He’d found a partial paw print close to the shore of Bayou Animaux and followed the trail along the damp marshland. Some of the deeper indentations where filled with water, washing away any trace of the big cat. The Judge, his hand cannon, rested in a holster strapped to his hip and he’d slung his rifle over his shoulder. He was ready. Now he just had to find that damn panther. For a little more than a day, he and Tim had searched for any sign of the predator. He owed that monster of a cat. Every time he looked at his reflection he saw the black eye, split lips, and bruises on his side left by his tussle with the fucker. When he shot the beast, he’d have to do it with deadly precision. P.B. already had a buyer lined up and they were willing to pay top dollar if there was minimal damage to the pelt. Court raised his hand and crooked his fingers, a signal to Tim who appeared from the bush beside him. “The prints have washed out here.” Court cleared his throat and spit into the muddy water.
