Later that day was almost a repeat of the day the moonshine boys had been caught. The real hog bandits, with their wrists tied behind their backs, sat on the big stump in the yard, but this time our captives were propped up against each other because they were still sleeping off their moonshine.
Grandpa and Uncle Owen stood in the chinaberry trees’ shade talking. Henry and I sat on the porch swing, gliding back and forth with Huck sleeping at our feet, and Grandma sat in one of the rocking chairs snapping more of her beans.
As I rocked the porch swing, my worried heart prayed silently that my plan of catching the hog bandits to save Huck was divine providence. I knew I wasn’t as holy as Henry James, but I sure hoped God wouldn’t hold that against me when something as important as keeping Huck was at stake.
It wasn’t long before we heard “Yowwweeeee! Yowwweeeee!” coming up from the water. It was Hamp. He had gone off to fetch Sheriff Jones once he’d heard about us catching the real bandits.
Hamp’s swamp call pierced my prayers and filled me with dread. Now that Sheriff Jones was here, my doubts wrestled my hope to the ground, and I worried that my plan to save Huck had been a big, huge mistake. Even so, I jumped off the swing with Henry and headed down the porch steps to wait in the yard with Grandpa and Uncle Owen. Huck loped out into the yard behind us. Soon Hamp came walking up the trail from the landing with Sheriff Jones following right behind him.
“Howdy, y’all,” Sheriff Jones said when he got close.
And he tipped his hat to all of us.
“Well, we know we got ’em this time,” Grandpa said, pointing to the stump where the two men sat slumped against each other, still sleeping.
“I heard it was that dog that led the young’uns right to these scoundrels,” Sheriff Jones said, looking right at Grandpa.
As soon as the sheriff said that, I realized how foolish it was for me to think that having Huck help us find the hog bandits would be the sure way for me to keep him. My stomach scrunched up with worry as I held my breath hoping that, by some miracle, the sheriff wouldn’t see Huck’s help as a reason to take him away. Everyone in the yard was quiet, and I knew everyone was thinking the same thing.
“That dog’s obviously been trained well if he found those two scrapers like he did,” Sheriff Jones said. “I really should let everyone upstate know that the trackin’ dog they lost months ago is alive and well and livin’ right here in the swamp.”
I felt my skin go cold and clammy, the same way it had in the damp, dark danger of Hollow Log Pond that very first day Henry and I had been there together when the hog bandits shot at us. My heart pounded, and the ringing in my ears sounded louder than Uncle Owen’s swamp call.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Henry James’s lips whispering prayers, and I noticed Grandpa’s face turn to stone. His expression made it easy for me to see where Uncle Lone got his orneriness.
“Now wait a minute!” Grandpa said, breaking the silence and cutting into the fear that was pounding and ringing in my head.
“That dog was a stray runnin’ ’round our swamp, and if it wasn’t fer Elsie Mae here, he probly wouldn’t even be alive!” Grandpa said, sounding madder than I’d ever heard him sound.
Trickles of silent tears slipped down my face as I knelt by Huck, who stood next to me. I felt Grandma’s hand touch my head.
“Yep,” Sheriff Jones said, “and that’s why if anyone come down here from Pierce County tryin’ to take that dog away from Elsie Mae, they’re gonna have to wrestle me first before they wrestle you.”
We all exhaled in relief.
No one said anything.
What could we say?
Sheriff Jones wasn’t going to let anyone take Huck away!
Now my silent tears turned to sobs, and I buried my head in the folds of Huck’s neck. Grandma’s hand rested on my head, anointing me with relief.
“Hallelujah and amen!” Henry James finally shouted, shattering the surprised and relief-filled silence.
And everyone laughed out loud, letting go of the worry we’d all been holding on to.
“Well, I best be gitting these two over to the cell that’s waitin’ fer ’em at Traders Hill,” Sheriff Jones said.
“We’d be much obliged,” Grandpa said.
I looked up from Huck with happy tears smeared all over my face to see Grandpa reach out to shake the sheriff’s hand. His face of stone had been transformed by Sheriff Jones’s kindness back into his usual expression of friendly good cheer.
The sheriff walked over, shook the hog bandits awake, and grabbed them by the arms.
“Yer hog bandit days is over, boys,” Sheriff Jones said as he stood them up and dragged them across the yard toward the gate.
In their dazed stupor, they didn’t even fight back, but even so, Hamp followed the sheriff and the bandits through the gate, so he could go along on the trip to Traders Hill.
“Y’all have a good day now,” Sheriff Jones called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the trail leading to the water.
“We sure will!” Grandma called after him.
I was too happy to speak. I laid my cheek on Huck’s head. I wasn’t just planning on having a good day. I was planning on having a good rest of the summer. Huck was safe, and from the news Hamp had told us about the ship canal, the swamp was safe too. On top of that, Henry, Huck, and I were the big heroes in the hog bandit mystery. Having a good rest of the summer was going to be as easy as huckleberry pie.