by: Karen Campbell

The front door had hardly banged shut behind Daisy before the smell of fried
chicken hit her like a wall. “Mmmm! Uncle Jesse, that smells wonderful!”
Bo finished setting the table as Jessie pulled a sweet potato pie from the oven.
“Well, thank you, Daisy. How was your shoppin’ trip?”
“Oh, it was great, Uncle Jesse! Wait ’til I show you–” she suddenly remembered
what she’d wanted to ask him and started forward. “Hey, what’s that big 18 wheeler doin’
in front of our–oh!”
Bo caught his cousin nimbly as she stumbled over something on the floor. “Sorry,
Daisy. Shoulda warned ya.”
Daisy found her footing and looked down instinctively to see what had tripped her.
There at her feet lay a big, calm basset hound chomping down a plate of biscuits. “Flash!”
she exclaimed, and looked up at Bo. “Wh–Rosco’s here? I didn’t see his car parked
outside.”
Bo laughed. “That’s cause he ain’t here. And this ain’t Flash.”

Daisy did a double take. Sure enough, the basset on the floor was bigger and
darker than Flash, and most definitely male. A voice she didn’t know said, “Fred, ol’ son!
Is you layin’ around in folks’ way again? You lazy ol’ devil!”
A tall, lanky man with curly hair and a disarming smile sauntered in from the
parlour. “You’ll have to excuse ol’ Fred, ma’am. He’s good company up in the cab when
the road gets long, but he ain’t much on manners.” He swept off his CAT cap and held out
his hand. “Cledus Snow at your service, ma’am. Just call me Snowman.”
Daisy shook his hand. “I’m Daisy, sugar. Pleased to meet you. So you’re the one
driving that fancy rig parked in front of our barn! I couldn’t think who was callin’ on us in
that big ol’ thing.”
Jesse broke in. “Bo, seein’ as Daisy’s here now, why don’t you call the rest in to
lunch?”
“We’s here already, Uncle Jesse,” chimed Luke, who’d appeared in the archway
with two other guests: a slim, rakish cowbow-type with dark eyes and sideburns, and a
petite, dark-haired girl.
“Nice to meet you. My name’s Carrie, but I’m kind of used to Frog now.” said the
girl, her Yankee accent sticking out like Stephen Sondheim at the Grand Ol’ Opry.
“Frog?”
“My CB handle. He thought it up,” she laughed, jerking her head at the cowboy.
“Thought it was funny at the time.”
“Well, welcome to Hazzard, Frog.” Daisy smiled kindly at her, then took the hand
of the winking cowboy.
“Well, she’s kinda cute like a Frog, ain’t she? My name’s Beauregard Darville, but
most folks call me the Bandit. My pleasure, ma’am.”
“Well I guess Bandit’s gonna have to do, on account of we already got ourselves a
Bo. So y’all must have been the one drivin’ that black transam parked next to the rig.”
“That’s right. It’s called Bandit One, and the rig is Bandit Two.”
Bo explained, “You see, Daisy, we ran afoul of Rosco this morning. And then he
ran afoul of Sheriff Buford T. Justice out of Portague county Texas.”
“The orneriest S.O.B. this side of Mississipi,” quipped the Snowman.
“And then along come the Bandit and his friends and they sorta ran blocker for us
and helped us get away.”
Daisy laughed. “Well, any friend of my cousins is a friend of mine!”
Luke cut her off before she could say any more. “And they was just about to
explain why Justice was chasin’ them–and how we got mixed up in all this! Wasn’t you,
Mr. Bandit?”
The Bandit tugged his hat down slightly in embarassment, sparking Jesse’s sense of
Southern hospitality. He drained the fried chicken and set it on a plate as he admonished,
“Now, Luke, they’s our guests. Least we can do is give ’em a good meal afore we
condemn ’em. Besides, we oughtta know better than anybody that bein’ chased by a patrol
car don’t necessarily make a body guilty of nothin’, do it?”
“Yeah….specially in Hazzard County!” Luke shook his head, smiling. “Guess
you’re right about that, Uncle Jesse. Ain’t nobody in the whole of the South ‘been chased
as much as me an’ Bo.”
“An’ me before you. Come on, everybody, set yourselves down an’ eat afore my
cookin’ gets cold.”
The men put their hats on the counter and everyone settled in, with Jesse at the
head of the table. The Bandit nearly reached for the sweet potato fork when Carrie
touched his arm. She nodded silently towards the Dukes, who sat with bowed heads and
folded hands. The Bandit quickly followed suit.
“Lord, we thank thee for this bounteous table thou hast set before us. And for
these strangers who was able to help our boys. We ask for thy protection over us all.
Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone murmured. The next moment, plates, glasses and cutlery
clinked as they passed around the platters. Below them, Fred whined pleadingly.
“Fred, you be quiet down there. Mmmm! Mmmm! Mr. Jesse, this cookin’ of
yours beats any truck stop from here to Houston!”
“So y’all are truckers,” said Daisy as she broke off a piece of chicken and fed it to
the hungry basset. “What are you hauling?”
The Bandit and the Snowman looked at each other. “Well, usually we’re not
hauling, we’re just driving. Y’see, the Snowman and I are stuntdrivers. We perform in
them big truck rodeos that go ’round the state. But sometimes we’ll do a run if the pay’s
high enough.”
The Snowman frowned a warning, but the Bandit silenced him with a wave. “And
you’ve trusted us this far, so fair’s fair. That truck is full of beer–Coors beer. We’re takin’
it to Atlanta.”
Luke added, “Which is illegal, seein’ as you can’t sell Coors east of Texas.”
“That’s right. This isn’t the first time we’ve done it, either. We got us a buyer in
Atlanta name of Burdett that pays $10,000 for every run.”
The Dukes were wide eyed. “Whoo,” said Bo. “He must be as rich as Boss
Hogg!”
“As who?”
“Uh…never mind. Boy, Luke, can you imagine makin’ a run for that much money?
Say, Mr. Bandit, does this Burdett fella of yours drink moonshine?”
“Now, Bo, that’ll be enough about that. Us Dukes don’t make shine no more and
you know it.” Jesse’s manner softened a little. “Leastways we don’t run it no more. We
promised the government of the U.S. of A.”
Cledus Snow looked at him. “Wait a minute…y’all ain’t the Jesse Duke that makes
Duke shine? The Duke shine?”
Jesse permitted himself a slight smile. “Well…ain’t no other that I know of. Not in
these parts.”
“Lord have mercy! I had a taste of that stuff once. Thought I’d died and gone to
the Promised Land. Don’t tell me you done quit, Mr. Jesse! That’d be a crime!”
“I had to get these boys probation, and that was the deal. So just remember that —
I don’t want these boys involved in nothin’ that could break it.”
“Uh…yes sir. We’ll be moving on as soon we can. But as for the Coors, that’s not
why Sheriff Buford T. Justice is chasing us.” said the Bandit.
“No, it isn’t! said Carrie. “I’m afraid it’s because of me.”
“‘Cause of you?” laughed Bo. “Oh, come on, darlin’, what in the world could he
have against a pretty little thing like you?”
“I was engaged to marry his son. I don’t know what possessed me…Don’t ask me
why–I must have been on the rebound from a bad relationship or something at the time.
Anyway, I realized my mistake just in time, and just ran away on the wedding day!” She
sighed. “I know it was a rotten thing to do to Joseph, but I just couldn’t go through with
it! I mean, he’s a perfectly nice person, but…he has the brains of a five year old!”
The Bandit chuckled. “You boys saw him. Is she telling a lie?”
The boys laughed as Carrie continued, “And Sheriff Justice took it as a personal
insult. It wasn’t because of his son! I mean, he treats him like garbage! But Sheriff
Justice saw the wedding as a chance to show off in front of the town and I spoiled it for
him! I ran out of the vestry while they were playing “here comes the bride” and he’s been
chasing me ever since!”
The Bandit took up the story. “Her car broke down and I found her hitchhiking on
a backroad, white gown and all! I gave her a ride and the rest is history.”
Carrie looked at him fondly. “Yeah…in alot of ways. But the reason Sheriff
Justice hates these two so much is because they helped me to escape him. I guess they’re what southern chivalry is all about.”
The Bandit kissed her hand gallantly while the Snowman rolled his eyes in disgust.
“It’s so romantic!” sighed Daisy. “A couple of knights of the road helpin’ a damsel in
distress!”
“Yeah,” said Bo. “With a big old ugly fire breathin’ dragon bringin’ up the rear!”
The Snowman nodded. “Sure ’nuff! That dragon almost caught up with us in a
truck stop just inside the Georgia border. Luckily we caught a sniff of him and took off
faster than ol’ Fred here after a bitch in heat or we’d a been up a creek!”
“A truck stop!” exclaimed Luke. He looked at Bo, whose blue eyes were
widening in understanding. “You don’t mean Little Marge’s truckstop up on route 32?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. How’d you know?”
“Because we was there this morning! Bo and me was on an early errand ‘n
stopped there for a cup of coffee. Bo, I thought I recognized that black transam! It’s the
one you and me was standin’ there admirin’ so much! It was all we could do to stop
ourselves climbin’ inside it!”
“Yeah…and Sheriff Justice musta seen us and figured we was some kinda partners
with the Bandit here! He musta played it cool and followed us when we came back out
and got into the General Lee!”
“And then lost us somewhere on one of them mountain trails–but he found us
again, by followin’ ol’ Rosco’s siren!”
“Rosco?” asked the Snowman. “I take it he’s the local smokey?”
“He’s the Sheriff, all right.” said Bo. “Well, at least he ain’t exactly good buddies
with Sheriff Justice after that run in they had. ‘N until Cooter fixes both of their cars, we
got us some breathin’ room.”
“Just what is it you boys plan to do with all that Coors beer?” asked Jesse.
Carrie answered. “Well, we’d like to start our own trucking business–a legitimate
trucking business, of course, along with Cledus here and his wife. It’ll be something alot
more solid for us all. That money is to be our investment. We’re all tired of living hand to
mouth and…well, it wouldn’t be any way to raise a family, would it?”
The Bandit took a deep, nervous breath, then let it out slowly. “Yup…it’s gonna
be the last run for this old freight jockey…at least the last one that’ll need a blocker! We’ll
just use the transam for Sundays from now on.”
Jesse knodded. “Well…these here boys and Daisy knows every road in this here
county. When y’all have et your fill, they could show you the quickest and safest route to
the Interstate. And best of luck to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jesse,” said the Bandit. “I suppose the unbeaten kings of the
NASCAR circuit won’t have too much trouble fendin’ off one sheriff–or even two!”
“Hey, y’all, I propose a toast!” said Luke. “To the last run of Smokey and the
Bandit–and the Duke boys!”
Glasses clinked again as everyone rose and drained their cider. Below them, Fred
whined for more chicken–or perhaps to warn them of something that only he could hear.

Buford T. Justice was chewing his lip in fury. “You lookin’ at that map right,
Junior?”
“We’s on the right road, Daddy. See? It’s right here–”
“Oh, nevermind!” He swatted the map down. “The last thing we need–the very
last thing–is some damn local sheriff an’ his posse shoving their noses into this! This was
supposed to be between me and that sumbitch the Bandit! Man to man!” He shook his
head. “Then we see them hanging all over the Bandit’s car at that truckstop! Maybe
planning to get them to haul the load into Atlanta! Maybe the Bandit already knows what
he’s hauling–what he’s really hauling!”
“But, Daddy, how’d he know that when it was you and me what–”
“Shut up about that! How many times I gotta tell you? Lord have mercy, why
didn’t I do this all by myself?” Justice pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating
forehead. “First you start yammering away in the truckstop, before we even spot the
Bandit. “Daddy, why’d we go into that special room in the Dallas police station? Why’d
we put that talcalm powder in them boxes? Why’d we tell the Bandit it was beer? Why’d
we purtend t’be big Enos Burdett?”
“Well, Daddy, why did we put that talcalm powder in them boxes?”
“I done told you why, dammit! ‘Cause the Bandit would think it was some
sissy fairy job, hauling talcalm powder, and he wouldna done it. This way he done it, and
we’re a gonna catch him.” He glanced nervously at his son, but the young man seemed to
accept the explanation without a murmur.
“Oh.”
Justice mopped his brow again, his handkerchief already limp with moisture. His
son looked for his own to lend it to him. “Daddy? Daddy, I can’t find my purple hanky.”
“Whaddaya say?” Justice squinted through his sweat-stung eyes at the road.
“I lost my purple hanky, Daddy. The one mamma gave me.”
“Oh, will you never mind your hanky! And never mind openin’ your mouth in front
of nobody no more, about drug-sniffin’ dogs or anythin’ like that.” It was a little cool in
the early October afternoon, but Justice kept sweating all the same.
“OK, Daddy. Boy, them drug-sniffin’ dogs sure did like that talcalm powder, didn’t
they, Daddy? Like a little old cat with catnip.”
“For the last time, Junior, shut your mouth!” The brown patrol car rattled
down the dusty road.

Rosco was taking every shortcut he knew to get to the Duke farm, and it turned
out that he knew quite a few. Boss was no longer worried about being beaten there by
Sheriff Justice. He lit a new cigar and puffed vigorously. “I wanna listen to the financial
news, Rosco. Turn the AM on.”
When Rosco flipped the toggle, the speakers blared with the drawling twang of
Buck Owens. He spun the dial, but every station was playing either music or talk shows.
Rosco finally moved the dial back to WHOGG. “Looks like we’re a might early for the
news, Boss.”
Buck Owens was still singing “Made in Japan.”
In the dark of night we would lay on Tokyo Bay
And the singing of the birds woke us up at the break of day.
“Hummph.” Boss puffed on his cigar. “That fella Owens sure ain’t never been to
Tokyo, that’s for sure!”
“Oh? How come you know that?”
“’Cause I went there one time on business, and the only birds I seen was big ugly
ol’ crows the size of buzzards. They sure wasn’t singing.”
“Is that a fact? Wh–you went all the way to Japan, Boss?”
“That’s right.”
“Funny, I don’t recollect you doing that.”
“Well, you was away in trainin’ at the time.”
“Oh.” Rosco suddenly grinned. “Say, Boss, did you get to ride in one of them
rickshaws when you was there?”
“Rosco, them Japanese got cars now. Have done for years.”
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Shoot, Boss, I know that! We been flooded with
them teeny weeny Japanese cars ever since them A-rabs done jacked up the price of oil. I
just thought them Japanese mighta kept a few of them rickshaws around, you know…for
the tourists.”
“Oh yeah.” Boss frowned. “Yeah, they did, come to think of it. But I didn’t take
to them.”
“Well, they would’ve had a hard time takin’ you, little fat buddy, that’s for sure!
Khee! Khee!”
“Rosco!”
“Have to have the limbs of a Hercules just to get that thing moving!”
“Rosco, one more word and I am gonna kick you from here to Japan!”
Rosco sobered and straightened up. “Sorry, Boss. But say…speaking of Japan,
you know, I always wanted to try ‘n learn to fight like they do, with that karatey. I’ll bet I
could get myself a black belt if I practiced hard enough.”
“What? Rosco, you couldn’t be a black belt, brown belt or pink belt!”
“No, really, Boss. I could use it in policework. I mean if I couldn’t get to my gun
and had to fight with my bare hands, I’d just freeze them mavericks with my cool,
inscrupulous stare and HYAH!”
Rosco gave a blood curdling warcry and slashed his hands in the air. Boss
scrambled out of the way. “Rosco! Watch what you’re doing!”
“EEEYAH! HAI! KYAH!”
Panicked, Boss dove under the flailing limbs and lunged for the wheel. “Rosco,
are you trying to get us killed?” he screamed, wrenching the wheel hard right.
Rosco fought him for control. “Boss, don’t do that! You’re gonna make us
crash!”
“Well, you can’t drive and be Bruce Lee at the same time!”
“I wasn’t being Bruce Lee, I was being David Carradine!”
“Look out!” A huge oak tree loomed right in their path.
Rosco stomped on the brake and they skidded to a stop, the front bumper inches
from the trunk.
Both men were still clutching the wheel, Boss practically in Rosco’s lap. “Rosco
P. Coltrane,” he wheezed, “you are gonna make me old before my time!”
Rosco’s eyes were still huge, his knuckles still white. “You ain’t adding no black
hairs to my head neither!”
They sat breathing heavily for a few minutes, until they became aware of the
distant sound of a car’s engine. Looking out the passenger side window, they saw the
brown patrol car come whirling through the dead leaves, speeding down Old Mill road
straight for the Duke farm.
“Jit! Jit! That sneaky coyote! That’s my shortcut down there!”
“Well, back this thing up and let’s get after ‘em!”
Rosco jerked the gears and they shot backward, then roared ‘round the tree in
pursuit of the Texas sheriff.

At least the good folk of Atlanta got plenty of warning when Sherman and his boys
were marching their way. The Dukes didn’t have any warning at all, which was probably
why they strolled so casually out to their vehicles to compare, and brag.
Jesse started scattering feed to the chickens, knowing better than to try to stop the
boys, or Daisy for that matter, talking about fast cars. They were Dukes, after all.
The Bandit strolled up to Dixie, parked next to the transport truck. “That’s a real
sweet little number you got there, Daisy! I’ll bet if Frog had one of these she’d be jumpin’
every creek from here to New Jersey!”
Daisy laughed. “She could do it, too. Dixie here’s a fine little puddle jumper. An’
she can outrun any sheriff’s car in the county!”
The Bandit rested his arm on the roll bar and pulled slyly at his moustache. “Only
trouble is you wouldn’t have much privacy…when you was parked, that is.”
“Well, Mr. Bandit, that all depends on where you park, don’t it?”
Carrie was peeping dutifully beneath the General’s hood as Bo explained the
special features he, Luke and Cooter had built in. “And this here is a racin’ engine–it’s
almost the same kind as the one Richard Petty used!”
Carrie scrunched her brow in concentration; she’d heard the Bandit mention that
name. “Richard Petty…he’s a country music singer, isn’t he?”
“Uh…no, Miss Carrie. He’s a race car driver. On the NASCAR circuit.”
She blushed with embarassment. “Oh, yes, that’s right. It’s Cale Yarborough that’s
the singer, isn’t it?”
Bo gave up, but smiled with all his southern courtesy. “That’s right, Miss Carrie.
Just like Mario Andretti.”
Luke was admiring the transam with the Snowman as Fred snuffed about their
heels, searching for rabbits. “Boy, blockers sure done come a long way since Uncle Jesse
was runnin’ shine in Black Tilley. This thing’s a beauty!”
“An’ the whole thing paid for by Big Enos Burdett, just so’s we could get him his
Coors to Atlanta! You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if the next time ol’ Bandit asked for
a Rolls Royce!”
“Wouldn’t be much more showy than this little honey, that’s for sure. What’s this
Burdett feller into, anyway, that he can afford to give away cars like this?”
“Don’t know. Oil, I think. Got hisself a ranch down there in Texas that’s so big
it’ll probably declare itself its own state someday. Long as he pays the bills, we’ll get the
job done.”
Suddenly a siren shrieked out through the mellow autumn afternoon like Lulu
Hogg’s soprano through the church choir. They all spun. “I’d know that siren
anywhere!” cried the Bandit. “It’s Sheriff Justice!”
“The Coors!” gasped the Snowman, a truck’s length away from them. “Bandit,
get them big wheels movin’ now!”
The Bandit was already clambering up into the cab, while Bo lifted a very
surprised Carrie and slipped her, feet first, into the General Lee. He vaulted over the hood
and slid into the driver’s seat a moment later.
The Snowman stuffed Fred into the transam as Luke gunned the engine. Fred’s big
muzzle hit Luke square in the face with a happy slurp. “Ow! Snowman, I don’t need your
dang hound dog ridin’ shot-gun!”
“Fred, you quit embarassin’ me! Get back in the backseat and behave yourself!”
The big basset squeezed himself into the backseat as the transam shot forwards.
Over in the truck, Daisy was belting herself into the passenger seat of the cab. The
Bandit blinked. “Nobody’s complaining, darling, but why’re you coming along? Ol’
Smokey ain’t after you!”
“”Cause I know Hazzard County and you don’t. You’ll never find a place to hide
this here rig without me.”
“Welcome aboard then, honey!” The engine of the big rig rumbled and coughed as
Sheriff Justice’s brown patrol car, minus one door, shot over the rise and headed down the
dirt track towards the farm. The Bandit grabbed the CB mike. “Snowman! We gonna
need a little blocker here!”
Bo answered back. “Our pleasure, Mr. Bandit! We got a score to settle with the
lone star Sheriff!”
The 18 wheeler was humming and jouncing as the Bandit shifted it into first gear.
“Hang on, Daisy! No more serving the truckers beer! You’re hauling it now!”
Daisy laughed as they swung down the drive and cut across a fallow field.

The General and Bandit One tore up the track, circling and twisting across each
other’s path as the chickens dashed out of the way. In the brown patrol car, Justice reefed
the wheel sideways. “Get outta my way, you sumbitches! I want that truck!”
“Then are we gonna get my hanky, Daddy?”
“Shut your mouth about your hanky! I’ll tell you where you can put your
god-damned hanky!” Justice hit the brake as the General swerved in front of him,
narrowly missing his front fender. Dust billowed in through the open driver’s side, setting
them both coughing. “Will you look at that car! It’s got more paint than a New Orleans
whore!”
“What’s a whore, daddy?”
“It’s what that woman in that orange car is-the one that ran out on your weddin’!”
The patrol car leapt forward after General Lee.

Bo shook his head. “So that woulda been your husband and your father-in-law.
Sure think you done the right thing by runnin’ away, Miss Carrie. How’d you get mixed
up with them in the first place?”
“It’s a long story, Mr. Duke, and I don’t think we have time for it right now.”
“Call me Bo, Miss Carrie.”
She smiled. “I will, if you call me Frog.”
A grin split Bo’s face from sideburn to sideburn. “You got it, Miss Frog. Let’s
play a little possum with this ol’ bear!”

Luke and the Snowman saw them go. “Hallelujah! Bo and Frog done got that old
hound off the scent, Luke!”
“We ain’t outta the woods yet, Snowman. Look!”
The Snowman’s eyes bugged at the sight of a shining white cadillac convertible
cresting the rise. “Who’s that up there in that thing? Colonel Saunder’s younger
brother?”
Luke had spotted the black cowboy hat and jacket of the driver. “It’s Boss Hogg
and Sheriff Rosco’s with him. Looks like the truce is over. Dang it, here comes Deputy
Enos too, bringing up the rear!” he muttered as a white patrol car roared up behind the
caddy.
“Boy, we got us more bears than Goldilocks! Hit it, Luke! Come one! We got
some serious blocking to do!”
“Don’t worry, Snowman. Me and Bo was born behind the wheel.” Luke steered a
course across the white cars’ path, deliberately drawing their attention.

Rosco started after the transam, but Boss yanked hard on the wheel. “Doh! Boss,
I told you not to do that! Let me drive!”
“Well, don’t follow that transam, you do-do! That’s what they want you to do!
Follow the truck! That’s what’s got the whatever-it-is!”
“Ooh! That’s right! And we’re a gonna get it!” Rosco aimed the caddy in the
direction of the fleeing truck, and noticed Enos out of the corner of his eye, chasing the
transam. “That dipstick Enos! He’s done took off after the wrong vee-hicle! I’m gonna
call him off!”
Boss slapped his hand off of the CB. “Oh, no you ain’t! Remember, we only told
Enos about the Coors! He ain’t to know about the whatever-it-is. He’ll get too high and
mighty with his LAPD metro squad ways and spill the beans afore we get that reward!”
“I gotcha, little fat buddy! Watch me throw him off the scent! Khee!”

Enos, zigzagging after the transam, narrowly missed Daisy’s line of washing , and
barely heard his CB over Jesse’s shouted threats. “Enos, this is your commanding officer,
over.”
“I’m righcheer, Sheriff. Boy, that’s some fine car they’s driving. Sure like to get
me one of them someday!”
“Enos, this ain’t a car show! It’s hot pursuit! Now you stick to that transam
closer than honey on a hot biscuit and you get whoever’s in that car! I’m going after that
truck!”
“Ok, Sheriff. Over and out!”
“I’m gone.”

In the General, Bo glanced in his rearview mirror to see the brown car peel away
to the right. “Dang it! Sheriff Justicee done changed his mind! He’s going after the truck
after all!”
“And they can’t outrun him in that thing!”
“We gotta warn them. Bo Peep, this is Lost Sheep #2, over.”
“Bo Peep coming back at you, honey.”
“You got a lone wolf on your trail there, Bo Peep, and he’s coming up fast.”
“He ain’t alone, Lost Sheep. Boss Hogg and Rosco’s hot on our tail.”
“Shoot! We’s on our way!” Bo hit the accelerator hard as Carrie clung to the roll
bars.

In the transam, Luke and the Snowman were leading Enos into the deep bush.
Dead leaves scattered in their wake as they barrelled past. Enos kept his head low and his
hands firm on the wheel. “Sure did like that Coors beer when Turk and me was in the
metro squad. Wonder why they can’t sell none east of Texas? Oh, well.”
Luke was already forming a plan. “We’ll ditch ol’ Enos, Snowman, then we’ll go
back and run blocker for that truck. We sure don’t need Sheriff Justice or Rosco getting
their hands on them Coors.”
“You got that right. This is turned into a real vendetta between Justice and the
three of us.” Fred barked behind him. “Sorry, Fred. I mean the four of us.” He reached
back to ruffle the basset hound’s long ears, and spotted something lying on the floor. “Aw
shoot. Bandit, you crazy fool! Can’t you leave the drinkin’ be for just a little spell?”
What is it?”
“I’m sorry, Luke. It’s a case of Coors, sitting right here in the back of the car.
The Bandit was probably saving it for hisself. Sure hope he planned to share it with me!”
“Yeah, well, we don’t wanna share it with Enos! We’re gonna take a few fast
curves, so hang on!”

In the truck, the Bandit shifted gears and risked a fast glance in the rearview
mirror. “This rig wasn’t built for these narrow little windy roads, Daisy. I don’t dare go
any faster than this. Damn!”
Boss and Rosco had caught up with them easily. The white cadillac drew up close
behind the truck, but had no room to pass. Rosco took up the CB. “This is Rosco P.
Coltrane, Sheriff of Hazzard County! Pull over, you up there in that big rig. You’re
under arrest!”
The Bandit answered. “What’s the charge, Sheriff?”
“Transporting Coors beer into the State of Georgia, that’s what!”
“Y’all got a search warrant?”
“I got my pistol, and that’s all the warrant I need to keep your kind of riffraff out
of my county!”
Daisy answered this time. “Oh, Rosco, what do you mean by that? The Bandit
here’s a real gentleman! He ain’t doing nobody no harm!”
“He’s breaking the law, ain’t he, Daisy?” broke in Boss Hogg. “And you’re aiding
an’ abetting him! Now pull over!”
Daisy shook her head at the Bandit and shrugged, smiling. Then a new voice
crackled over the CB.
“Breaker, breaker – will somebody get that big white bathtub out of my way so I
can make an arrest?”
Boss, Rosco, the Bandit and Daisy looked back to see the brown patrol car roaring
up behind them.
The Bandit shook his head. “I sure hope that cousin of yours gets here soon.
These bears are wall to wall !”
They heard a sudden crash of metal, and the truck jounced forward. Daisy craned
her head out the window. “What are they doing back there?”

In the white cadillac, Boss Hogg stared in horror at the place where his decorative
steer horns used to be. “That cowpat! He rammed my car! He just rammed my cadillac!”
“I know it! Nearly knocked us flatter than one of Lulu’s souffles!”
The brown patrol car spurted forward again.
Clunk!
“Doh!” Boss and Rosco jerked back and forth at the impact. Rosco’s eyes
flashed. He stomped the brake deliberately, and the brown car rear-ended them with a
jolt. “There! Two can play that game, you maverick!”
“Rosco! You wanna play demolition derby, use your own car!”
“Well, it don’t make much difference, do it? We’re stuck in here like a hotdog in a
bun, so we’re gonna get scuffed anyhow. Might as well do some of the scuffing
ourselves!”
Before Boss Hogg could splutter an answer, the loud strains of Dixie cut him off.

Justice’s son looked behind him. “That orange car’s behind us, Daddy!”
“I don’t care a cuss about that orange car. I’m trying to get rid of this white car in
front of us! They got themselves some nerve, hitting their brakes when I’m trying to
rear-end them!”

Back in the General Lee, Bo shook his head. “There’s no room to pass ’em on this
road, Miss Frog. We can’t cut ’em off. Somehow we gotta make them smokeys more
interested in chasin’ us than in chasin’ that rig, but I don’t know how.”
“Well, I know how to get Sheriff Justice’s attention.” Carrie grabbed the CB mike.
“Breaker-breaker…I’ve got my foot to the metal and the pedal to the floor, and…I’m sitting
in the rocking chair and…”
In the truck, the Bandit laughed ’til he could hardly see to drive. “Oh, my Lord.
What’s Frog tryin’ now?”
“And I’m speaking to you, Sheriff Buford T. Justice!”
Justice’s voice came back, smooth as acid. “Whadda you got to say to me, little
Yankee lady? That’s in plain English, I mean?”
“I want you to leave my friends alone. And I want you to leave me alone. Or
we’ll teach you a lesson.”
“Oh, no, honey. It’s me that’s gonna teach you a lesson. And I’m gonna look
forward to that.”
Carrie shuddered, but held her ground. “Oh–I suppose you mean the way you
Texans taught the Mexicans a lesson at the Alamo? A lesson in how to lose?”
A snarl came back. “Now you hold on a minute there! We did not lose!”
“Oh yes you did!” retorted Carrie. She twisted her voice into an exaggerated
southern drawl. “They whupped yer ass real good!”
Everyone was howling by now; even Justice Junior grinned foolishly. “Say, that’s
pretty funny, ain’t it, Daddy?”
Justice’s face was a totem-pole carving of fury. He spun the wheel wildly, and his
car fishtailed in a complete circle. “Makin’ fun of Texas–I’m gonna fry that Yankee bitch
when I catch her!”
Bo was already spinning the General Lee. “Ha! Ha! The real General Lee
couldna done better, Miss Frog! Let’s get goin’ while he’s still fit to spit!” The General
shot off in an orange blur with the brown patrol car roaring along behind.

Bo took a quick glance in the rearview mirror, just to make sure Justice didn’t
change his mind again. Sure enough, the blue gumballs of the brown car were flashing
through the dust far behind them. Bo dropped his speed a bit to make sure he wouldn’t
lose them. “Can you see, Miss Frog? Are Boss and Rosco with ’em?”
Carrie was perched backwards on her knees, clinging to the headrest. “No, it’s just
Sheriff Justice! I guess your sheriff doesn’t care if I insult Texas.”
Bo hooted ’til he could hardly see to drive. “You sure put a wasp down his
britches, didn’t you! That was just a stroke of genius. How’d you think to say that,
anyway?”
“I thought of the film “A Fish Called Wanda.” That was John Cleese’s line.”
“John who?”
“He’s from England. One of the Monty Pythons.”
“Uh…they come after the Beatles?”
Carrie smiled and shook her head. “I guess it really is like the Bandit says–how
smart you are depends entirely on what State you happen to be in at the time!”
“I guess so–what in thunder? Hang on, Miss Frog!”
Bo suddenly swerved to avoid a blue sedan speeding towards them. It thundered
past in the direction of the 18 wheeler.
“What was that?” Carrie cried, her hair whipping about her face as the clung to the
back of the seat.
“Some dang fool in an awful hurry to meet up with the law. He’ll run smack into
Rosco at the rate he’s goin.”
Carrie looked back out the rear window. “Be careful, Bo! Sheriff Justice is
gaining on us!”
“Then you just sit tight, Miss Frog, and enjoy the scenery!”

Sheriff Justice hardly noticed the blue sedan as it flew past. He gripped the wheel
until it looked as though he were ready to wrench it off. “She won’t be laughin’ Junior!
She won’t be laughin’ when I catch her and add some black and blue to her brown eyes!”
Justice’s son, who never liked it when his father spoke out against Carrie, tried to
change the subject. “That orange car sure is fast, ain’t it Daddy?”
“Sure ’nuff,” Justice growled. “And them local boys probably been lead footin’ it
down these back roads since they was old enough to spit. But I’ll get ’em, don’t you worry
none! Hell, them moonshine runners back in Portague county never stood a chance
against your daddy, did they, boy?”
“No, sir.”
“Heh, heh. If I had a dollar for everyone of them sumbitches I collared, I could
buy the whole of Texas! Hey–hang on, boy!” The patrol car skidded round a hairpin
curve and fishtailed, wheels churning up a deep, dusty rut in the road, before it shot
forward again. Once again brown dust billowed through the three-doored car. Justice
pressed his handkerchief to his mouth as he coughed. “Nice try, ploughboy! You gotta be
slicker than that to lost Buford T. Justice!”
His son mumbled something. “Whazzat, boy? Speak up, dammit!”
“I wish I hadn’ lost my purple hanky, Daddy.”
“Boy, you’d lose your feet if they wasn’t stuck on the end of your legs!”
“I mind the last time I used it, too.”
The General roared over a pothole infested stretch that made the brown car
bounce and clatter like a bucket full of scrap metal on the back of a kicking mule. “What’d
you say, boy?”
“I..said…I last had…it…when….we…stole…that…talcalm powder…from….the
police…back in Dallas.”
Sheriff Justice went pop-eyed. “WHAT??” He slammed on the brakes, sending
his car spinning out of another sharp turn. The car sailed around like a weather vane in a
windstorm until they slid over the bank of a shallow creek and ended up with their rear
wheels among the cattails. Justice hardly noticed. “What did you say, boy?”
“I said I had my hanky in Dallas, Daddy. You was sweatin’ when we was movin’
those sacks of talcalm powder out of that police station, so I loaned it to you. I
remembers you still had it when we was stuffin’ them in those crates of Coors that we put
in the warehouse for the Bandit to find. It was that purty one mamma gimme.”
Justice was panting heavily, his eyes like saucers. “Not the one…with your initials
on it?”
“Yeah, Daddy. I sure want that back.”
Justice turned on him. “You never lost it in Dallas! Look in this car, boy!”
“But, Daddy!”
“You are gonna get out and push this car outta this here swamp, and then we are
gonna search this car, that garage, and anywhere else you mighta dropped it–cause I am
tellin’ you this, boy–it cannot be where you say it is!”
“But, Daddy!”
“Out!”
Panicked, his son stumbled out the door and floundered ankle deep through the
weeds to the rear of the car.
“Now, push, damn you! Push!”