Everglades Assault by Randy Wayne White

don’t really think you’re going to have to use that, do you?” April looked half mad, half just plain scared.
    â€œDamn it, girl—this ain’t none of your concern. This is man business. You just go on along into the kitchen and fix us something to eat.”
    That was not the thing to say to someone like April. Now she was just mad.
    â€œMan business! Daddy, there’s no such thing as just plain ‘man business’ anymore! And if you want something to eat, fix it yourself!”
    â€œThey teach you how to be uppity there at the state university?”
    â€œYou’re damn right!”
    â€œYou know I don’t like you swearing.”
    â€œAnd I don’t like you and Dusky going places where you might have to use a gun!”
    They glared at each other for a minute, then both broke into laughter.
    They were a match for each other: both stubborn and smart, with an underlying sensitivity.
    Like father, like daughter.
    â€œI’m taking this here shotgun,” he said.
    â€œAnd I’m not going to fix you anything to eat until you get back.”
    â€œIt’s a deal,” he said. And they both laughed again.
    I helped Hervey pack his gear into the pickup. None of us liking farewell scenes, Hervey’s wife and April said good-bye to us at the door. April hugged her father, kissed him on the cheek—then surprised me with a kiss full on the lips.
    When she did it, her face flushed with a heretofore unseen shyness, and she disappeared quickly into her room.
    Hervey got behind the wheel of the pickup truck and pedaled it roaring to life. And just when we were about to pull out, he snapped his fingers.
    â€œDamn, almost forgot something.”
    â€œYeah?”
    He looked at me. “What do you think about taking that big ugly dog of mine?”
    â€œHervey, you know I love dogs—but I’m not wild about the prospect of walking out on my own boat some night and getting attacked by that Chesapeake of yours.”
    â€œOh hell, he’s just mean around the house here. Friendly as a pup when you get him away.”
    â€œI’m not sure I believe that.”
    â€œBesides, he’s a good tracker. He’ll help us run down that Swamp Ape thing.”
    â€œHaven’t you read the books? Dogs are supposed to be scared to death of Abominable Snowmen.”
    Hervey picked at something on his hand. “He ain’t what you’d call a normal dog. Besides, you and me both know there’s no such thing. I’m telling you, Dusky, that dog’s a regular damn genius in the swamp. Remember? I found him in the swamp. He’d gone clear wild and was making his living eating small gators and God knows what else when I found him.”
    â€œYeah, but we’re going to be spending a lot of time on the boat.”
    â€œHell, he’s the best boat dog you ever saw! Just jumps overboard when he wants to crap, then swims to catch up when he’s done.”
    â€œYou expect him to swim and catch up—”
    â€œBesides, it’ll make my family up there in the’glades feel better with him around. They got a couple of small cur dogs, but they just ain’t up to snuff. Be nice to leave him with ’em when we have to go someplace.”
    â€œOkay, okay,” I said. “I’m convinced.”
    â€œFine,” said Hervey. “I’ll just go and get him.”
    â€œYou don’t have to.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLook in the mirror—or just turn around.”
    The big Chesapeake had already jumped into the back of the pickup. He sat on his haunches, his nose against the cab window. The yellow eyes glared at me—as if he knew which side of the discussion I had been on.
    â€œReady to go, Gate?” Hervey yelled out the window.
    The dog plopped down on Hervey’s duffel bag and went to sleep.
    Â 
    Florida Bay spread away from the oasis splotches of mangrove islands, vast and green and