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necessarily good to the last drop, so after that, whenever he wanted a meal of sugarcane, he sang a canebrake lullaby, a sibilant tune that put those snakes right to sleep.
    Rock-a-by, oh canebrake rattlers
    Sleepy bayou, rock-a-by oh
    Canebrake rattlers
    Sssslleeeepp
    And while the snakes snoozed away, he grabbed as much cane as he wanted without all that snip-snap-zip-zap. Of course, he didn’t take too much, only what he could eat, and a little to stash away in case he wanted amidnight snack. In the meantime, the snakes were still pretty darned happy about those gators that floated away. And even though rattlers are not predictable, they will for certain take the Sugar Man’s side in an argument.
    One big rattlesnake in particular, Gertrude, took a real fondness to him and decided to become his personal assistant. Yep, she hardly ever leaves his side. So if you want to do business with the Sugar Man, well, you have to deal with Gertrude first.
    Of course, alligators are cagey. And last time we counted, there were plenty of them hiding in the Bayou Tourterelle.

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    T HE INCIDENT BETWEEN THE S UGAR Man and the rattlers happened years and years ago, back when it was just the Sugar Man and a host of critters in the swamp. Decades later, he had his encounter with the pirates. But that was long ago too. Three hundred years back. Then there was the failed posse with their ropes and axes and shotguns. That too was a century’s passing.
    In fact, it’s been such a very long time since anyone’s spotted him, or reported a sighting of him, that Sonny Boy Beaucoup made a big, fat claim: “I declare the Sugar Man officially extinct.”
    It was a claim that suited Sonny Boy Beaucoup. To him, the deal that his ancestor Alouicious had struck with the Sugar Man was no deal if both of the parties were no longer extant. ( Extant. What a great word that is.)
    Of course, Sonny Boy Beaucoup didn’t know about Audie Brayburn’s encounter with the Sugar Man. The only personAudie had ever told was his grandson, Chap. And Chap knew better than to say anything.
    Honeybees. Hornets. Honeybees. Hornets.
    Moreover, nobody told the Sugar Man that he wasn’t extant. How could they? He stayed holed away in the deepest, darkest part of the swamp, where news was slow to arrive. To exacerbate the situation, he let it be known that he should not be disturbed except for emergencies. For those, he placed his trust in the Official Sugar Man Swamp Scouts.

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    S PEAKING OF OUR S COUTS, IN the front seat of the old DeSoto, Bingo rolled over onto his back. Even though he wasn’t fully awake, he rubbed his belly.
    Empty, he thought.
    The night before had been extremely eventful. There had been the farewell of Little Mama and Daddy-O. There had been the bolt of lightning and the Voice of Intelligence. There had been Mission Longleaf. There had been rumble-rumble-rumble-rumble.
    But there had not been any sustenance.
    As if J’miah’s stomach were in agreement with Bingo’s, it let out a loud growl from the backseat bunk. Bingo, in his state of half sleep, wondered if he should make a quick dash out for some dewberries before the sun rose. J’miah simultaneously wondered the same thing.
    They both cracked open their eyes, they both rubbed their bellies, they both noticed that the dark was growingthinner, they both reminded themselves that they were, in fact, nocturnal and morning was upon them.
    They both went right back to sleep.
    And there you have it, sports fans: two hungry raccoons, with hours to go before they ate.

The Next Morning

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    T HE SUN WAS NOT QUITE ready to rise when Chap walked into the early morning kitchen. Once he had finally fallen asleep, he slept hard. Now he rubbed his eyes and yawned. His mom stood at the counter, mixing up the first batch of pie batter. Her hands were coated in flour. She greeted him by dabbing a thumbprint of flour onto his nose. It was an action she had done many