Escoe Smith peered beneath the slits of his slanted eyes to look at the mountains. Soon, the girls would arrive.

Why they wanted to go coon hunting with the boys was beside him but then, he couldn’t figure out what they were doing living up on Hidman’s Branch in the first place.

Irma Gall from the Knox County Economic Opportunity Council had introduced Escoe to the two at the monthly meeting in Barboursville and before he knew it, Smith had unwittingly agreed to show them around his native region of Stinking Creek.

While they were driving back from a branch meeting on Pigeon Forge, Escoe talked about his pension for coon hunting. One of the girls, a broad waist believer from Wheaton College shuttered her body in discuss. One thing led to another and like most of the conversation that took place that day, it was soon discovered that what they had here was the inevitable failure to communicate syndrome. A “coon”, in Escoe Smith’s mountain jargon, was a raccoon. In Peggy’s (which is what we will call her here) a “coon”, wasn’t part of her local lexicon but she did remember reading in one of her sociology text books that “coon” was a racial slur. Maybe it was somewhere but a “coon” in the hills of Kentucky by Laurel Creek was a coon, is a coon and forever will be, just a coon.

The other girl (me) from eastern Pennsylvania, just pictured a ride through the mountainsides on horseback in the early morning mist pursuing an elusive rodent. Well, a coon, being a coon (always will be never won’) like coons the county over (Berks County, Pennsylvania included), comes out to forage at dusk and makes a whole night out of it. In addition, there were no horses up on Stinking Creek, just mules and they were needed for Spring planting. Coon hunting in Knox County, Kentucky was done on foot.

These things were explained by Escoe, one by one as the three of us stopped by Messer’s store for a filler up, Moon Pies and RC colas.

So now, here stood the same Escoe, awaiting the girls. Spring was coming early for it’s time up in the mountains. The first week of March was already greening though not enough yet, to hinder the pursuit of the eternal coon up a tree. Since there were still not enough leaves on the tree for the coon to hide under. Good thing too, because Escoe had neglected to mention to the girls that he had not shot a coon off a limb since…well, for some time now.

Mary Sizemore was use to the boys meeting at her place. She lived far into her holler to be the last piece of flat footing before the endless mountains and her cabin had enough room around it to be surrounded by trees with enough of a clearing for a barn, plowed field and cars. Her front porch stood atop the filed that was used as a parking lot for two pick up trucks and Chevy.

When she came out on the porch at about 6PM she was shocked to see Escoe Smith, Buford Mills and Hobart Brown just lulling about. “ Ain’t you boys started up their yet? she chided then, it’ll be dark befer yer known it”.

“ We’re waiting for them Vista girls, Escoe mumbled, must have gotten lost or something, I reckon. Don’t know how they could have done it though. Tant but one road up here from the macadam.”

If Mary seemed perplexed before, she was down right befuddled now. “Why in tarnations are yer doing taking them along. Don’t they known it’ll be cold out there?”

“I guess they want to get a lode of the local color while they’re passing through”, Escoe ruminated. Buford and Hobart just gazed ahead, prying at the mountains.

“Local color! Ya didn’t bring along any of that dew, did ya ?

Escoe starred Mary down. “Why would I be foolin around with that stuff”, he snarled. And he was right, why would he when he had two flasks filled of Wild Turkey in his pocket ?

Just as the red rays of the sun started flickering beneath the half clad trees the sound of a Ford Bonco rumbling over the scattered pebbles on the lone dirt road that led to Mary’s place was heard.

The sun had finally set and at long last the girls arrived. They did not take a wrong turn from the bend over at Stinking Creek. Even they could not have missed the way to the Sizemore estate., it was the only cleared lane for miles. No, the girls came barreling up at this late hour because of a vague sense of etiquette they held true that is was always correct to be fashionable late to a coon hunt.

When they got out of their car, Peggy was glad to see a welcoming party. This relieved her of the worry over what to do next since all she and I had to do next was say hello and then commence hunting for a coon. We had not; however, counted on Mary Sizemore’s interdictions.

“ Yer girls make sure yer’re back before dawn and make sure yer got the right shoes on. Let’me see what yer got on”.

I showed her my work boots. I bought them a year before to pay homage to Bob Dylan and the working man. Up until then the only place I wore them to was the Main Point coffee house in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Patrick Skye loved them.

May inspected the boots and just shrugged . “ “What kinna socks yer got on? Let me see em.”

I pulled up my pants and showed her my Orvis specials. “ Yer only got one pair on”?

Shadows were appearing on the front porch and a small autumn wind whipped around the posts. Even with the wind it was still warm by my standards, maybe 70 degrees.

“It’s not that cold out Mary”.

“It is iffen you get yer feet wet”.

The thought of wetting my $49 boots momentarily terrified me.

Another shrug from Mary and she was on her way to inspect Peggy’s feet.

“Sneakers! How’in yer gone to climb over rocks with them things on?” Peggy informed Mary that she had hiked many a path with these shoes on and besides with her long strides (Peggy was over six feet tall) she didn’t last long on one spot.

Mary just laughed at her.

“You’uns make it back here before dawn, yer hear me or I’ll send my boys after yer”.

Before dawn. It was 7PM where did she think we were going, West Virginia?

Escoe went to the back of one of the pick ups and released three mangy dogs skinnier then he was with eyes of the same shape and color. They went barreling out of the flat bed and scurrying up the mountainside. Without a word between them, Esco, Buford and Hobart started up to the front side of the fork towards the dogs as Peggy and I fell in like sheep to the slaughter.

Now, we were the type of girls who hated to admit ignorance; the sane human being would be asking just what it was we were and would be doing but when you’re young, too educated and too blockheaded, asking questions was beyond being prudent; it just spoke reams about our greenness. Yes, smart people ask; stupid ones didn’t. Not that asking would have prevented the results of the night but we would have been aware of what was going on. Instead we just followed Escoe, Buford and Hobart up one mountainside and into another well after the cold came in, the moon came up and the forest got thicker.

Oh we were in this hunt all right, right up to our ears, which after three hours of tramping up the ravines were beginning to get numb. And then the dogs started barking.

Buford stopped dead in his tracks and sniffed the air as Hobart bumped into him, Escoe looked back to us and moved his arms, indicating for us to hurry along and be quiet. Shortly the hunting party was under a tree surrounded by three screeching dogs. Escoe spotted his flash light up it’s trunk and into a half naked branch. Hobart nudged him and pointed to a higher branch on the tree’s other side. As the beam of light from Escoe’s hand homed in on the site, two iridescent eyes peered from the birch.

Hobart got out his pistol and fired, Buford aimed his trusty Smith & Wesson in the same direction and plucked without hesitation as Buford with a grin and a prayer hurled away. In the space of two minutes the air around us was smothered in smoke and the dogs still howling were pounding on the trunk of the tree.

The bombardment stopped after three more rounds. Then we all just stood there and looked up at the target.

As the smoke began to evaporate the flash light reveal the damage. There in all his furry glory perched the coon, leering an eerily sneer at us. It was alive and dry.

“What do ya think we should do? “, Hobart asked to no one in particular.

“I think by all accounts, piped up Escoe, that this calls fer a pow wow.” The five of us walked away from the tree as Escoe kept a steady beam on the two red beet eyes. Finding a small clearing with rocks we began to hunch over Indian style, using our knees as a fulcrum for a seat.

“Think yer got him Escoe”?. Hobart asked.

“Dono, maybe, how bout yer?” “Just heard some boomerangs from the tree”.

Escoe reached in with his free hand and got out one of his flasks. He motioned for me to take it and open it. The smell of gun powdered was all around us and the air behind it was damp and cold. I looked down on my feet and suddenly noticed I was sinking into a bog of last autumn’s wet leaves. My poor Timberlakes! My poor wet feet! My poor wet, cold feet! I grabbed the flask, opened it and took a swig. Peggy’s mouth dropped. Then I passed the goods to Buford, who took two swigs, sighed and handed over the hooch to an eager Hobart who after foraging his senses offered some to Peggy... who was having none of it.

“ I’d take some of that it I were yer, no tellin how long we might be here.” “Why do we have to be hear at all? We didn’t get him.” “Gotta wait it out, never know, he could tire up there”. “He’s a raccoon, he has paws with claws on them”. “ He don’t live up a tree. No we a gonna stay here until he gets good and tired” “ And then what?” “ Then we’ll try agin. How many rounds yer got left Escoe?” Escoe switched his one hand and gave Hobart the flash light while still being careful to aim it’s beam into the coon’s eyes. “ I reckon about ten more round”. Ten more rounds! What were these guys aiming at, a bear?

Peggy had enough of it and as Escoe grabbed the Wild Turkey with his free hands announced that she would not be staying around the entire night drinking Bourbon and waiting for a coon to fall out of a tree. The coon, after all, would not be the one getting drunk and loosing his footing.

There was one thing wrong headed with her intentions. Neither Peggy or I knew where we were except of coarse up the proverbial creek, or as it were, up the side of some strange mountain hunched atop a virginal bog.

And Escoe, for his part, was hearing none of Peggy’s wining.

“Yer on a coon hunt for Christ sake, what did you expect. Sides, Ain’t no way I’d let you leave here alone”.

With that, Peggy rose from her perch and slid - walked her way over to the base of the tree with the coon in it. Along the way she picked up a few rocks and following the steady path leading up to the coon that Hobart’s light provided began to take aim on it. By the way did I tell you Peggy was a lettered athlete in softball ? Well she missed the coon the first two throws but on her third attempt it seemed that the coon stepped aside and with that lost his footing… swishh… down came the critter scratching at the thin air all the way to the ground.

The dogs stopped their yelping long enough to begin their fervor pitch attempt at, well you wouldn’t call it retrieving exactly, although I’m positive that at one time this is what they were trained to do; more like exactly, since the gray coon was still alive and I’m positive they were trained to do this also,when it reached the earth, to corner the poor beast. At least, I reasonable believe this is what they were trained to do, but, well, it had been a long night and I guess, they got excited and well; first I saw the fur fly and then the blood splatter, and then I heard the cracking of the bones which were getting chummed and then Buford and Hobart were yelling for the dogs to stop and then Escoe fired his gun at least four rounds into the air and then it was over. The coon laid dead, or at least what was left of it.

“Ah darn, Miss Peggy, yah killed it”. “More like your dogs ate it, that’s the way I’m looking at it”, she said. “Them dogs were never any good at this, Buford told her, as if trying to console the whole situation, never could really rely on them.” “He’s dead!, Escoe kept chanting, what did he ever do to you Miss Peggy?”

I looked down at the paw and saw something brown and throbbing. I asked if it were the coons heart. Buford told me it was his liver. Dogs don’t like to eat the liver. I guess some things are universal.

By this time the dogs had scurried out of there and Escoe, after taking a few more gulps of the turkey commenced the requiem. “Good bye coon, yer know we didn’t mean it”.

Peggy just shook her head. I turned away and Buford and Hobart announced that they had enough. “No sense staying here, now that it’s dead”.

On the way back, no one spoke. We walked with the chilly air breathing around us and we walked without looking down, we walked on the bogs, over the rocks, through the dead leaves, down, down going all the way down until at last the wilderness broke and the faint shadows of Mary’s cabin and the clearing were seen under the moon’s shine.

The dogs were waiting for us. Escoe said no good byes but got into the Chevy, turned on the ignition and passed out of the hollow.

Buford and Hobart collected the dogs and nodded so long. Peggy was the only one upbeat about the night. On the way out of the hollow going into second gear across the bend over Stinking Creek she kept repeating, as if to pat herself on the back, that she just didn’t get it. “Wasn’t the whole point of this excursion to catch the raccoon? I don’t see why they got so upset. Don’t they know that all I was trying to do was help them?”