After watching the familiar truck drive-away, Cecil said he didn’t want to leave, and risk running into the man on his way out. He ended up driving in the opposite direction, north, and turned out twice more before finally loading up and heading home.
He and Dobbs spent the next week arguing over whether he should involve the game warden’s office, with Dobbs, who’d never hunted a day in his life and aimed to keep it that way, vehemently opposed to the idea.
Cecil argued that he didn’t want to get shot the next time he hunted the place, and he wasn’t going to let some jerk jeopardize his hunting privileges, even if he was one of the most powerful men in the county. Dobbs told him to find another place to hunt rather than risk the future of the entire firm. This was 1975, and the Mississippi Commission on Judicial Performance, the state board that investigates and disciplines judges for misconduct, wasn’t created until 1979. That meant even a conviction didn’t automatically cost a judge his robe, especially a five-term incumbent who hadn’t drawn a challenger in the last four election cycles.
By that Friday, Cecil had a plan. He was long-time friends with a gentleman named James, who worked as a game warden for what was then known as the Mississippi Game and Fish Commission. James had a son named Blake, who worked for the police department. Both were coon hunters, and the three would hunt together a half-dozen times a year. Cecil invited both to hunt with him that Saturday evening, and they accepted, excited for the opportunity to try out a new spot.
They met at Cecil’s house and from there James and Blake followed Cecil for the short drive to his secret hunting spot. Cecil knew he could trust these men, and he wasn’t betraying the trust of the landowners that gave him permission to be here. He actually felt a little guilty about not sharing it with them sooner, and under better circumstances. Neither James or Blake knew anything about the previous Friday night, the poacher, or better yet, the Judge. Cecil hadn’t said anything to either, wanting to wait instead until they were at the actual scene of the crime.
This time he would approach from the south, with the dogs hopefully working tracks headed north. They parked deep in a small clearing about a mile into the property and about 50 yards from the dirt road that led them there. James brought along his redbone named Tim, and his son Blake brought his treeing walker, Banjo.
Anne and Banjo linked up on a track and ran it by themselves for a good 5 minutes before Tim threw in the towel and decided to join in. Cecil brought his machete, but didn’t need it that night. The 10-minute walk in was a breeze; dry, clear, with tall oak canopies locking in what little coolness the night had to offer. It was a night and day difference from what Cecil had experienced on his last trip, when he approached the clearing from the north through one massive briar patch after the other.
They located the coon on the walk up; it hadn’t bothered to go more than 20ft up the tree and seemed content to sit and watch the show. They leashed the hounds and headed further north, James and Blake wanting to stay in the open country, not realizing this was exactly the direction Cecil wanted to go for an entirely different reason.
Cecil waited until he could spot the clearing ahead, about 100 yards out, and said “Gentlemen, before we turn the dogs loose, I need to ask your confidential opinions on something.” “Well, you’re the lawyer”, James chuckled. “This subject is more in your area of expertise than it is mine”, Cecil told him, facing the two gentlemen with his back towards the clearing.
He told them about being in the same woods the previous Friday with Anne, and that she’d treed not too far from where they were standing. He said he got to the part in the story when the poacher shot the deer and was interrupted by Blake, who was loudly whispering for each of the men to turn off their lights and get to the ground.
Cecil and James quickly obliged, turning off their headlamps as they knelt beside one another, all three men now facing the clearing ahead. Cecil didn’t know it but as he was speaking, the exact same scenario from the previous Friday night was playing out behind him. A lone spotlight, shining slowly across the clearing. James was the first to spot the feeder that Cecil hadn’t even noticed on his previous hunt.
As they watched the light sweep the field and eventually come to a stop, Cecil had quickly explained that the same thing happened the last time he was in the woods, and that he thought he might know who it was. Just as he finished, a shot rang out, and soon after the truck roared to life, headlights illuminating the perimeter of the woods, pointing in the direction of the 3 men.
James was the first to spring to action, reverting to decades of experience in the field with the Mississippi Game & Fish. He asked Cecil if the road they came in on was the only way out. Cecil confirmed that to the best of his knowledge it was, and James led them in that direction, all 3 moving swiftly, but quietly, hounds in tow, with their headlamps turned off.
The deer had taken off to the west, leading the poacher deeper into the woods and further away from the dirt road he’d ultimately need to reach. This gave the 3 men time to make their way to the road. By the time they arrived, all three men knew their assignments. James had instructed Blake to cover the left-hand side of the road while he spoke to the driver. Cecil was to be 20 yards back, hidden in the brush along the left side of the road to provide cover for Blake.
“Guys, if it’s who I think it is, we’re not going to need the guns”, Cecil had told the men. James responded that he didn’t care who it was, they were breaking the law and would be stopped one way or another. Cecil looked over at Blake for some reassurance that it wasn’t going to get deadly, and his demeanor had completely changed. He was Officer Blake at this moment, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to his old man.
They waited on the side of the road for about 45 minutes. The deer had made it deep into the woods, and the poacher had to finish tracking her on foot once the brush started closing in. The deer was big enough that he decided to gut her before dragging her back to his truck. From the road, the men couldn’t see any of this, so they sat in silence, waiting for a sign that they weren’t just wasting their time. Cecil had all 3 dogs with him, tied to a tree within a few feet of where he was standing. James and Blake were in position about 10 yards off the side of the road, hidden by the brush.
The headlights finally reappeared and Blake told the men to get ready. The truck was coming from the west and would eventually reach the dirt road and make a right, heading south towards them. James, in his deep, fatherly voice, told Cecil and Blake that he’d take the lead. If either man took issue with that, they didn’t show it.
Before they saw the lights, while they waited on the side of the road for what felt like an eternity, Cecil had finished the story, telling the men he believed the driver of that truck was none other than Judge Wallace, who both father and son knew well. James was beside himself at the thought of Judge Wallace doing such a thing, but he said he’d also seen much worse in his nearly 40-year career.
Once the truck made it to the dirt road, it began to pick-up speed. By the time it reached the men it was doing upwards of 45mph. When it got to be about 150 yards out, James and Blake flipped on their headlamps and emerged from the woods, Cecil stayed back with the dogs, fixated on Blake. He started doubting himself and what he saw that previous Friday. Fear set in quick, as he thought through how dangerous this situation could get if he was wrong, and it wasn’t the upstanding judge after all.
James and Blake began to walk slowly down the road, lights pointing in all directions; down, then illuminating nearby trees, then sideways. They were walking in the direction of the oncoming truck, taking up the entire dirt road as they moved about from side-to-side. Cecil had left the dogs in place and was working his way down the side of the road with them, staying back about 20 yards behind Blake.
Without their dogs, or flashing signs that said “I have permission to be here”, and with guns draped across their shoulders, James and Blake knew they were setting themselves up for either a run-in with a poaching owner, or a poaching trespasser, who might be a local judge, or an escapee from the nearby prison for all they knew. The driver of the truck had all the advantages, so they’d devised a plan to attempt to put the driver at ease, long before he got up to them. They wanted to appear lost, clueless, as they walked around with their tracking collar antennas pointed in every direction, oblivious to the truck barreling down the road toward them, let alone the sound of a high-powered gun shot in the distance some 45 minutes earlier.
As the truck slowed and rolled to a stop in front of the men, James and Blake both put on the biggest smile they could muster, and immediately waved as if they were glad to see the driver. James started to approach the driver, “boy are we glad to see you” he said, as the driver door swung open, and the man driving the truck hopped out. He didn’t close the door but instead walked around it, meeting James at the front of the truck, blocking his view of the bed. “Are you boys lost” he asked as James extended his hand. He wasn’t rude and didn’t seem to be angry, just matter of fact.
The three men shook hands and James explained that they were coon hunters trying to locate their dogs. “One is a pup, the others not far ahead of her, and we’ve been looking for both for the past 2 hours, I have no idea where we’re at or who’s property this is, I’m assuming that’d be you?”
With the trucks headlights still on, the drivers’ face was now fully visible, and it was clear to both James and Blake that the man looking back at them was not Judge Wallace. The driver introduced himself as Randy. He said it wasn’t his property, but he had a hunting lease further north, and the folks that owned the land they were standing on allowed him to use their road to access his property. As he did so, Blake looked for a weapon on Randy and didn’t see one. James had done the same as they shook hands, and also came up empty-handed.
James didn’t waste any time and took control of the situation. He said “Randy, I’m a game warden for the state of Mississippi and Blake here is a police officer. We have another game warden to the south of us, watching every move you make, and another police officer covering the north. We know what you’re doing, and we know this isn’t the first time you’ve been out here.”
Randy’s demeanor changed instantly. He had accepted James’s original story, that they weren’t the landowners and were just a couple of lost coon hunters trying to find their hounds. The relief he’d felt had vanished when James came clean about who he and Blake really were. His mind began to swirl with all the possibilities for how they could know he’d done this before.
“Game Warden?” he asked, looking at James square in the eyes. “Indeed” James replied. “Now, why don’t you tell me your real name, and I’ll explain where we go from here. If you cooperate, things will go much smoother, and you might even get to drive yourself home tonight. But as of this moment, you’re trespassing, spotlighting deer, and hunting out of season. Don’t make it worse by adding lying to a law enforcement official to the list.”
Randy was overwhelmed. Everything was happening too fast, and he didn’t have time to concoct a good story in his head. He considered fleeing, but then remembered there were 2 more, unseen officers in the woods. Both James and Blake were carrying weapons, James’s remained around his shoulder while Blake had his rifle in both hands, pointing down, but ready. Randy looked at both men and dropped his head in defeat.
He told them his name truly was Randy and showed his drivers license to prove it, which James held on to. He admitted that he’d shot a doe and offered to show it to the men. He even came clean about the previous weekend. His freezer was already full so he didn’t need the meat; he’d just been greedy. He apologized to both men, looking them in the eyes as he did so.
Blake asked him if the truck was his and he told them it belonged to a customer. Randy said he was replacing the bumper, but the new parts were over a week late. His truck had the name of his company, Moore Auto Body, written all over it, so he took his customers ride instead.
James piped in and asked if the customer happened to be Judge Raymond Wallace, and Randy bowed his head again in embarrassment. “It is”, Randy said. He told the men Judge Wallace had been a long-time customer, and this is the first, well, second time he’d taken any of the judge’s vehicles out of the shop.”
Without needing to confer with the other men, James decided to make Randy a deal. He told Randy that he’d allow the man to drive himself home and discard of the deer. The following Monday, however, he was to drive himself, in his own vehicle, to James’s office to receive an official citation. He told him that if he showed up, on time at 8:00am on Monday morning, he saw no need to involve Judge Wallace.
Cecil ran into Judge Wallace a couple weeks later at the courthouse. They’d first met while Cecil was admiring the Judge’s truck at a party months earlier, and at that time Judge Wallace mentioned that he would soon be replacing his rusted rear bumper. Cecil asked if he’d had any more work done to the truck recently, and the Judge shared that he’d just had the rear bumper replaced, and was looking forward to driving it after four long weeks in the shop.