Grandpa, Uncle Owen, Henry, and I all stood at the swamp’s edge waiting for Hamp and Farley to show up with the hog bandits and for Charlie to show up with Sheriff Jones. Grandma was even there at the landing as we all anxiously watched the waterway that led to Honey Island. Oblivious to all the excitement, Huck still lay in the boat sleeping.
Before we saw anyone coming, we heard, “Yowwweeeee! Yowwweeeee!”
Hamp’s swamp call.
A few minutes later, we saw his boat cutting through the smooth surface of the cypress-colored water. Hamp stood in the back of the boat paddling, and Farley sat in the middle seat with his shotgun, while two strangers sat next to each other in the front of the boat. Even from far away, I could tell their hands were tied behind their backs, and as soon as the boat got closer, I could tell they looked just exactly like what you’d think hog bandits would look like. They were dirty, their hair was long and snarly, and their clothes were ripped and torn.
I still couldn’t believe Henry and I weren’t the ones to find them.
“The sheriff here yet?” Hamp called.
“Not yet,” Grandpa answered.
“Likely gonna take Charlie a bit to track down the sheriff and git ’im here,” Uncle Owen said.
“Owen’s right,” Grandpa said as Hamp’s boat slid up onto the landing.
All the while, those hog bandits were cussing like crazy, saying words I had never even heard before.
I felt my stomach quiver a little at the thought of how close Henry and I had been to catching these low-downs ourselves. One sideways look at Henry told me he was thinking the exact same thing.
“Don’t even think ’bout tryin’ any funny business,” Farley said as he stood up in the boat so he could get out.
“You swamp folks don’t scare us,” one of the hog bandits grumbled in a nasty voice.
Now my stomach didn’t just quiver; it trembled.
“I still got my shotgun,” Farley said, stepping out of the boat, “and I ain’t ’fraid to use it.”
Hamp grabbed one of the hog bandits by the arm, and Farley grabbed the other. They stood them up and pulled them out of the boat.
“Let’s git these two on up to the yard,” Grandpa said. “We’ll keep ’im tied up till Sheriff Jones gits here. Sarah can bring us some tea so’s we can relax on the porch while we wait.”
“I’d love to,” Grandma said. “Elsie and Henry, why don’t y’all c’mon up and help me?”
“C’mon, Huck,” I said, slapping my leg.
Huck had woken up when Hamp’s boat arrived, so when I called him, he shook himself and then loped over to follow Grandma, Henry, and me up the trail toward the house.
A few minutes later, Henry and I came out on the porch with the jars.
The two hog bandits already sat on a stump in the far corner of the yard with their hands still tied behind their backs. Farley stood next to them in the shade of one of the chinaberry trees with his shotgun at the ready. And as Grandpa, Uncle Owen, and Hamp made their way across the yard toward the porch, Grandma came through the screen door behind me with the tea.
“They still act like they don’t know what they done,” Hamp said as he sat down on the porch swing, taking the tea Grandma handed him. “All the way here they kept sayin’, ‘We don’t know nothin’ ’bout no hogs.’ But I don’t believe ’em. Look at ’em. They look jus’ like criminals, don’t they?”
Henry was standing next to me on the porch, and I imagine he wanted to say something about how God doesn’t look at a man’s outward appearance, only at his heart, but I knew he wouldn’t say anything on accounta Hamp being his elder. It would’ve seemed disrespectful, and then Henry would just have one more sin to confess along with all the other ones I’d talked him into.
But I agreed with Hamp. They did look like criminals, and once they had gotten close enough to us down on the landing, they even smelled like criminals—like moonshine and sweat, just the way I thought a hog bandit would smell. And I would’ve bet my life that their insides didn’t look or smell any better than their outsides.
“Don’t matter,” Uncle Owen said. “They ain’t gotta admit to nothin’ cuz the proof is right here.”
He held up the cloth sack full of money Grandpa had taken from them.
Next thing we knew, Sheriff Jones came walking up the trail with Charlie.
“Here they come,” Uncle Owen said.
And as Charlie opened the gate, all of us up on the porch went out into the yard to meet them.
Sheriff Jones was short and round and waddled as he walked toward us.
“Hi, y’all,” he said, shaking hands with Grandpa, Hamp, Uncle Owen, and Farley.
Seeing Sheriff Jones reminded me of Uncle Lone and his sorted past, and I wondered for the first time where he was. I’d forgotten all about him until now. Maybe he’d heard that the bandits had been captured, and he was so disappointed that he hadn’t been the one to catch them that he was off pouting somewhere. It was the first time I ever felt kind of sorry for Uncle Lone because I sort of felt like pouting too.
“We appreciate ya comin’ out,” Grandpa said.
“No problem,” Sheriff Jones said. “These the guys?” he asked, nodding toward the stump where the bandits sat tied up.
I thought to myself that he must not be a very good sheriff if he had to ask which ones the criminals were when they were tied up right in front of him.
“Yup, and here’s the proof,” Uncle Owen said, handing him the bag of money.
“The heart of the honest man will prosper,” Henry said.
I wasn’t about to spout off verses like Henry, but it did make me mighty proud to think that Grandpa and Uncle Owen were giving that money to the sheriff. Lots of folks probably would’ve thought it rightly belonged to them after all the trouble we’d been going through around here. I wondered what Uncle Lone would’ve done with the money if he’d been the one to find the bandits. And then I wondered what I would’ve done if Henry and I would’ve been the ones to find them. But I knew if Henry had been with me, I really didn’t have to wonder about that.
The sheriff walked over to where the hog bandits sat.
“You low-downs probly never thought ya’d get caught, did ya?” he said in disgust. “Most men work hard all day, but y’all go ’round stealin’ other folks’ hogs in the night like a coupla animals yerselves.”
“We ain’t stole no hogs!” one of them yelled.
“We don’t even eat bacon!” the other one added, and the two of them laughed at the joke until their fit of laughter turned into sputtering spasms of coughing.
“Oh, we got a coupla funny boys, here, do we?” Sheriff Jones said and then spit at their feet. “We’ll see how many jokes yer makin’ when yer locked up in a jail cell with nothin’ to eat and drink but bread and water.”
This sheriff was starting to impress me a little now.
“Well, I’d like to thank ya kind gentlemen of the swamp fer catchin’ these scoundrels,” the sheriff said, turning to Grandpa and the other men. “I’ll be glad to take ’em off yer hands.”
“We’d be much obliged,” Hamp said.
“Now what ’bout that reward you was offerin’?” the sheriff asked. “Who’s the lucky son of a gun who gits to claim that?”
Grandpa, Uncle Owen, Hamp, Farley, and Charlie all smiled at one another and then looked at the sheriff.
“That money’ll be goin’ back to the good folks of the swamp who offered it up,” Grandpa said. “The four of us already decided we don’t need no reward.”
“Yeah,” Hamp added. “Knowin’ our hogs is safe is reward ’nough. Charlie here’ll go back to Traders Hill with ya to pick up that money, so we can return it to folks. Fact, Farley’ll go ’long too so’s ya got ’nough help keepin’ an eye on those two scrapers.”
“Y’all swamp folks are mighty kind, aren’t ya?” Sheriff Jones said, smiling.
He turned and reached down to grab one of the hog bandits by the arm.
“How ’bout a little tea ’fore ya head back?” Grandma called from the porch, holding up the pitcher.
“That’s mighty kind of ya, ma’am,” Sheriff Jones said, letting go of the bandit’s arm he held. “I think I’ll take ya up on that.”
“Farley, you stay here with yer shotgun,” Hamp said as we all walked back up toward the porch where Grandma still stood with the tea.
“Yes, sir,” Farley said.
The sheriff took the jar full of tea Grandma held out, and then sat in the rocking chair that Grandpa offered him.
“That’s a mighty fine dog y’all got there,” Sheriff Jones said, looking down at Huck who lay sleeping on the porch.
“He’s mine,” I said, climbing the porch steps and sitting down next to Huck so I could scratch his head while he slept. “His name’s Huck.”
“It looks to me like he’s got some bloodhound in ’im,” the sheriff said, and then he took a long drink of tea.
“I think that dog’s got a li’l more than bloodhound in ’im,” Grandma said, laughing. “He darn near gits into everythin’ ’round here.”
“Is that so?” Sheriff Jones asked and then took another long drink of tea, “Aaahhhh! Ain’t nothin’ like tea made from Okefenokee Swamp water, is there?”
“No, sir,” Grandma said, smiling as if she herself had something to do with how good the water tasted.
I sure hoped Grandma would get to keep being proud of that water for a long time, but now that I hadn’t been the one to catch the bandits, how would I ever make sure the president paid attention to my letter?
“By the way,” Sheriff Jones said, getting up and handing his jar back to Grandma, “where’d ya git that dog anyways?”
“My uncle Lone found ’im,” I answered, “and he gave ’im to me.”
“Hmm,” the sheriff said.
“Ya know, Sheriff, ya may have some competition fer yer job someday,” Grandpa bragged. “It was Elsie Mae here and her cousin Henry who found one of our missin’ hogs the other day.”
“Is that right?” Sheriff Jones said, smiling at Henry and me. “Maybe the two of you ’ill be the next sheriffs in these parts.”
He headed down the porch steps and back out to the yard. He reached down and grabbed the two hog bandits by their arms and led them toward the trail. Farley and Charlie followed them.
“I’m tellin’ ya!” one of the bandits yelled. “We ain’t stole no hogs!”
I watched the sheriff, the hog bandits, Farley, and Charlie as they disappeared down the trail.
And even though the hog bandit mystery that had loomed over the swamp all summer was finally over, I felt a bothersome little nagging in the middle of my stomach. But I sure couldn’t put my finger on why.