Then there were the Cougars that were everywhere. Their rotten-smelling breath—even worse than the decaying fish—made the entire trading post reek with their presence. Yet, they were considered the “Royal Court of the King,” for Stuppy considered himself King of his realm. When the Grizzly Bear judges had spared his life years before, Stuppy had taken this as permission to make a Kingdom for himself. And so he had done.
His ‘Royal Court’ was made up of the foulest-looking bunch of Cougars imaginable. Stuppy dressed them in the finest clothes, but these they never washed. Dried food, nose-drippings and other such slop and dirt covered the ruffled collars and fancy, embroidered coats and leggings of the Cougar courtiers. Except when he ‘greeted’ unknown visitors with his cutlass, King Stuppy spent most of his time swinging lazily in his woven-grass hammock. With one eye carefully watching his domain, he ate marsh honey and bayou bread all day long.
Helga thought the odor of the marsh honey was unpleasant, but Ola told her that it had medicinal properties needed by King Stuppy. Marsh honey and bayou bread where the only things that King Stuppy could eat. His nerves had been damaged for life by poison darts Grizzly Bear trackers had shot from their blowguns to capture him. “The marsh honey keeps the King’s hand steady on the cutlass,” Ola remarked.
At first glance, as he lay in his hammock, Helga mused that King Stuppy looked like a very fat and sick old Cougar. “Only a fool would treat him like that, however,” Helga thought, “he would doom you without a moment wasted.”
And everyone who came and went from King Stuppy’s domain knew this basic fact. The honest traders, the dockworkers, the scullery folk, the thieves and bandits. No one challenged Stuppy Marit in the Realm of the King. No one, that is, except a certain cantankerous Wood Cow.
No Jokes About Cougars
Burwell Oswego was snoozing hard—or at least trying to—as he jostled along in the running-wagon. Burwell, and several other passengers, rocked side to side with the motion, tired and stiff from the long ride. They would soon reach the last rest station, where Burwell knew most passengers would be getting off. It was rare for passengers to go on to the last stop, the station at the Drownlands Cutoff. Usually only cargo was carried on the last leg of the trip to the Cutoff.
But Burwell and his wife, Bwellina, were going on to the Cutoff. They were Bayou Dogs that had been on holiday, visiting relatives at the Rounds of Deep Springs, as they did every year. Burwell hated the busy trading season in the Drownlands—the folk got so obsessed with money and goods, he would almost break out in a rash to be near it. So, Burwell and Bwellina packed up and left for the Rounds. Now, they were on the way home. “Yep, by time’s we git back to our shanty,” Burwell said happily to Bwellina, “all them money-dazzled fools will be done with their binge, and things will be peaceable again...Yep! Yep! Yep!”
Bwellina, however, gently reminded Burwell that this year, the running-wagon schedule had changed. “Remember, Burwell, we had to come back a day earlier than usual. That means we’ll have to pass through the junction at King Stuppy’s Trading Post on the last day of the season. It will be an absolute frenzy at King Stuppy’s. So take your rash medicine, Burwell.” Bwellina gave her husband’s hand an understanding pat. Burwell, remembering that there was no escape from going into the thick of the trading crowds, muttered glumly, “I never understand it...they’ll be a spendin’ the money they just got faster than they got it. They know they have to go back out to the wilds, so they go to King Stuppy’s and sell their stuff, then they spend all the money they just got right there, and go home empty-handed. It’s the durn foolest thing I ever saw! King Stuppy likes it, though, I guess.”
From the Drownlands Cutoff, Burwell and Bwellina would catch the cargo pirogue to King Stuppy’s. There was usually room for them to throw their packs and bedrolls down on some cargo boxes and catch some shuteye on the ride to the Trading Post. The ride on the pirogue was free if Burwell helped unload the cargo at the other end of the trip. That was the way Burwell like to travel—light and cheap, just like he and Bwellina lived. Once they reached King Stuppy’s, one of their neighbors would be waiting for them and they’d catch another ride back to their shanty. Burwell would paddle the canoe on that leg while his neighbor got some rest. The system worked pretty good as Burwell considered it. It was the Bayou Dog style.