached the crest of the second hill. Heart pounding, he surveyed the hill, trying to decide the best route. Decision made, he ran along the length of the hilltop for a short distance, then turned again as he headed down the slope. If he could make it to cover, the wind alone on the hilltop could foil the hounds. A spread of woods on the north end of the next slope gave him hope, and he ran straight for it. The slow intervals between the hounds' calls made him sure they were well behind him as he reached the treeline. Gasping for breath, he slowed to a jog, only to hear the dogs close again. Dang it! His scent must have clung to the moisture in the earth from the last week's rain - perfect tracking conditions, neither too dry nor too wet.

Bo picked up his pace again, but ran in circles and long curving loops through the trees to the far side. Breaking back out of the woods, he found a short field leading down to the creek that bordered the Duke lands. He made straight for the creek, splashing knee-deep across to the other side, up along the far bank, then back in, and so on, making his way upstream. The hounds' calls were distant again, and falling behind. Bo grinned and laughed to himself, imagining the handlers' anger and frustration. He slowed down some, pacing himself, but continued his tangled route, generally making his way east towards the designated meeting place.

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It was late afternoon when Bo arrived at the edge of a cow pasture belonging to Thomas Sutton. He hadn't lost the hunters entirely yet - he still hear the distant belling behind him. He decided to cut through the pasture, the heavy manure smell sure to throw off the scent. Of course, he didn't know that this particular pasture belonged to Thomas Sutton, until he heard the clip-clop of hooves coming from his left, followed by the cocking of a shotgun barrel, and a gruff voice.

"Who's that up there?..! Show yourself!"

Bo stepped out from behind a cud-chewing cow, where he'd hidden, hands raised in surrender.

"Bo Duke!" Sutton lowered his shotgun from the back of his horse. "What are you doing out here, boy?"

The bloodhounds called again in the distance, as good as an answer.

"Who's after you?"

"The FBI, I think." Bo looked in the direction of the dogs, breathing hard.

"The FBI!"

"They've been after me all afternoon. Uncle Jesse says they want me and Luke for murder, but we don't even know who we're supposed to have killed!"

Sutton listened intently as Bo explained the events at the farmhouse earlier in the day, digesting the information.

"And you boys didn't do anything?"

"No, sir!"

"Where's Luke and Jesse?"

"They're…" Bo stopped, that 'what-would-Luke-do' alarm sounding in the back of his head. "I'd rather not say, sir. We'll have to hide until we can find out what's going on."

Sutton nodded understanding, also looking in the direction of the hunters' calls. "Well, you'd better go on, boy. If you and your family need anything, food, shelter, you'll find it at the Sutton home."

Bo looked back at him, wide-eyed with surprise, and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Sutton!" It had been two and a half years since the incident in the mines, where Bo and Luke went after Sutton's lost sons and Bo was trapped when the caves collapsed. Sutton hadn't forgotten his gratitude, nor his debt.

The dogs belled closer. Bo looked towards the sound, and with a nod to the farmer, took off again, weaving through the bovine herd. Several of the cows lowed and milled about at the disturbance, their hooves churned the mud and muck and obscured Bo's footprints. Sutton urged his horse through the herd, resuming his patrol, though he stayed nearby to watch for the passage of the hunters.

Not ten minutes later, the bloodhounds burst through the underbrush and leaped over the fence, followed closely by their handlers, urging them on. The blast of a shotgun resounded through the air as the men ran onto the pasture, stopping them in their tracks. The dogs were searching the ground, trying to sort out the different smells that met their sensitive noses. Sutton brought his horse up at a trot, roaring angrily.

"What's the meaning of this?..! Get off my land! This is private property, not a game ranch!"

"Easy, mister," one of the cowboy handlers said, eyeing the shotgun leveled at he and his partner. "We're with the FBI, hunting a fugitive from the law. A murderer. He's one of the locals, maybe you've seen him? Blond, tall, last name's Duke."

"I don't care if you're with the army fighting the second rise of the South, I want you back over that fence and off my land before I shoot the both of you! And if I see the Duke boy, I'll shoot him too! Now git!"

Unwilling to argue with the wrong end of the shotgun, the handler called to the dogs and his partner snapped leashes on all three. Slowly they backed away and climbed back over the fence, the dogs jumping it in one bound. Sutton shouldered his firearm and watched them move with cold eyes, his horse snorting impatiently.

"You'll call the Sheriff's department if you see any of the Dukes, I hope, mister," the handler said when he was a safer distance away. Sutton's deeper scowl made him back away a step, and the pair turned and melted back into the woods with the dogs. Sutton smiled slightly to himself, hearing them cursing as they fought their way through the underbrush to circle the pasture. By the time they found Bo's trail again, he'd be long gone.

Bo had one final trick up his sleeve, that he'd just been waiting for the right place to pull. Not three miles from the caves where he was to meet his uncle and cousin, he found just the right spot. It was sunset, though the long red rays of the waning sunlight had difficulty breaking through the black clouds that had gathered in the last few hours. Bo stood in the dim light at another treeline. He looked at the trees in the broad strip of woods - perfect. The trees grew far enough apart to have thick, broad limbs reaching out to the sunlight and rain, but close enough together for what he had in mind. These dogs might be excellent trackers, but he was willing to bet - indeed, he was betting - that they were no coonhounds, and a coon's trick would fool them.

He had to jump to reach the first branch of the oak tree, and straining, he pulled himself up. The bow was hung across his chest and shoulder, and the pair of pheasants was strung at his belt. He sat leaning again the trunk of the tree for a moment, resting and making sure the tree held his scent. Then he was back up, climbing to another branch, and another, stopping occasionally to untangled the bow as it caught on the higher branches. When he was high above the ground and hidden by the foliage, he looked across to the next tree, sizing up the closest branches for strength. He hesitated, glancing down at the long distance to the ground, until the distant belling hounds steeled his resolve.

Gathering himself, Bo made a mighty leap for the next tree, reaching for a sturdy branch to catch him. The first branch slipped through his hands with the force of his momentum, but the second held, halting his fall and swinging him roughly into the tree trunk. Scrabbling with his feet, he found a foothold and steadied himself, heart pounding with excitement and relief. He'd made it! But Bo didn't stop there. He climbed upwards again in the second tree, edged out on a branch, and jumped again for a third tree, then a fourth after that, continuing until he ran out of trees with branches strong enough to catch his weight. Climbing back down, Bo found himself on the far end of the broad wooded strip, easily half a mile from where he'd started. He grinned again. Ha! Let them try to follow that trail! It was enough to fool all but the smartest of coonhounds, and he doubted these tracking dogs were up to snuff. He took off at a jog in a straight line out of the woods, leaving as little trace as possible for the dogs to pick up, and headed for the caves.

Well what do you know? Bo is a regular ol' fox after all! Or should I say, 'coon?

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The first drops of another storm were falling as Bo reached the mines. It was pitch black and rather late, and he'd had a hard time finding his way. He'd lost the dogs at the woods, he was sure - he hadn't heard their calls for some time now, even faintly, and he was sure the sunset and the rain would end their search. The cave entrance was a deeper black in the side of the ridge, and he hesitated, wide-eyed, watching for a sign of his cousin or uncle. A stone clattered somewhere inside.

"Luke?" he called quietly, leaning one hand on the stone at the entrance. The black cave brought back too many unwelcome memories, and he was in no hurry to enter it alone. It was, however, probably the best place to hide, because it was the last place anyone in Hazzard would expect Bo to return to.

"Bo, is that you?" Uncle Jesse's gruff voice called from the darkness.

"Uncle Jesse!" Bo called back, taking a few tentative steps forward. He jumped when a hand found his arm as he groped along the wall.

"It's me, Bo." In the blackness, he couldn't even see his uncle in front of him. "Come on in, we've got a fire going."

If there was a fire, Bo couldn't see where, but he trusted his uncle, and followed him in. After rounding three bends in the tunnel, Bo was relieved to see the blackness cut by a bright flickering light reflecting off the wall. One last bend revealed a blazing campfire, a pile of firewood, and Luke sitting against the tunnel wall close to the fire, seemingly sleeping. Both legs were stretched out before him He opened his eyes at Jesse and Bo's approach, coughing hard before greeting his cousin.

"We were worried about you," he said simply, as Bo eased down to sit next to him. Jesse took the pair of pheasant from Bo and went to work plucking and cleaning the birds to cook for a late dinner.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two, three hours," Jesse answered, spitting the birds on a pair of sticks to roast. He and Luke had taken the very long way around, and they'd gone slow as Luke had trouble both with his sore leg and his worsening cough. Still, thier route had been much shorter than Bo's meandering race to lose thepersistent hounds.

"How did you do?" Luke asked in a raspy voice.

Bo explained the highlights of the chase as Luke and Jesse listened closely. Luke was both surprised and proud of Bo's ingenuity, though Jesse disapproved.

"That was dangerous, Bo, you could have been hurt!" he scolded, referring to the tree-jumping.

"I think he did great," Luke defended his cousin, clapping him on the shoulder. Bo grinned at the compliment, but he frowned as Luke started coughing again. He waved Bo off when he started to voice concern, so Bo switched to another question instead.

"What are we going to do, Uncle Jesse? Why does the FBI think Luke and I killed someone?"

"Well, that's what we need to find out," Jesse answered, thoughtfully. "The way those FBI agents acted today, they had no doubt it was you two they were after. They barged right in and started searching the house with their guns drawn, like you was already found guilty and sentenced! It's a good thing Daisy was already off to work. It's a good thing you got out when you did too, Luke," he added with a nod to his nephew. "When they didn't find either of you, they took hold of me and tried dragging me off, so they could wait there for you boys to come home! And those dogs! I don't know just what's going on, but we need to get to the bottom of this, and quick, without you two ending up in their hands."

"What about Daisy?" Bo asked.

"She's working a double shift tonight, so she won't be home yet," Luke reasoned. "Do you think they'd try to arrest her too?" he asked, looking up at Jesse with worried blue eyes.

Jesse frowned deeply. He had no answer. All three sat in silence for several moments, the only sound the pop of the burning firewood and the sizzle of the roasting pheasant. Bo stood up suddenly, circling the fire and walking past his uncle and cousin towards the exit.

"Bo!" Luke called after him. He started to rise, but cringed as he put weight on his leg, and sat back down. Jesse got up and went after him instead.

Bo stood just inside the cave entrance, staring out into the black pouring rain. There was no going out in this, too wet, too dark to see, not all the long miles to the Duke farm or to the Boar's Nest to warn his cousin. Jesse came up behind him, just able to make out his outline against the falling raindrops.

"Come on, Bo," he squeezed his nephew's shoulder. "Come get something to eat. We'll have to wait until morning."

Reluctantly, Bo turned and followed his uncle back. This weekend just kept getting worse, with no end in sight.

Y'know, somehow this is reminding me of a game of poker, where the Dukes can't see the other players or the cards, but they're still forced to place a bet. Let's just hope there's an ace in that hand.

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All three Dukes slept poorly on the cold stone ground, from worry, from hungry stomachs, and from illness. Luke's coughing woke Bo and Jesse constantly, but there was little they could do for him but stoke the fire and try to keep him warm. Bo even went out once and gathered rainwater in a folded cup of birch bark, to cool his cousin's throat. The two pheasants hadn't gone very far for two young men who'd missed two meals, and all three who'd put many miles under their boots in a short time. Shortly before dawn Luke finally fell into an exhausted sleep, but Jesse and Bo were wide awake.

The pouring rain had eased off in the night. Bo sat at the cave entrance again, watching the first dawn light break above the horizon as water dripped from the trees and bushes all around. Jesse joined him, sitting down against the opposite wall.

"He's running a fever," Jesse informed his nephew quietly.

Bo nodded, unsurprised. He was trying to sort out his thoughts and decide what to do first. There was no question in his mind that Luke needed to stay here, and Uncle Jesse with him. They needed food, water, and supplies - blankets especially. They needed to find Daisy and get her to safety. They needed information - who had been killed, what evidence there was against them, what the FBI was doing to find them. The loss of the General Lee was only a dim ache in the back of his mind. He took a deep breath and looked to his uncle.

"I think I ought to head back to the farm first, and see if Daisy made it home. I can pick up some supplies there, and talk to the neighbors and see if they have any news."

Jesse nodded reluctant approval. He'd already made the same conclusion about Luke, and though he didn't want Bo out there alone, there was nothing for it. "Be careful, Bo. They'll be watching the farm."

Bo stood and went back into the mine to check on his cousin before he left. Luke was still sleeping, muttering restlessly. His plaid shirt was soaked, chest and underarms, with sweat. Bo watched him for a few moments in the flickering firelight, then gathered his bow and remaining arrows, turned around, and made his way back out again.

"Uncle Jesse, if I'm not back by sunset…"

"We'll figure something out. Take care of yourself."

"I will." He took off at a ground-eating lope, making for the straightest route he could figure to get to the farm.

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Despite his early start, it took Bo the better part of the morning to reach the farm on Mill Pond Road. The loss the General wasn't just an ache in his heart anymore, but also an ache in his feet. He approached cautiously, from the south, circling to see a sign of FBI agents, the bloodhounds, or their handlers. He frowned when he saw nothing, and spent another half-hour slipping through the woods and underbrush, watching and waiting. Finally he decided that the only place they could be hiding was inside the farmhouse itself. If they were gonna ambush him there, then so be it, let them try.

Bow in hand, he crept as close as he could before breaking cover and running to the huge oak tree out front. Uncle Jesse's white pickup truck was gone, and Dixie was nowhere in sight - so much for driving back to the caves. He peered around the tree trunk, looking for a sign of movement inside. The front door was closed. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, he left the tree and darted up onto the porch, quietly opening the screen door and cringing as the kitchen door squeaked. He stepped into the kitchen, gently closing both doors behind him. Not a soul breathed inside, but Bo gawked at what he saw.

The house was a wreck, completely torn apart. Dishes lay broken on the floor, furniture knocked over, papers scattered haphazardly. Bo walked through from room to room, checking every corner, at every moment expecting to hear the click of a cocked handgun or the belling call of a bloodhound. Nothing. Every room was empty, and every room was torn apart. No sign of Daisy - if she'd even been home. With a frustrated sigh, Bo went into the room he shared with Luke and found his cousin's old green military duffel bag. Then he worked his way through the house, gathering supplies as he went. From the bedrooms, he tightly rolled and tied several blankets, and added warm coats for all three of them, plus a handful of clean handkerchiefs. In the kitchen he gathered what food he could find unspoiled - a jar of preserves, a loaf of bread Daisy had baked on Friday, a dozen-odd apples, a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth. He found a jar of Uncle Jesse's finest moonshine hidden in a corner cupboard and added it to the pile, knowing Uncle Jesse sometimes used it as medicine. He also took a small pot, some silverware, and a pair of canteens.

Once all this was secure in the duffel bag, Bo went back to his room and changed his clothes to a clean set that was slightly less bloodstained and reeking of sweat and mud. When he changed his socks, he saw the torn blisters on his feet, and decided to add a few extra clean pairs of socks to his load. Heading out the back door with the duffel bag strapped across his back and his bow in hand, he went into the barn to collect a supply of arrows, dynamite, and blast caps. As he walked, Bo noticed fresh chicken feed on the ground, and in the barn he saw that the goat had been milked and fed. He smiled. Someone had been there, at least. Now fully supplied, Bo settled the pack comfortably on his shoulders and set off eastward towards the neighbor's farm.

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While Bo was circling the farmhouse, wondering where the FBI was hiding, the FBI was at the Hazzard Sheriff's Department, wondering the same about the Dukes. Agent Derek Brown sat across from J.D. Hogg at his desk in the back office, drilling the county commissioner et al. for more information.

"Who are their friends?" Brown was saying. "Who would give them shelter?"

Boss laughed. "Who are their friends? If Jesse Duke said 'Jump!', three-quarters of Hazzard County would ask how high! You might as well do a house-to-house search."

Brown frowned. "You're not being very cooperative, Mr. Hogg. These are murderers we're after, I'd think you would be more concerned."

Boss ignored the comment and looked at Brown with a sudden curiosity, a glint of greed in his eye. "You know, I don't believe I ever saw your badge, Mr. Brown. You are from the FBI, correct?"

Brown's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before his frown deepened. "That's right," he confirmed.

Boss smiled conspiratorially. "And does the, ah, 'FBI' offer rewards for cooperation in the capture of such ah, dangerous criminals?"

Brown leaned forward with his own thin smile, catching on to Boss's game. "Why, I'm sure something of the sort could be arranged. What kind of reward did you have in mind?"

Boss leaned back, considering. How far could he push this ruthless crew, who certainly weren't federal agents? "For the full cooperation and use of the resources of the Hazzard County Sheriff's Department, I can imagine a reward of oh, $50,000?"

Brown squinted at him. "$10,000," he counter-offered.

"$40,000."

"$25,000, and not a penny more."

"Done!" Boss exclaimed, standing to shake the man's hand. He could hardly remember being more excited - $25,000, plus the Dukes out of his hair! "Rosco! Enos!" he shouted for his officers.

A moment later Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane burst into the office, followed by Deputy Enos Strate, who collided with him from behind. "Enos, would you get off me!" Rosco yelled before turning to Boss Hogg. "You called, Boss?"

"Rosco, I want you and Deputy Strate to help these FBI agents in every manner possible to find the rest of those Dukes and arrest them all! I want you to give them every file you've got on the Duke boys, and follow every lead!" Boss ordered loftily.

"B-but Boss, I don't think it's legal to…" Enos began to protest.

"Enos! Did I tell you to think? I want them murderin' Dukes caught and off the streets by any means, so the good people of Hazzard can sleep safely again!" Boss cried dramatically.

Enos couldn't argue with that, though he still didn't think the Dukes were guilty of anything. He backed out of the office and went to find the requested files, while Rosco talked strategy with Boss and Brown.

Brown already had Cooter Davenport under surveillance, after Rosco said he was the first one the Dukes would go to for help. After the foiled raid the previous afternoon, the dogs had been out all afternoon trying to catch Bo Duke, with no success. Brown's men had then gone door to door amongst the neighbors on Mill Pond Road with the story of the murders, looking for information and warning against the dangerous criminals. Every neighbor had readily agreed to call if the Dukes showed up at their door, but not one of them actually intended to do so. Brown's men had given up for the night when the rain started pouring down, eliminating any chance of picking up Bo Duke's trail and dousing thoughts of scouring the roads for any sign of the fugitives. Their last act of the night, after confiscating Jesse Duke's truck and searching the farmhouse, had been to arrest Daisy Duke at the Boar's Nest - at the end of her shift, of course.

Daisy hadn't come quietly, of course, once she heard the charges. She didn't believe a word of it, and fought like a wildcat, leaving one of Brown's men with a ferocious black eye and another hoping he could still father children. In the end she'd been handcuffed and carried to Rosco's waiting patrol car. Now she sat in the jail cells beneath the Sheriff's Department, cooling her heels impatiently, angry and worried about her family. She'd questioned Enos when he brought her breakfast, but he only knew slightly more than she did. He told her about the discovery of the General Lee, and the dead women inside, and the coincidental arrival of the FBI agents pursuing the women just as Mr. Langsford's report was called in. It didn't add up to Daisy, but Enos had nothing more to offer but his sympathy. Then he'd left at Boss's call, and Daisy was left alone again.

Poor Daisy - ain't nothin worse than being in the dark all alone, figuratively speaking. But we did just see Mr. Brown tip his hand to Boss, an' I've gone a feelin' that when all the cards are shown, the Dukes are gonna end up with the losing hand, the way this deck is stacked.