“You know what the secret is?” Miss Sink’s mood was considerably uplifted.

“Let me guess. Honey.”

West abruptly pulled out onto the street and gunned the engine.

“Exactly right,” Miss Sink exclaimed. “How did you know that?”

“Had it before. About time I had it again.”

“Now that’s talking,” Miss Sink said. “I’ll get back with you and we’ll do something about it.”

“I sure hope so,” Brazil said. “Gotta go.”

West was driving as if she hated the car and was determined to punish it.

“At least I don’t make personal calls on the job,” she exclaimed.

Brazil was silent. He stared out his window. He took a deep breath and sighed. He glanced over at her, his feelings a volatile mixture of euphoria and heartache. She was jealous. She must still care. But he couldn’t stand to hurt her. He almost told her the truth about Miss Sink. But when he remembered the florist’s card, he thought, forget it.

Bubba was not in good spirits as Smudge drove through the tar-black night, rocking over ruts and splashing. Stars were out and stingy with their light. Bubba wished he’d never come. He felt awful. He thought he might throw up.

“We really haven’t gone over the rules,” Smudge cheerfully said.

“I thought we said they’d be the same as always,” Bubba despondently replied.

“No, I think we ought to add a default clause,” Smudge proposed. “Since so much is at stake and this is a one-on-one competition.”

“I don’t understand,” Bubba commented as suspicions gathered.

“Let’s say Half Shell’s being her typical loudmouth cold nose and starts treeing about two or three trees away from the tree where the coon is. And Half Shell’s doing it every time. You might just want to bag it instead of staying out in the woods all night. Same thing goes for me.”

“So if I default, you get the thousand dollars. If you default I get it. If both of us default, neither of us get a thing,” Bubba deduced.

“You got it, good buddy. We’ll go one hundred and twenty minutes, five minutes’ rest between each segment, regular competition rules.”

Bubba had no idea where he was when Smudge finally parked the truck on a muddy road and climbed out, leaving the headlights on so they could see. They sat on the tailgate and put on their boots and coats.

“Left my Bucktool inside,” Bubba mumbled.

He crawled into the front seat, far out of Smudge’s view, and dug inside his knapsack for the pearls on black string. He stuffed them into a pocket. He slipped out his Colt Anaconda .44. It was not his gun of choice for the night. But Bubba had nothing left. The rest had been stolen. He slid the monster revolver into a Bianchi on-belt HuSH nylon holster beneath his long, full coat.

“We all set?” Smudge asked.

“Let’s get on with it,” Bubba bravely replied.

They let their dogs out of the pens and both began howling and baying, tails wagging as Bubba and Smudge restrained them with heavy nylon leashes.