The True Blue Scouts of Sugar Man Swamp Read Online Free PDF

trail as fast as their stout little legs would carry them. As they ran . . . Rumble-rumble-rumble. The rumbles were everywhere.
    Bingo had felt rumbles from thunderstorms before, but he had never felt rumbles like these, not rumbles that shook the trees, not rumbles that made waves on the bayou, not rumbles that skittered up his toes, into his belly and made his ears buzz.
    With both hearts pounding like mad, he and his brother found the entryway and dodged into the cozy interior of the Sportsman. Home. Safe.
    Rumble-rumble-rumble.
    In a very tiny voice, J’miah asked, “What is that?”
    Bingo swallowed hard. He did not have an answer. All he could do was hunker down as close to his brother as possible. The old car creaked and rattled. Bingo tucked his paws underneath his chin and stared into the darkness.
    Finally, after what seemed like hours, the commotion stopped. Bingo climbed over the seat and perched on thebottom of the steering wheel. He stared at the dials and numbers on the dashboard, and hoped for some Intelligence to issue forth. He stared for a long time, but nothing happened. The Voice only spoke when there was thunder and lightning. Right now, it was as clear as could be.
    Bingo drew in a deep breath. Soon enough dawn would arrive. It was time to sleep. But in that dark moment, he realized that he had never gone to bed without his parents right there with them. He sniffed the air of the quiet car and tried to smooth his tuft. This wasn’t the way that freedom was supposed to feel. As if to drive home the point, he heard a quiet sniffle coming from J’miah. Oh no, not the sniffles again. But there they were, and all at once he missed Little Mama and Daddy-O like crazy. What would they do in this situation?
    Of course, Bingo knew the answer. Little Mama would clean their ears, then tuck them into their bunks and kiss them, and Daddy-O would sing a song, Fais dodo, fais dodo. And soon enough they’d be sound asleep. Bingo felt his own little sniffle start to waft into his nose, but he swallowed hard and pushed it back.
    Nope, he was not going to sniffle.
    He was a Scout.
    An Official Information Officer.
    He gave a small salute toward the quiet dashboard. First thing in the evening, he would:
    â€¢Â open his eyes
    â€¢Â put his ear to the ground
    â€¢Â lift his nose to the air
    He and J’miah would figure out where those rumbles were coming from and who or what was making them.
    â€œJ’miah,” he whispered, not sure that his brother was awake. He continued, “Tomorrow night we have a new mission.”
    â€œWe do?” J’miah’s voice was a little trembly.
    â€œOperation Rumble-Rumble-Rumble.”
    There was no reply.
    Bingo didn’t need an answer. He was filled with resolve. Then as he stretched out in his bunk, another thought popped into his head. Only this one wasn’t a worry. It was a memory of looking out at the wide, starry sky from the top of the pine, a memory of the blinking red star that he, all by his little self, had discovered.
    Blinkle.
    Another yawn crept over him. Stars are for wishing, he thought. As soon as he woke up, he would climb another tree and make a wish on Blinkle. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would wish for, but this time he’d talk J’miah into climbing with him, so that he could make a wish too. All at once, Bingo couldn’t wait to show Blinkle to J’miah. . . . And somewhere in all this thinking about wishing and stars and his father’s songs . . . he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

18
    C HAPARRAL B RAYBURN DIDN ’ T KNOW ANYTHING at all about Daddy-O’s nighttime songs to the raccoon brothers. But he did know about the canebrake lullaby, the one his grandpa Audie had taught him.
    â€œWhatever you do,” Grandpa Audie told Chap, “don’t ever try to cut the cane without singing that song.”
    We’re not talking about any old