by: Karen Campbell

Disclaimer: From Smokey and the Bandit: The characters of Beauregard “The Bandit” Darville, Cledus “The Snowman” Snow, Carrie, Sheriff Buford T. Justice, Joseph Justice and Fred are the property of Hal Needham and Robert L. Levy.

From The Dukes of Hazzard: the characters of Bo, Luke, Jesse and Daisy Duke, Cooter Davenport, Boss J.D. Hogg, Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane, Enos Strate, Sheriff “Big” Ed Little, Artie Bender and Flash are the property of Gy Waldron.

Years later, they all remembered that day: for different reasons, you understand.
There was a first for every one of them. Rosco changed vehicles in the middle of a
highway, Daisy rediscovered Hidden Canyon, the Duke boys ran blocker for a truckload
of snow, and Enos helped to bring forth a miracle. Well…whatever the reason, no one
was likely to forget the day that Smokey and the Bandit came to Hazzard County. And no
one would ever want to, either.
Tangy smoke from burning leaf fires–or moonshine stills–lent a sharp perfume to
the air as Bo and Luke Duke barelled down the road in a car as orange as a Hallowe’en
pumpkin.
Luke cast the bait. “So…who you taking to the Hallowe’en dance next weekend,
Bo?”
Bo grinned as he flexed his hands on the steering wheel of the General Lee. “No
way, cuz. I ain’t biting.”
“What do you mean?”
“Soon as I tell you you’ll make some crack ‘bout her not needing no costume
‘cause she’s skinny as a skeleton or something.”
“Well, come on, Bo. That little redhead you been seeing’s so thin she has to stand
up twice to throw a shadow!”
“Luke!” Bo tried to scowl but his lips kept quirking.
“Shoot, if anybody ever broke into her house, all she’d have to do is pull the
covers up over her head and they’’d just think it was a made bed!””
“Luke Duke, I swear-“
Suddenly the wail of a siren cut off Bo’s reply. Luke sighed. “Speaking of
Hallowe’en, guess who’s just riz up to haunt us?”
Bo didn’t even bother to look in the rearview mirror. “Trick or treat, Rosco!” he
carolled as he slammed the accelerator to the floor.

In the patrol car, Flash barked as the orange car sped off in a billowing cloud of
dust. Rosco bent low over the wheel. “Khee! Khee! Hang on, Flash! Your daddy’s
gonna show you how to bring your quarry down!” The big Plymouth Fury, with gumballs
flashing, leapt forward in pursuit.
The mellow, late-morning autumn sun beamed down on the two cars racing down
the long dirt road. “Best get us off this long straight stretch, Bo,” Luke advised as they
bounced over the ruts and potholes. “he’s got a better chance of cutting us off.” Even as
he spoke, they heard a second siren.
“Yeah, ‘n it sounds like Enos’s joined the hunt!” Bo glanced in the side mirror
before making the turn, and stared. “Luke? Luke, who the hang is that back there?”
“What?” Luke craned his head around to stare out the back window. A second
patrol car was racing neck and neck with Rosco’s, but it was dark brown, not Hazzard
white, and trying to hog the road.
“Well, it ain’t Enos, that’s for sure! And it ain’t Sheriff Little or Sheriff Lacey or
anyone from here abouts!” Luke climbed partway over the seat to get a better look. “Bo,
the licence plate says Texas!”
“Texas? What’s a Texas county mountie doing in Hazzard?”
Voices started crackling over the CB. “Breaker one-listen here, you in the brown
patrol car! This is Rosco P. Coltrane, the sheriff of Hazzard County! What the heck do
you think you’re doing?”
“I’m in hot pursuit of them sumbitches in that orange car, so get out of my way,
Sheriff!” snarled a heavy Texan drawl. And with that, the brown patrol car sideswiped
Rosco’s car and sent him careening into the ditch.
Luke couldn’t believe it. “Holy smokes, Bo! He just ran Rosco off the road!”
“Is Rosco okay, Luke?”
“Don’t know–I can’t see. But I do know this jackass ain’t even bothering to slow
down, much less stop for him!”
“Well, let’s worry about losing him first. Then we’ll go back for Rosco.”
“I’m with you on that, cuz. Hit it!”
Bo cranked the wheel and the General roared off over the grass with the brown car
close behind. Withered leaves and small branches swept the windshield as they dodged
through the bush t’ords the Yellow River. “Odds are that thing can’t fly, Luke. Let’s see
if it can swim!”
They saw the brink of the river looming ahead. Bo choose an incline in the bank as
his ramp and the General hurtled towards it. “Hang on, Luke!”
“Yeehaw!”
The orange car soared over the rushing river, to land with a bone-jarring clunk on
the far side. But Bo and Luke were jubilant was they turned to see the strange patrol car
stranded on the opposite bank. “Yeehaw! We skunked him, Luke! He done lost his
nerve!”
“Yeah. Seems like he can dish it out, but he can’t take it. Head back for the ford,
Bo, where he can’t see us crossing. He’ll think we vanished into thin air.”
The General flew along the bank, leaving the brown car a mystery behind them.

When they spotted Rosco’s car in the ditch off the main road, the boys were
relieved to see Rosco standing, in one piece, at the back of the battered vehicle. In front,
the hood was up, a thin column of steam boiling skywards from the engine. Rosco was
stroking Flash, who huddled close against him as she sat upon the trunk lid. The boys
slowed to a stop and climbed out.
“You okay, Rosco?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, no thanks to that maverick! He done scuffed my vehicle and he
scuffed Flash here. Poor darlin’ hit her head when we spun off into that ditch.” Flash
trembled against his black sheriff’s jacket as he spoke, and briefly licked the hand that Bo
held out to her.
“Hey, there, girl. Is she gonna be alright, Rosco?”
“Well, it don’t seem to be swellin’ none…I think she was more scared than
anything. But I’m telling you, I’m gonna knock that jackass into the middle of next year
when I get through with him! Running us off the road like some ol’ moonshiner! Who’s
side is he on, anyway?”
“He ain’t on our side, that’s for sure, Rosco,” said Luke. “We was the ones he
was chasing! And I don’t think he was waiting in no speed trap, neither.”
“Well, what’s he doing here?”
“I think we’s about to get the chance to ask him ourselves,” muttered Bo, who’d
turned at the revving and crashing noise that thundered from the bush. The brown Texas
patrol car came surging forth, cutting behind the General Lee as the boys tried to run for
the car. They pulled up short as gunshots rang out near their feet. Rosco’s hand strayed
to his pistol as the car screeched to a halt.
The far door swung open, and a fat man emerged in a grey Sheriff’s uniform. Bo
and Luke blinked; this man made Boss Hogg look positively cute. The stranger’s iron grey
hair and pencil-thin moustache set off a red, choleric face and sharp blue eyes, while his
fat rolled and undulated over his body in waves. He hitched up his gunbelt, and then
baffled the boys by calmly putting his gun away and holding up two fingers. At this, a tall
young man in civilian clothes got out of the car and fumbled to give him a cigarette. The
stranger rolled his eyes as the young man struggled with a matchbook, and finally got the
cigarette lit. The stranger took a deep drag and closed his eyes in pleasure. Then he
moved forwards.
“You look tuckered out, boys. Best rest yourselves against the side of that car!”
When Bo didn’t move, the man aimed a vicious kick at him that narrowly missed. As Bo
and Luke leapt back, Rosco stepped forwards, gun drawn.
“Now just a pea-picking minute here! You can’t go kicking your way through my
county, Mr. Whoever You Are, scuffing everybody including me and my dog! Come to
that, I don’t even need you scuffing these here no account Duke boys!”
The young civilian caught sight of Flash. “Look, daddy. A little hound dog. Can
I get a little hound dog, daddy?”
“Shut your mouth! One ijit at a time!” The texas sheriff turned to Rosco with a
thin-lipped smile. “My apologies, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t give two bits about your
hound dog. As for these liquor-running sumbitches, they shoulda picked their friends
better. I’m gonna string them up by their god-damned short & curlies as soon as they tell
me where the Bandit is!”
Luke grabbed Bo as he started his denial. “Listen,” Luke whispered urgently, as
they heard the oncoming roar of a mighty engine.
Fortunately, the Texas sheriff was distracted by Rosco. “Don’t you cuss in front of
my dog! She’s a good Baptist!”
“I don’t care if she’s the god-damned Pope in Rome! I’ll-“
The roaring noise grew deafening as a huge 18 wheeler bore down upon them. On
its side, instead of a product name, was a huge mural of an old-west stagecoach being
robbed by a masked bandit. As they watched, the truck veered right, clipping the brown
patrol car with such force that it sheered off the open driver’s side door.
“The door came off, daddy,” observed the young civilian.
The fat sheriff’s face turned crimson and his eyes fairly popped out of his head. “I
saw that! You did that deliberate, you sumbitch!” As he danced madly around his car, a
sleek black transam came shooting by. The driver’s red-sleeved arm waved out of the
sun-roof with a one-finger salute.
Laughing, Bo and Luke charged for the General Lee, calling, “We’ll send Cooter
for ya, Rosco!” as they sped off. Rosco couldn’t help giggling as he watched the manic
Texan ranting around his vehicle. “Khee! Khee! I don’t know who they was in that big
truck, darlin’, but they got your daddy’s blessing!”

On the road, Bo and Luke hailed their unexpected rescuers. “Breaker one, this is
the Lost Sheep calling the 18 wheeler and the black transam that just saved us from one
crazy Texas smokey. Much obliged, y’all, come back.”
“You got the Snowman up here at the front door, son. Glad to be of service.
Say-love that paint job. Sure is great for hiding out from them bears. Ain’t nobody gonna
spot you in that thing!”
Another voice joined in. “Aw, come on, Snowman, you gotta love that big old
Rebel Flag. Hey there, lost sheep, you got the Bandit here. I’m a good old Georgia boy
like yourselves, born and raised.”
“The Bandit?” echoed Luke. “You’re the Bandit? I got a question for you,
then-why’s a Texas bubblegum machine chasing you-and us?”
“Well, uh…I can explain that. Is there a choke & puke up ahead where we can
meet up?”
Luke blinked for a moment, then recognized the slang. “There is, actually. It’s
called the Boar’s Nest. But since it’s getting close to lunch time, why don’t you come on
out to our farm? Have some of our Uncle Jesse’s fried chicken and tell us your story?”
“Boy, that sounds great!” the original voice that called himself Snowman came
back. “We sure could use us some home cooking. Ol’ Fred here’s so hungry he’s started
chewing the seat covers off!”
Bo and Luke stared at each other, trying to picture Hungry Fred. ”
“Well…uh…we don’t want Ol’ Fred to do that, do we? Just let us take the front door,
and we’ll take you there. We’re gone.”

A short while later, Cooter’s tow truck pulled into Hazzard Garage with the
dented, 3-doored brown patrol car behind it. Passers-by stare and pointed.
“Look at that there car, Buelah,” said Amos Hornby to his wife. “There’s somethin’
you don’t see everyday!”
“Yeah!” she agreed, peering at the maimed car. “Them decals says Texas!”
When the tow truck stopped, Cooter, Rosco and Flash climbed down from the
cab.
“You mighta towed my car first, Cooter,” Rosco complained. “I’m the Sheriff of
Hazzard County, after all.”
“Yeah, but I wanted y’all ridin’ in my cab, not them. Y’all an’ Flash use nicer
language.”
Rosco scowled, looking back at the brown car. “Well, you got a point there.
Flash didn’t want to be anywhere near him, did ya, darlin’?”
Cooter smiled, ruffling her long ears. “That’s cause y’all’s a lady, ain’t ya Flash?”
Flash looked up at the sound of the Texan sheriff roaring at his son. “You gotta
what? Well, why the hell didn’t you go when we was at the truck stop?”
The sheriff peeled himself out of the driver’s seat and lumbered towards Cooter.
“You got yourselves a can in this here garage?” he demanded, jerking his head at his
sheepish looking son.
Cooter pointed, but didn’t stir a foot. “It’s round the back. Key’s hangin’ inside
next to the weldin’ torch. Y’all help yourselves.”
“Thank ya,” the sheriff muttered, dragging his son inside.
Cooter turned to Rosco. “I’ll try ‘n hold him off as long as I can.”
“I appreciate it, Cooter. I’d better go warn the Boss he’s a comin’!” With Flash
in his arms, Rosco hurried across the street and up the steps of the courthouse.

A blue sedan slowed to a stop in the shade of a magnolia tree two blocks down
from Cooter’s garage. One of the men inside took an angry pull at his cigarette. “I don’t
believe it. We finally find that Texas cop again and now we’ve lost the truck! And there’s
another cop in on the whole thing! What are we gonna do now?”
The driver, a tall, rangy man with piercing blue eyes and Clint Eastwood sideburns
going grey, merely fished out his own cigarette and lit it. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s right. We’re just gonna wait here ‘til those patrol cars is fixed and then
we’ll let them lead us to the truck.”
“But what if they find out what’s in the truck before we get to it?”
“Jason, they already know what’s in it. Leastways that Texas cop does. You
know how we done heard him braggin’ to his two-bit son down in that truck stop. He
knows what that truck’s really full of.”
Jason ran his fingers through his short, wiry hair. “If he kows, then where’s the
FBI? Why’s he chasing these guys alone, Harlan?”
Harlan smirked. “How’d the stuff get outta Dallas in the first place? Don’t worry,
we ain’t gonna see no FBI on this one. We’ll just ease on after that Texas sheriff and find
us that truck. Then we’ll take care of him and anybody else that gets in the way.”
“Like those rubes in that orange car, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“And that trucker and his friend?”
“No way!” Harlan shook his head. “You ain’t thinking, Jason. There’s gotta be
somebody to take the blame!”
Jason laughed and stubbed out his cigarette. “Harlan, I gotta hand it to you. You
think of everything.”

Rosco edged Boss Hogg’s office door open with his toe and carried Flash inside.
“Little fat buddy, I hate to interrupt your lunch like this, but I thought you oughtta
be prepared. Flash and me was just in in a horrendous crash, and then we done run into
the worst thing to come outta Texas since the Chainsaw Massacre!”
Boss yanked one of his porkchops away from Flash’s curious nose. “Rosco, what
are you flapping your lips about now? And put that hound dog down somewhere away
from my lunch, will you? I’m surprised you ain’t got yourself a slipped disk, toting that
animal around all day. You might as well a got yourself a little kitty cat!”
Rosco instinctively held Flash a little tighter. “Oh, come on, Boss! Kitty cats is
nice an’ all, but whoever heard of a police cat? They can’t sniff out crooks!”
“Yeah, well, neither can she! Just lays around and sleeps all day — like a great big
long-eared kitty cat!”
“Well, it ain’t her fault, you know! You’d sneak a snooze now and then if you was
her age.” Rosco paused and looked at her, breaking into a smile. “Y’are kinda quiet and
cuddly like a little cat, ain’t you, Flash? Now, ol’ Blue, he didn’t take to cuddlin’ as much,
but he liked to–”
“Oh, will you forget all this about cats and dogs?” Boss muttered.
“Well, you started it!”
“Well, now I’m finishing it!” Boss shook his head, as if to clear away the cobwebs.
“Now…what was that you started saying when you came busting in here? Something
about Texas?”
“Yeah, Boss. That’s where he’s from.”
“That’s where who’s from?”
“That crazy sheriff that done run me off the road while I was chasing the Duke
boys! I almost had ’em, too, and then this big brown patrol car come a’shootin’ up along
side of me like General Grant’s cavalry and knocked me for a spin! I’m telling you, Boss,
these bigshot Texans, they think they can just ride roughshod overtop of everybody, that’s
all.”
“Texan? You was hit by a Texan?”
“That’s right, Boss.”
“You sure about that, Rosco?”
“He wasn’t about to let nobody forget it.”
“Well, what’s his name?”
“I don’t know. Some 18 wheeler done come along and knocked him into the ditch
too. Khee! Khee! I wish you’d a seen it, Boss! He was dancing around like a flea on a
hot griddle! Wouldn’t stand still long enough to tell me his name. But he was a sheriff; I
could tell by his badge.”
“Rosco, I already got me one cornball sheriff in Hazzard. Don’t tell me now
there’s two!”
“There ain’t two, Boss! I’m the only cornball sheriff in Hazzard County! Doh! I
mean that–”
“I think we heard you right the first time.”
Boss and Rosco turned at the heavy Texan drawl. Framed in the doorway was the
Texas sheriff, his tall son lurking behind him. He sauntered into Boss’s office, looking it
up and down as he went, and shaking his head in pity. “So this is the law in Georgia. My,
my. No wonder Sherman and his boys thought the taking of Atlanta was a cakewalk!”
Boss, Rosco and Flash all snarled at the same time. “Now just a minute here,”
began Rosco, but Boss pushed in front of him. “I don’t know who you are, Mr., but
nobody comes waltzing in here abusing the State of my birth!”
Justice smiled sardonically. “I’m not only abusing the State of your birth, sir, I am
abusing the state of your county! Specifically that this excuse you got for a Sheriff
impeded me whilst I was in hot puruit of some desperate criminals that I have chased all
the way from Dallas, Texas!”
“You never chased them Duke boys out of Dallas!” Rosco shot back. “Heck, they
can’t even leave Hazzard County while they’s on probation!”
“The Duke boys? Who the hell are the Duke boys?”
Justice’s quiet son tapped him on the shoulder. “Daddy, I think they was the ones
in that orange car…”
“All right, Junior! I got a brain of my own, thank God! Well, they ain’t the
criminals I was referring to, though I’ll bust them soon enough. But first I’m gonna bust
the Bandit!”
“The Bandit?” echoed Boss. “Who’s the Bandit? And come to that, who in the
name of all that’s holy are you?”
“You mean your sheriff didn’t tell you? I thought that’s why he came nipping over
here faster than a rabbit with a bobcat on his ass!” Justice swept off his grey hat in a mock
salute. “The name is Sheriff Buford T. Justice, sir, out of Portague County, Texas. A
distinguished officer of over 30 years seniority. I have been pursuing a highly dangerous,
liquor running pair of SOB’s known as the Bandit and the Snowman. For your
edification, Sheriff, the Bandit was the one in that black transam. His partner, the
Snowman, was driving that rig.”
“You mean the one that clipped your wing there? Khee! Khee! I think you was
right, Sheriff Justice. He did do that on purpose!”
Justice’s eyes went darker than the inside of Boss Hogg’s safe, but somehow he
held his temper. “Well, sir, perhaps it is on account of your winking and simpering at such
goings on that they figured they’d be safe doing their dirty deeds here in Hazzard County.”
Boss Hogg snatched the cigar from his mouth. “Now see here, Mr. I am J.D.
Hogg, County Commissioner here in Hazzard, and there ain’t no dirty deeds done here
without my knowing about them! Ain’t that right, Rosco?”
“Well, yeah, Boss, but that’s because you’re usually behind–”
“Behind my sheriff’s department all the way!” Boss glared at his brother-in-law
before turning back to glare at Justice. “So what is it these boys are running, anyway? I
presume it’s shine.”
“No, sir. Not shine. It’s a truckload of Coors beer, bound for Atlanta.”
“Beer?” Boss blinked at him. “Hauling beer ain’t illegal.”
“Hauling Coors beer is, if it’s east of Texas. This ain’t the first time they done
it–but it’s gonna be the last.”
“Well, you might as well just head on back to Texas soon as you get your car
fixed, Sheriff Justice. I’m sure my Sheriff can handle this just fine.”
“Yeah.” Rosco drew himself up straighter. “Me and my deputy’ll handle it, so just
get on.”
Justice raised an eyebrow. “You and your deputy dog there?”
“She ain’t my deputy, you dipstick, she’s a police dog! Ain’t you never seen a
police dog before? Flash here is a first class tracking hound. Got the best nose south of
the Mason Dixon line!”
Justice’s son stepped forward. “Yeah, Daddy! Remember, in Dallas? They had
them police dogs. Great big ‘uns. Sniffing for drugs, they said.”
Justice jumped as if bitten by a rattler. “Will you shut your mouth?” he hissed.
“Don’t open it again less’n I tells you!” He turned back to Rosco, slightly anxious.
“Say…uh…is that what she is, a drug-sniffing dog?”
“Are you kidding me? The last thing I’d ever do is let Flash near any of that stuff!
Anyhow, ain’t never been no call for a drug-sniffing dog in Hazzard County, and never will
be, neither! I run my county better than that!”
Boss had watched this whole exchange with mounting curiousity. Now he eased
in again. “Look here, Sheriff Justice. You ain’t said what all this has to do with Bo and
Luke Duke.”
“Who? Oh..oh yeah…the uh…boys in that orange car.” Justice took a moment to
collect himself. “Them boys is in cahoots with the Bandit and the Snowman. My son and
I observed them conspiring together at a truck stop just inside the Georgia border. And
then, when I’ve got these Duke boys pulled over, the Snowman comes shooting along and
wrecks my car! Now don’t it make sense? Them boys is aiding and abetting the Bandit
and the Snowman, and looking for a share of the profit in this run!”
Rosco scoffed. “Shoot, if the Dukes needed money that bad, they could run their
own shine. Jesse Duke makes better moonshine than any beer that ever was brewed!”
“I don’t give a hoot about no moonshine. I just wanna know where them boys live,
’cause I’ll bet the Bandit and the Snowman is with them!”
“Oh, they live out on Old Mill road. But you can’t arrest ’em! I’m Sheriff of
Hazzard County and this is my jurisdiction!”
“Much obliged, Sheriff,” smirked Justice, doffing his hat again, and dragged his
son out the door after him.
“Come on, Flash, we ain’t gonna let that Texas longhorn get the drop on us!”
“Rosco! Hold on there!” Smoke billowed from Boss’s cigar as he thought
furiously. “Don’t just take off outta here like a coonhound in a cornfield. Listen here.
There’s something going on here that this Justice fella ain’t saying. Something he’s mighty
keen to keep a secret.”
“Why do you say that, Boss?”
“Well, he’s chased that Bandit and Snowman all the way from Texas for a load of
beer–could you see chasing them Duke boys halfway across the U.S. of A. for that?
“No, I don’t guess I would, but then I ain’t six eggs short of a dozen, and I think
that Justice fella is!”
“Well, you may be right there, Rosco. Still–I think there’s method in his madness.
He wants us to think that’s why he’s chasing that rig, because he doesn’t want us to know
what them boys is really hauling!”
“Well, what could it be? Counterfit money? Pirated tapes? Gambling
equipment?”
“Well, how should I know, knucklehead? But whatever it is, if we get to that
truck first, we can confiscate it before he does and sell it to this highest bidder!”
“Khee! Khee!” Rosco crowed with delight. “Wouldn’t that make him madder than
the cat that fell in the washtub! I love it, I love it.”
“So we’d better beat that Sheriff Justice out to the Duke farm!”
“But little fat buddy, my car’s still out on River Road, with a busted radiator.”
“Oh, that don’t make no nevermind. We can take my car.” Boss leaped up but
jumped as Flash suddenly howled and whined. “Tat! Tat! Tat! Rosco, will you call off
the Hound of the Baskervilles!”
“Hush, darlin’. Boss, she don’t mean it. She’s just kinda uncomfortable right now,
what with being in season and all.”
“Well, why don’t you have her fixed and just be done with it!” Boss edged his way
around the uneasy dog and reached for his white hat. “Just leave her here for the time
being, then. The last thing I need in my car is an oversexed dog!”

Cooter had watched Sheriff Justice tear out of town in his still three-doored car.
He himself was just climbing into his tow truck to head back to River Road when he
spotted Boss and Rosco scurrying down the steps of the courthouse towards Boss’s white cadillac convertable. He kept watching as, with Rosco at the wheel, they pulled out of Hazzard square, only to be followed by a blue sedan. “Best keep my ears on,” the
mechanic muttered to himself. “A few too many strangers in Hazzard today.”