New Story: Attack of The Panther!

[thousandcasts]

I keep saying I'm going to get this new book out, but things have delayed it for a little while. Anyway, the new book will be called "What a Rotten Little Kid!" and my hope is to have it out early in '07. Until then, here's a new story from that book and I'm sure you'll remember some of the characters from the first book!

Attack of the Panther*

*taken from "What a Rotten Little Kid!" by Steven Hutchins

Beef and I wandered into The Queasy Kitchen for breakfast. The diner was atypically abuzz for a Saturday morning. Most of the time, the morning clientele consisted of farmers on their way to the weekly flea market, survivors of the “keg night” festivities at the Hillsdale County Gun & Muffin Club, and various other miscreants of all shapes and sizes. Beef and I were part of the latter. Normally, the diner was like a morgue as everyone was nursing hangovers and grumbling about nothing in particular, but not today…the diner was full of conversation and energy. We spotted a fellow miscreant, The Buckmaster, at one of the tables in the back; we shuffled over to join him.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “How come everyone’s so fired up this morning?”
“You mean you didn’t hear?” The Buckmaster asked. “Vern Puckleberry saw the Black Panther on his farm last night!”
“You’re kiddin’!” Beef gasped. “I thought that ol’ panther had disappeared!”
“Well, obviously it didn’t,” The Buckmaster stated. “Cuz, Vern swears up and down that it was a Black Panther he saw!”
“When did Vern get out of Rehab anyway?” I asked. “Maybe he fell off the wagon again.”
“That’s what the sheriff thought too,” The Buckmaster said. “But Vern swears he ain’t had a drop since he got out! He say’s it was ten feet long not including the tail.”
“Damn…it’s gotten bigger,” Beef pointed out.
The Panther in question was a mythical resident of Hillsdale County whose existence had yet to be concretely proven. Every now and again, it would appear on someone’s farm and the town would be terror-stricken for weeks after that. The common hypothesis is that the panther had escaped from a zoo and found the terrain of our little county to its liking. Others thought that it was imported from a petting zoo, but I’ve yet to see a Black Panther that was loveable enough to be at a petting zoo. It had been a couple of years since the last panther sighting and all thoughts of this beast had pretty much dissipated. You see, the widow Bagel claimed to have videotaped the creature as it stalked the edges of her flower garden. Animal biologist from everywhere flocked to Hillsdale County and we actually had some national exposure because of it. Our celebrity was short lived as it turned out; the widow Bagel had inadvertently video taped her black cat, Squatty, as he was in the midst of doing his…uh… “business”. The widow Bagel was a popular figure in our little county. Most people knew her by name and during the 1980’s she gained a bit of local fame for being the spitting image of that “Where’s the Beef?” lady on those famous Wendy’s commercials. Whenever she was out and about, someone was bound to yell, “Where’s the Beef, Widow?” a greeting that usually got you a wrinkled old middle finger in return! However, well liked or not, Mrs. Bagel was a bit on the eccentric side. She was also extremely forgetful and along with her bad eyesight, it didn’t surprise us one bit that she mistook her beloved Squatty for the panther. Still, we all got pretty excited at the thought that there was irrefutable evidence to show that the panther existed. Alas, it wasn’t to be, and the mysterious creature vanished into the county folklore. It appeared, however, that it was back…
“I know what you’re thinking,” The Buckmaster said to me. “But it ain’t like the widow’s sighting! Vern’s pretty much on the up and up.”
“Let’s see,” I began sarcastically. “The only people who’ve claimed to have seen this panther are either insane, off the wagon, reclusive, or a senile old widow with cataracts who watches way too much television! How could I not be convinced of its existence?”
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” The Buckmaster said. “If the credibility of the witnesses is at question, then perhaps the story would get more attention if someone credible actually saw the panther.”
“I’m flattered that you’d think I’m credible,” I answered. “But I haven’t seen the panther nor have I been out wasting time looking for it!”
“I’m not talking about you,” The Buckmaster laughed. “I’m The Buckmaster, people would believe me!”
“What in the world would make you think that?” I questioned.
“I was on the radio,” He bragged. “Didn’t the announcer refer to me as ‘Deer hunting paragon, The Buckmaster’?”
“All they were doing was pulling people out of the crowd at the Purple Loosestrife festival to ask them what living in Hillsdale County meant to them!” I said. “It was a simple survey and you ended up giving a 20 minute sermon on finding the right hunting blind!”
“That’s because I’m a paragon!” The Buckmaster shot back. “And finding the right hunting blind is an important part of living in these parts!”
“Paragon?” I gasped. “You were ready to unleash a law suit against the radio station until I explained to you that paragon was actually a compliment!”
We continued our debate as Gretchen, the long time waitress at the Queasy Kitchen, brought us our coffee. A cantankerous older woman, Gretchen is usually in the foulest of moods. Her claim to fame is having a poorly fitted glass eye that seems to pop out at will and end up in the most embarrassing places.
“So what’s it going be?” She asked. “The breakfast buffet or the menu? If it’s something from the menu, hurry up and decide cuz I got lots of other customers waitin’ to order!”
“I’ll have the scarf n’ barf,” The Buckmaster said.
“Me too,” Beef agreed.
“The scarf n’ barf sounds good,” I said, “I’ll have that as well.”
“Good. Three buffets,” Gretchen wrote down. “Makes my job that much easier!”
Gretchen wandered over to the table next to us. The Buckmaster took a big swig of his coffee and stared at the cup for a moment. A weird look crossed his face as he struggled to swallow the large gulp.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Coffee a little strong this morning?”
“No…I hate being stared at when I’m trying to enjoy my morning coffee!” The Buckmaster grimaced. Beef and I looked around to see who might be staring in our direction.
“Hey Gretchen!” The Buckmaster hollered over to the next table. “You missing something?”
Gretchen turned towards us and started scratching her head as if in deep thought while The Buckmaster used a spoon to fish the glass eye out of his coffee cup. He tossed the orb like a golf ball and Gretchen snatched it out of mid air, quickly wiped it off on her greasy apron and put it back in place.
“Oh, thanks, I’ve been looking all over for that damn thing!” she said. “Listen, things are a little hectic this morning what with the panther thing and all…if you need anything just holler. I’ll be bouncing around here someplace!”
“Ok,” I said. “We’ll keep an eye out for ya!”
“Which brings me back to my original thought,” The Buckmaster stated after taking another swig of his coffee. “If someone credible were to see the panther, then that person or person’s could gain quite a bit of attention for doing so!”
“Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a really long day?” I sighed. “Alright, spit it out…what’s your plan?”
The Buckmaster pulled a map of Hillsdale County out of his pocket. Several black dots in the same general area marked the numerous panther sightings that had occurred over the years. He had each dot labeled by the person who reported the sighting.
“Now if you look at all these dots,” The Buckmaster pointed to the map, “You can see that all of the sightings are fairly close to each other in the same general area.”
“Wow,” Beef said. He was clearly impressed with his uncle’s analysis of the situation. “You’ve been doing your homework!”
“Which is why I’m a paragon,” The Buckmaster glared at me as I rolled my eyes in disbelief. “But anyway, the actual locations of the sightings are secondary. Of more importance is this area right here.”
“Lost Nation?” I questioned, referring to the state game area that he was pointing to on the map.
“Yes. All of the witnesses properties, the widow Bagel’s, Vern Puckleberry’s, etc., all border the outer edges of Lost Nation’s.” He deduced. “Therefore, it’s my belief that the panther is actually living in the woods of the state game area and ventures out of it on occasion. So, since I have every reason to believe that our panther is stalking around in Lost Nation’s, that is where we’ll begin our search!”
“And it’s my belief that you and Vern must’ve had one hell of a party last night,” I sighed.
“Hey…how come we weren’t invited?” Beef asked his uncle. He acted like he was insulted. The Buckmaster kept glaring at me.
In all honesty, I don’t believe in this panther. To me, it’s the type of folklore that every county seems to have. As much as it livens up an otherwise quiet rural locale, the sad realism is this: I can pick up any copy of those slander rags at the supermarket checkout and find stories that have more credibility than our little black panther legend. I mean, I’ll believe that the infamous “Bat Boy” lead police on a three state, high-speed chase, long before I believe old man Puckleberry’s hallucinations! He’s known as “Old Man Drunkleberry” for a reason. However, The Buckmaster did have a point when he stated that someone credible needs to see this panther to give the story some validation. My thought in this whole process was that if someone credible didn’t see the panther, then perhaps…well, I don’t think I need to explain why I was tagging along on this little adventure. Besides, it’s Hillsdale County… around here, there isn’t a whole hell of a lot to do in the middle of summer! Since most of the sightings had “occurred” toward evening or after dark, it was decided that we would begin our search of the state game area later in the afternoon.
Later in the afternoon, after taking a nap to rest up for all the walking I was going to be doing, I emerged from my bedroom, sat down on the couch and started putting on my hiking boots. The Chief was sitting in his easy chair reading a travel magazine.
“You know,” He said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this Lyme disease epidemic that seems to be going around.”
“Why would you be thinking about that?” I naively asked.
“Well, it is such a nice day out I was thinking about firing up the grill and relaxing out in the back yard,” The Chief thought out loud, continuing to stare at the magazine. “But, as I understand it, tall grass is a haven for deer ticks…I’m terrified to go out in my own backyard!”
“Alright, I get the hint,” I said. “I’ll mow the lawn tomorrow!”
“You’ve been saying that for weeks! Your poor mother had to use a machete just to make a path out to the garbage can.” The Chief scolded. “I don’t get it. You live here rent-free, you don’t mow the lawn, you eat all my…um, what’s with the jeans and hiking boots? It’s way too hot out there for those kind of clothes!”
“I don’t want to get any poison ivy,” I commented.
“Where are you off to?” The Chief questioned with one eyebrow raised.
“Old man Drunkleberry saw the black panther so me and Beef are going with The Buckmaster to Lost Nation’s so we can find the panther and be famous,” I mumbled as I was bent over tying up my boots.
“I see,” The Chief peered out from behind his magazine. “Son…look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t on drugs.”
After assuring my father that I was indeed, clean and sober, I jumped into my old van, The Sex Mobile, and drove up to Beef’s grandmother’s to pick him up. After a stop at the local gas station to grab a few refreshments, we made our way out to the state game area near the sprawling twin townships of Osseo and Pittsford. We pulled up behind The Buckmaster’s vehicle, the famed Buck Mobile, which was parked off the main road near one of the entrances to the state game area.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“About a mile or so over that way is the widow Bagels property, “ The Buckmaster directed. “Just beyond that on the backside of the woods is Vern’s place. I’m thinking that we start working our way in that direction and maybe we’ll flush this panther out as he’s goin’ out for the night!”
“So basically we just walk that way,” Beef pointed in the direction of the Bagel homestead.
“Yeah, something like that,” The Buckmaster confirmed. “We’ll just have to be careful of the traps I had Gary set!”
“Gary?” I questioned. “What traps?”
“The dang foot traps I set out!” Grubby Gary responded. He was walking up the trail and sweating profusely. His tattered and undersized Hawaiian shirt was already soaked, which isn’t a good thing when your claim to fame is for having a profound absence of personal hygiene. “Holy cow BM, you sure picked a hot day to be out hiking in the dinky weeds!”
“But, we’ll be famous when we catch that panther!” The Buckmaster plotted. He and Grubby Gary gave each other one of those evil smirks.
“Catch the panther?” Beef stated in disbelief. “How do you catch a panther?”
“Same way you skin a cat!” Grubby Gary explained. “And there’s more than one way to do that!”
“Oh…that makes sense then,” Beef agreed. “I thought it was going to be hard!”
“Morons!” I snarled under my breath.
“What’s that?” The Buckmaster asked.
“Nothing…I said I want to hear more on this plan to catch the panther,” I recovered. “Since the original plan was just to spot it.”
“I changed the plan,” The Buckmaster said as we began marching single file down the path into the woods. A few hours later, after futilely trudging high and low down several paths, the realization that we might be wasting our time was starting to sink in. The only thing that had been produced thus far was a bunch of sore legs and several gallons of poured sweat. The latter, of course, only increased Grubby Gary’s normal noxious body odor to a point where walking behind him was almost unbearable. Any panther within three square miles could have picked up that stench and if it had any sense about it, would have done everything in it’s power to stay clear of its source! The sun had now set to the point where flashlights were starting to become a requirement.
“We’re not covering enough ground,” The Buckmaster finally said.
“We’ve been over every inch of these woods,” I gasped. “What more can we do?”
“We need to split up,” The Buckmaster answered. “You and Beef go that way toward the widow Bagel’s property. Me and Gary will head over that way toward Vern’s place.”
“What happens if we run into the panther?” Beef whined.
“Stay clear of its fangs and claws!” Grubby Gary laughed. “And make sure you yell real loud!”
“We’ll do the same thing. If either of our groups hears the other one yellin’ then we’ll all be there to help out!” The Buckmaster pointed out as he clicked on his flashlight. He and Grubby Gary started wandering up another trail while Beef and I took a few moments to catch our breath before we turned on a flashlight and resumed our trek up a different path.
A half mile away the widow Bagel opened up her back door to let her beloved black lab, Captain Moses Allen, out for his nightly stroll. Being the paranoid type, she quickly let the dog out, latched the screen door on her back porch and turned on the outside light as “The Captain” bounded off into the night…and into the woods that bordered the backside of the widow’s property.
Beef and I were working our way up a trail. I was in front with the flashlight and he was close behind me. I was shining the light all around the trail in front of us and we kept our attentions toward the ground, scanning the area for any panther tracks or other “signs” of it’s existence. A quick scurrying sound in the bushes behind us made us turn our attentions in that direction.
“What was that?” Beef nervously asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. I was shining the light toward the bushes that we’d just passed and we were both walking backwards as we tried to figure out what the sound was. “It sounded small…must’ve been a rabbit or something.”
“Or something,” Beef stammered. I turned the light so it was shining in front of us again, and I took one step forward.
SNAP!
“Aaaaiiiggghhhh!” I bellowed out in agony. Back at Mrs. Bagels house, the sound of a scream over powered the high volume of her Saturday night PTL program, which succeeded in terrifying the reclusive old woman. Her black cat, Squatty, jumped off her lap and sought refuge under the couch.
“Burglars!” She gasped. “You stay right there, Squatty, Mama’s gonna call the sheriff!”
“Why did you slam the flash light into the ground,” Beef scolded, “now it doesn’t work!”
“Because I’m mad as hell, that’s why!” I yelled.
“Couldn’t you be mad as hell and not break the flash light?” Beef questioned. “Now we can’t see a thing!”
“What’s there to see?” I said. “Now would you stop whining about the flash light and come help me get my freakin’ foot out of this damn foot trap?”

Continued in next post...

[thousandcasts]

In the darkness of the woods, I was able to use my cigarette lighter to provide enough light for Beef to start prying open the clamps of Grubby Gary’s trap. The pain of it digging into my leg was secondary to the pain of my twisted ankle - which occurred after the initial springing of the trap. Just as he was freeing my leg, we heard another strange sound in the bushes. With a few snapped twigs and crumpled leaves, it was very clear that whatever was making the noises was…circling us!
“Maybe it’s just another rabbit?” Beef hoped.
“I hope so…but if it is, it’s an awfully BIG rabbit,” I pointed out.
“I’ve seen some really big rabbits,” Beef tried to reason. “And some really big possums, too!”
“That’s what it is!” I said with faint hope. “It’s a possum…a big old over grown possum!”
I held up my lighter and it provided a faint illumination of our area, very faint, but enough that we caught a quick glimpse of the beast in the bushes. We saw a long black shadow with a long tail pass through one of the bushes.
“A…really…big…possum,” I continued. Sweat was starting to form on my face and hands.
“A really big p-p-panther!” Beef stammered. At that moment we heard a strange sound coming from a bush immediately behind us…the sound of panting. The damn thing was practically breathing down our necks!
“You hear that?” Beef whispered. “It’s hungry…panting for fresh meat, blood.”
“Relax,” I whispered back, “Panthers don’t pant!”
“Uh huh,” Beef said. “Why do you think they call them pant-ther’s?”
“Shh…listen,” I said. “It’s circling us again!”
“Look up the trail,” Beef pointed. “There’s a light from somebody’s porch! Maybe if we run real fast we can make it there before the panther gets us!”
“I can’t run, man!” I sighed. “My ankle’s all messed up.”
“Nice knowing you, buddy,” Beef nearly cried as he patted me on the head. He was getting ready for a full on sprint up the trail. “It’s a true friend that would sacrifice themselves for another.”
“Oh, hell no!” I said. “Get back down here, I’ve got an idea.”
The widow Bagel nervously opened up the door to her porch and started pointing the barrel of her shotgun into the back yard. It was a large back yard that was fairly wide open except for the pole barn and woodpile that were down near the edge of the woods. The sound of someone running up the trail caught her attention and she raised the shotgun to her shoulder.
“That’s it burglars…come and get it!” She grunted.
Beef and I were almost to the edge of the woods. Thanks to a diversionary tactic, we managed to get some pretty good separation between the panther, and us, which was really amazing since Beef was doing the running and I was riding piggyback!
“Is it behind us?” Beef gasped.
“No, I think he chased after that stick I threw in the bushes,” I answered with my arms wrapped around his shoulders. “But you may wanna pick up the pace a little…I hear him crashing through the shrubs over there!”
“You want me to drop you right now?” Beef yelled. “Quit being a back seat driver!”
He plodded up the trail and we finally emerged from the woods. He started walking slowly as we reached the edge of the pole barn and rounded the corner into the widow’s back yard. One of her many hanging plants that were attached to the edge of the roof of the barn, struck me in the forehead.
“Ouch!” I said. “Why don’t you duck down a little bit, I keep hitting my head on these damn flower pots!”
Beef ducked ever slightly and we continued to creep along the outside wall of the pole barn. We tried to stay out of sight in case the panther came bounding into the back yard, which it didn’t. The panther stopped at the edge of the woods and sat there…panting. As I was rubbing some dirt from one of the flowerpots off my forehead, I noticed the widow standing 40 yards away up by her back porch. It took me a second to realize what she was holding in her hand.
“Oh…good evening Mrs. Bag—DROP!” I screamed at Beef when I realized that the barrel of her shotgun was pointed right at us! I started smacking him on top of the head to expedite the process.
BOOM!
One of the flowerpots above our heads exploded as the first blast released from the widows firearm. Beef hit the deck with me on top of him. I was laying face down on his back and he was crawling on all fours toward the other side of the pole barn. Another loud blast and another exploding flowerpot covered us with daisies and potting soil.
“I thought her eye sight was bad!” Beef exclaimed as he continued to shimmy us along the ground.
“She’s aiming high isn’t she?” I pointed out. “Thank God for cataracts!”
BOOM!
A third blast ripped a large hole into the side of the building. Beef stopped in mid crawl.
“What are you stopping for?” I screamed and started slapping him on the head again. “That’s three shots! She’s gotta re-load. Get us over there behind that wood pile!”
While the old woman was popping more shells into the chamber of her weapon, Beef stood up and sprinted behind the woodpile. He dropped me on the ground and we both laid face to face behind a couple really big logs. Another shot splintered a smaller log at the top of the pile.
“Didn’t take her long to re-load, did it?” Beef huffed. “What are we going to do now?”
“C’mon out of there, burglars, take yer medicine!” The widow called out. “If you’re gonna pick on old ladies to rob, then be prepared for the consequences!”
“Don’t shoot, Mrs. Bagel,” I yelled back. “We’re not burglars, I swear it!”
“Hmmm, maybe you’re not…I don’t know if a burglar would know my name,” The old woman reasoned. “But a salesman sure as hell would! So, why don’t ya’ll c’mon out and take advantage of this one time only, special offer!”
BOOM!
“Some restrictions may apply, of course,” She grunted slowly. At this point the sheriffs patrol car came roaring into the driveway. Sheriff Carleton and his deputy, Harry, came running into the back yard.
“What’s goin’ on, widow?” The sheriff questioned. “What’s with all the shootin’?”
“I got me a pack of burglars and salesmen out in my wood pile!” Widow Bagel exclaimed.
“Burglars and salesman?” The Sheriff responded. “We don’t take kindly to either one in this county! Don’t worry Mrs. Bagel, we’ll take it from here, Harry…go fetch “The Peacemaker” outta the trunk!”
“Hot damn!” Harry gleefully chuckled. He ran out and popped the trunk on the squad car. “And here I was complaining about what a slow night it was!”
“So here’s what we’ll do, “ The Sheriff plotted after Harry came back from the car. “I flush em out with this tear gas launcher and Harry there will hit ‘em with the Tazer Gun! Then it’s up to Judge Loren to decide what to do with ‘em…and you know how he feels about salesman since one sold him that “Tan Your Own Deer Hide” Kit!”
“I heard his house stunk so bad that his wife nearly divorced him!” The widow stated.
“Yep, and he’s been throwing the book at ‘em all ever since,” The Sheriff nodded.
“How do you know we didn’t run back into the woods?” I yelled out.
“He does have a point there, Sheriff,” Harry said as he put his hands on his hips and shook his head in frustration.
“What the…? Harry, do you think one of those burglars would be talkin’ to us if they’re already long gone in the woods?” The annoyed sheriff asked.
“Um…I guess not,” Harry thought for a moment.
“Right…now put on the gas mask and get down there by the pole barn.” Sheriff Carleton ordered. “Zap ‘em when I blast ‘em outta that wood pile!”
“You got it!” Harry dutifully complied. He put the gas mask on, gave the sheriff and the widow a “thumbs up” and ran down to take up a position at the edge of the building. He held the Tazer gun in front of him, ready to strike. Back in the woods, The Buckmaster and Grubby Gary were trying to make sense of the sounds they’d heard in the distance.
“I’m telling you Gary,” The Buckmaster said, “Those gun shots came from widow Bagel’s property and I swear, I heard the widow scream ‘help…it’s the panther!’”
“We better get up there and help her out then,” Grubby Gary offered as they started running up a trail toward the widow’s property.
“Think we can out run tear gas?” I asked Beef.
“Been there, done that,” Beef answered. “But I don’t think we’ve ever out ran a Tazer.”
“Well, well, well…life certainly is made up of interesting choices, isn’t it” I said to Beef. I pointed to the edge of the woods that were a mere 20 yards behind us. “What’s it going be, the panther or jail?”
“Granny said she’d scratch my eyes out if she ever had to come bail me out of jail,” Beef sighed.
“So pick your poison,” I put him on the spot. “Either way, I think you’re going to get scratched.”
“The panther it is!” Beef said without hesitation.
WHUMP!
Sheriff Carleton launched the tear gas canister into the air…it landed with a soft thud right next to Beef and I. Beef quickly grabbed the canister and threw it back in the direction of the sheriff. It exploded in mid air causing a cloud of noxious gas to fill up the back half of the yard. I jumped on Beef’s back and he started running for the edge of the woods as Deputy Harry jumped out with the Tazer in hand.
“Gotcha!” He said from behind the gas mask.
“Duck!” I shouted to Beef. The Tazer cable went over our heads and boomeranged back to Deputy Harry, striking him in the chest. He fell over stunned while Beef and I escaped into the safety of the woods. The mysterious panther, which had been lying in wait, resumed the chase. We passed The Buckmaster and Grubby Gary as they were running by in the opposite direction.
“Sorry, can’t talk now!” I yelled as we rumbled past.
“I always knew there was something funny about those two,” Grubby Gary said after we rushed by.
“Where the heck are they going in such a hurry?” The Buckmaster stopped and thought out loud.
BOOM!
The widow fired another shot into the woods. A tree limb above The Buckmaster and Grubby Gary’s heads splintered into a million pieces.
“Run like hell!” Grubby Gary shouted…a line that was fast becoming his trademark. They were starting to gain on us when The Buckmaster noticed that something was chasing them.
“What’s that chasing us?” He shouted back to Grubby Gary.
“Beats the hell out of me!” Grubby Gary shouted back. “It’s big, it’s got teeth and I’m sure as hell not stoppin’ to see what it is!”
“I don’t know if I can out run no panther,” Beef huffed and puffed.
“You don’t have to worry about out running the panther,” I directed. “All you have to worry about is out running those two!”
At long last, we spotted the mercury light shining above our vehicles at the entrance of the woods. Beef grunted and gasped up the trail until we broke through to the safety of the illuminated area. The Buckmaster and Grubby Gary came crashing up into the parking area pushing and shoving each other out of the way. With everyone scrambling to climb into his respective vehicles, Captain Moses Allen came bounding out of the brush, sat down and started barking.
“If that don’t beat all,” Grubby Gary wheezed.
“I told you there was no such thing as a panther!” I yelled. I took off my baseball cap and started swatting Beef on the head with it. We heard the sound of a police car off in the distance and Sheriff Carleton came screeching around the corner a half-mile up the road. He skidded to a halt when he saw our vehicles parked off the side of the road.
“Good evening, sheriff,” The Buckmaster greeted him. He was on friendly terms with the sheriff and his deputy.
“Howdy BM,” The sheriff greeted back. “What are you boys doin’ out here tonight?”
“Oh, just spotting a few coons,” The Buckmaster lied. “Me and Gary are thinking about bringing the dogs out tomorrow night.”
“Well, for safety reasons, I’d advise you to get in your vehicles and high tail it out of here,” Sheriff Carleton advised. “We got us a vicious gang of burglars and salesmen running around here raising all kinds of hell!”
“Burglars and salesmen, huh?” The Buckmaster turned and glared at Beef and I.
“Vicious gang of ‘em too!” The sheriff confirmed. He motioned to Deputy Harry, who was slumped over in the passenger seat, twitching. “They even went so far as to assault my deputy, here!”
“Damn!” I exclaimed. “I’m getting the heck out of here…I sure don’t want to get mixed up with a gang like that!”
The sheriff tore off, wheels spinning, to resume his “chase” of the mad gang that was terrorizing the countryside. We stood there in silence for moment.
“We might as well call it a night,” The Buckmaster finally spoke. “I don’t think the panther’s gonna come out with all this activity going on…we’ll have to try again some other night.”
I shook my head and began limping over to my vehicle. Captain Moses Allen turned around, hunkered down and began growling and whimpering.
“What the heck’s gotten into him?” Grubby Gary asked.
We all turned to look where the black lab was pointing. He was growling in the direction of a dark farmhouse a hundred yards or so up the road. The house was up on a hill and we scanned all around the area, seeing nothing, until something caught our eye near the edge of the barn. It was a pair of eyes, reflecting in the faint illumination from a mercury light above the barn. The eyes watched us for a moment before creeping out into the open. The creature was long, sleek and feline in nature. It bounded across the yard and stopped at the edge of the road to peer over at us once again. All our mouths dropped as the magnificent black creature snarled in our direction. It then crossed the road with one leap and disappeared into the swamp on the other side. Beef took off his cap and started whacking me on the head with it!
“There’s no such thing as a panther!” He mocked me in a high-pitched, whiny voice.
Sure maybe we might have seen the famous Hillsdale County black panther, but after the events that had recently transpired, were any of us really going to tell anyone about it?

[mjmmusser]

All in true Patrick McManus fashion. Love the styling of his writing.