By: Hilery “Scoot” Davenport
Edited by: Hoss

It was a wonderful spring day and the Dukes were all on their way to town. Cooter had asked them to come keep his second cousin, Hilery Ann, busy while he worked on Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane’s patrolcar. It was the least the Dukes could do, seein’ how it was them who ran the poor sheriff into the ditch.

Hilery was a wild one for her age. She was as knowledgeable as her cousin when it came to cars, as beautiful as Daisy, and drove like the Duke Boys. She also had the same knack for finding trouble.

You see, Cooter wanted Daisy to talk to Hilery about gettin’ a job up at the General Store helpin’ Mr. Rhuebottom, because working in a garage with cars was no place for a young lady in his eyes. He believed his cousin wouldn’t be able to handle working on a vehicle. Little did he know, she was always picking up racing magazines, books on how to fix automobiles, car manuals, and whatnot behind his back. She made sure he didn’t know about it ‘cause he didn’t approve of most of those topics for her; mostly because she was a young lady, even if she acted more like a tomboy, which he was not proud of. She had been that way since he’d taken her in after her parents died when she was just 13. No matter what Cooter did or tried, she didn’t change her attitude.

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by: Karen Campbell

Harlan and Jason, who’d followed Boss’s white caddy out to the farm, had hung
back until the patrol cars had gone their separate ways. Now, with Enos after the Transam and Justice after the race car, they felt the odds were on their side. They spotted the white Cadillac and the eighteen wheeler rounding a curve ahead. “A piece of cake,” Harlan chuckled low in his throat. “They can’t maneuver in that big boat. Hell, they ain’t even got a roof to protect them!”
Jason chewed his lip nervously. “Yeah, but Harlan, they’s smokeys too, plain
wrapper or not. You really think–”
Harlan’s patience snapped. “Well, what do you think we oughtta do? Just drive
up nice ‘n say, please officers, can we have what’s in that there truck? We’s the FBI, don’t you know we’s incognito! This close to paydirt and you lose your nerve? I oughtta–”
“Now, take it easy, Harlan! I ain’t losing my nerve, I’m just bein’ cautious. Now
you get me up there an’ I’ll get both of ’em out of the way, easier ‘n shooing a couple of
flies off an ol’ hound dog.” He checked his pistol carefully as they drew up on the Cadillac.
“I ain’t that partial to witnesses neither.”

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by: Marty Chrisman

One by one the various search parties checked in. The reports were always the same. No sign of Luke and no sign of the Carsons. After all the other locations in the country had been checked without success, the search party gathered at the swamp, the last place they had to look. Because it was too dangerous to separate and search, they decided to stay together. They would form one long line and search that way. Everyone in the search party was an expert tracker. They knew what to look for to follow a trail, no matter how small or insignificant it might appear to someone else.

Bo and Jesse were in the middle of the line with friends and neighbors on either side of them. The line of searchers stretched out for a good mile or more. It was decided that Daisy would stay with the vehicles so she could CB for additional help if they needed it. Cooter had a walkie talkie so he could get hold of Daisy and let her know if they found Luke. Slowly, the searchers began to move into the swamp.

They had only gone a short distance when one of the searchers yelled out that he had found what appeared to be a trail leading deep into the swamp. The other searchers quickly joined around and agreed that there did seem to be evidence of a trail and a fairly recent one too. And it looked like it had been made by at least 3 men on foot, maybe more. The searchers tightened up their line to concentrate on following the trail they’d found. It seemed to be leading into the deepest most dangerous part of the swamp.

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by: Kristy Duke

by: Marty Chrisman

They called her the Swamp Witch. She was local legend in Hazzard County. An urban legend. And she intended to keep it that way. It kept people out of the swamp. It kept them from looking for her to find out if she was really real. She was a ghost story told over the camp fires at night and under the covers at sleep overs.

She slipped out of the dense foliage and walked over to where the young man was lying on the ground. He looked dead but as she reached out and touched her fingertips to the side of his neck, she felt a pulse. It was weak but it was still there. And as long as he was still alive, she would do everything in her power to keep him that way until someone found him.

She pulled the hunting knife from the sheaf strapped to her leg and cut the ropes binding his hands and feet. She started to move him onto his back until she saw the condition his back was in. Wisely, she decided to leave him lying on his side. She knew that she couldn’t move him, he was too heavy and it was too dangerous to try anyway. She would have to care for him here. But she knew the swamp like the back of her hand and she knew where to find the roots, the herbs and other things she needed to make her medicines. Medicines that were over two hundred years old. Medicines she would need to help him stay alive long enough for help to arrive.

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