In the next few days, Henry and I had more fun together than we’d had all summer long. We built a lean-to in the woods behind Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Uncle Owen took us fishing for an entire afternoon. I taught Henry how to pole the boat, and he was already getting pretty darn good at it. And even though Grandma didn’t want him to, Grandpa took us coon hunting in the middle of the night with all four of Uncle Owen’s hunting dogs.
In all our busyness and fun, Henry forgot all about his preaching, which I hoped helped him miss his mama and daddy a little less. And since no one was talking much about that ship canal, I figured maybe I could take a break from worrying about it for a while.
Henry and I were enjoying ourselves way too much to spend any time playing church or fretting about something that might not even happen—or that might not be as bad as everyone was making it out to be, even if it did happen. But that all changed one morning while we were eating breakfast.
Henry had just finished saying grace when we heard a swamp call coming up from the shore.
“That sounds like Hamp,” Grandpa said. “I wasn’t expectin’ ’im this mornin’.”
We all scooted away from the table and headed outside. We walked down the porch steps toward the trail to the landing, anxious to know what Hamp was doing here. Before we made it to the swamp’s edge, we saw him heading up toward us.
“What ’r’ ya doin’ up here so early?” Grandpa asked.
“Come to tell ya that our hog problem ain’t over,” Hamp said. “Lost ’nother one last night.”
“What?” Uncle Owen exclaimed.
“Yep,” Hamp said. “Went out early this mornin’ to gather some eggs for Eva, and when I walked past our hog pen, I noticed right away our biggest hog’s missin’.”
“How did that happen when those scoundrels are sittin’ in a cell over at Traders Hill?” Grandpa asked.
“Maybe they weren’t the real hog bandits,” I said.
“They did keep insistin’ they was innocent,” Henry added.
“Well, doesn’t that jus’ beat all,” Grandma said. “Jus’ when we thought our troubles was over.”
This was bad news news for swampers and their hogs, but it was a turn of good fortune for Henry and me. If the hog bandits hadn’t been caught yet, maybe we could still use Huck to help us catch them. I wondered if that handkerchief was still lying wrapped up in that newspaper at the bottom of the boat.
“Looks like we’ll need to be organizin’ some new search parties,” Uncle Owen said.
“Well, y’all won’t be doin’ it on an empty stomach,” Grandma said. “Those hog bandits can wait. I’ve got breakfast on the table. C’mon up to the house with us, Hamp, and join us fer somethin’ to eat.”
“Won’t pass up a chance fer yer cookin’, Sarah,” Hamp said, grinning.
I tried to get Henry’s attention by giving him a look, hoping he’d realize, like I did, that we’d just been given another chance at being heroes, but he didn’t pay me no mind as we all walked back up to the house.
I knew Henry being oblivious to our good fortune was the least of my worries. What I really needed to worry about was how I was going to get him to go back to Hollow Log Pond with me.
“Take Lone’s spot, Hamp,” Grandpa said as we all shuffled around the table again. “He’s been harder to find these days than those hog bandits.”
“Yeah,” Henry said. “Where has Uncle Lone been these last few days?”
“Oh, he’s jus’ cross cuz he wasn’t in on the capture of the bandits the other day,” Uncle Owen said. “Maybe when he finds out the real bandits are still out there, he’ll cheer up a li’l at the thought of havin’ another chance to maybe be the one to track ’em down.”
I gave Henry another look, but he was too busy stuffing a spoonful of corn grits in his mouth to notice I was trying to get him to realize that with Huck and that handkerchief, we had a better chance than anyone of finding the real hog bandits.
“Well, I heard some good news the other day that might cheer everyone up,” Hamp said, piling a huge heap of eggs on his plate.
“Well, some good news would be a nice change,” Grandma said.
“Rumor has it that the ship company that wanted to build that canal ain’t gonna be able to step foot in the Okefenokee,” Hamp said, smiling.
“Really?” I said.
“Yep, heard it when I was up in Waycross a coupla days ago,” Hamp said.
“What a blessing!” Grandma said.
“That it is, but you wanna hear the best part?” Hamp asked.
“What?” I said, praying harder than Henry that by some miracle the best part would be that it was all because of me.
“People are sayin’ that President Roosevelt ’imself had somethin’ to do with it,” Hamp said.
“Hallelujah!” I yelled.
Everyone looked at me like I had just turned into Henry James. Henry looked at me probably wondering how my letter had gotten the president’s attention when our picture hadn’t even ended up in the newspaper. But everyone quickly turned back to Hamp to hear what else he had to say.
“Yep, president’s supposed to be gittin’ all kinda laws passed that’re gonna protect this here swamp, not jus’ from that ship company, but from anyone who wants t’do any harm to the Okefenokee,” Hamp explained. “Folks is sayin’ it’s a real mystery how the president done even found out our swamp needed savin’.”
“I imagine as soon as it’s official, we’ll be readin’ somethin’ ’bout it in the Charlton County Caller,” Hamp said.
“Hallelujah!” I yelled again even louder, almost falling off the bench Henry and I were sitting on.
This time, everyone looked at me like I was crazier than a hound dog trapped in a barn with a bobcat.
Could it really be that my letter had made the president want to save the swamp?
“Elsie Mae,” Grandma said, “what’s gotten into ya?”
Henry looked at me with folded hands and a bowed head. I’m sure he thought the only way this could’ve happened was through all his prayers, but I didn’t care what he thought. All that mattered was that the president was saving the Okefenokee, and there was a darn good chance it was because of me! Even so, I still wanted to keep it a secret. That way it could be a great, big surprise when the truth came out.
“Jus’ happy to hear the swamp’ll be safe now,” I said, scooting the bench underneath the table again.
Everyone looked at me like I was more addled in the brain than Uncle Lone.
Hamp’s news was even bigger than hearing that the hog bandits were still on the loose, just waiting for Henry and me to find them.
“Well, Hamp, that’s some mighty good news ya brought us this mornin’,” Grandpa said.
“Yeeoooow! Yeeooooow!” cut through the kitchen, interrupting our celebration.
“That’s Farley,” Hamp said. “What in tarnation’s he doin’ up here? He’s supposed to be back at our place helpin’ Eva make a batch of her brown sugar for the frolic that’s comin’ up.”
We all looked at one another in confusion.
We scooted out from the table again and all headed outside. This time, when we got down the porch steps, we saw Sheriff Jones and Farley coming through the gate.
“Sheriff showed up jus’ after ya left, Pa,” Farley explained when he saw how confused we all looked.
“Soon as I talked to yer boy,” Sheriff Jones said, “I knew what I come to tell ya wasn’t gonna be no surprise.”
“Lemme guess,” Uncle Owen said. “Ya found out those two low-downs ya got locked up ain’t the real hog bandits after all.”
“Darn right ’bout that,” Sheriff Jones said as he pulled up the waistband on his pants that were sliding down his round stomach. “Found out from a coupla other scoundrels we brought in that those boys y’all caught the other day didn’t get all that money stealin’ hogs. They was runnin’ moonshine.”
“That’s why they kept sayin’ they never stole no hogs,” Henry said.
“Yep,” Sheriff Jones said. “But they’ll be stayin’ locked up right where they are. Their moonshine-runnin’ days’re over.”
“But that doesn’t solve our hog bandit problem,” Uncle Owen said. “Does it?”
“Nope,” the sheriff said. “And ’sides that, I’m ’fraid we got ourselves ’nother problem.”
The sheriff looked around, and his eyes landed on Huck, who was sleeping under the swing on the front porch. That bothersome feeling in my stomach that I’d had several days ago, when Sheriff Jones left with the supposed hog bandits, pounced on me like Huck on a huckleberry pie.
“Oh yeah,” Grandpa said. “What’s that?”
“Done some checkin’ the other day after I was out here,” Sheriff Jones said. “Seems that the Pierce County Sheriff’s Department up north of Waycross is missing a dog from their K-9 unit.”
“What ’r’ ya talkin’ ’bout?” Uncle Owen asked.
“I’m talkin’ ’bout that dog right up there,” Sheriff Jones said, pointing at Huck.
“My brother and I found that dog abandoned and ’bout half-starved in the swamp weeks ago,” Uncle Owen said.
“That’s because he was lost on a rescue mission,” the sheriff said. “The K-9 unit looked fer him as long as they could, and then they had to give up and go on back home.
“That dog lost his voice box in a rescue-related injury several months ’fore that, so they figured without ’im being able to bark or growl to protect ’imself, he was most likely dead. Maybe kilt by a wild animal or somethin’.”
“Yeah, so?” Uncle Owen said.
“So, that dog there is a bloodhound mix, ’specially trained, and one of the best trackin’ dogs in Pierce County,” Sheriff Jones said, getting more stern with each word he spoke.
My heart pounded in my ears, and I ran up the porch steps, kneeled next to Huck, put my arms around his neck, and rested my chin on his head. I rubbed my hand against that big, lumpy scar, and now that I knew how it had gotten there, it just made me love Huck even more, which I didn’t think was even possible.
“What ’r’ ya sayin’, Sheriff?” Grandpa asked.
“I’m sayin’ that dog doesn’t belong to y’all,” Sheriff Jones said in a real matter-a-fact way.
“Well, we’re sayin’ that he does,” Grandpa said in a real I’m-about-to-get-mad way.
“The girl’s gonna have to give back that dog,” Sheriff Jones said sternly.
I couldn’t believe my ears. There was no way I could give up Huck.
“Well, Sheriff,” Grandpa said sternly, taking a step closer to the sheriff and looking him straight in the eye. “Thank ya fer informin’ us of all this, but if the Pierce County Sheriff’s Department wants their dog back, first off, they’re gonna have to prove that it’s theirs, and last off, they’re gonna have to wrestle me to get it. That dog belongs to Elsie Mae!”
With that, Grandpa turned away from Sheriff Jones and walked around to the back of the house.
I stared out at the sheriff from the porch. I still held on to Huck with both arms. I watched the sheriff turn and walk back down the trail toward the landing, and when he disappeared in the trees, I buried my head in the loose skin around Huck’s neck and cried and cried.