Copyediting sample 37:
An airborne game warden

In this novel, there are problems with punctuation, capitalization, ambiguity, modifiers, and style in general.

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This sample is presented here with the author’s permission.

Original
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The tall golden coastal grass below danced and swayed in an eerie cadence with the crisp winter wind. Warden Manning quickly banked the gray Piper Cub to his left, diving through the billowing gusts toward the small herd of Javelina frantically scurrying for cover. He flashed a mischievous grin, gunning the engine to heighten the scavenger's pace. The portly lead sow squealed sharply in terror, her thick, black, spiny bristles fully erect as she crashed headlong into the mustard green thicket of thorny mesquite and prickly pear. Coveys of nesting bobwhite quail scattered wildly into the brisk morning breeze. Manning eased back on the controls, laughing heartily as he left the surly band of marauders desperately burrowing for cover. He had been airborne since just before dawn, searching the vast expanses of the King Ranch for his favorite prey, outlaw hunters...human predators of the brush. He turned south, staying close to the tall deer-proof fences, erected at great expense to keep the cattle and deer in, and the poachers out. Peering through faint spider cracks in the yellow plexi-glass, he strained keen eyes to get a good count of the mature bucks chasing the large herd of whitetail into the thickets below. The swollen necks of the suitors verified the emerging ritual, each dutifully intent on expanding the endless herds of whitetail on the Ranch. Local hunters had waited all summer, sweltering in the South Texas heat, cleaning and sighting-in their favorite rifles, longing for the spicy taste of venison sausage, flavored by the smoldering embers of roasting mesquite. Chill blue northers blowing down from Canada provided the necessary testosterone, enticing both the hunter and his prey with the blustery elements of dominance. Adrenaline saturated the dense, frigid air. Manning continued south, past the ponderous Big House, headquarters for the world famous King Ranch. He skirted the sleepy town of Kingsville below, carefully scanning the dusky skies ahead for the jet aircraft practicing touch and go maneuvers at the Naval Air Station just south of town. Pulling up on the stick, he keyed his mike... "Ahhhh, Sierra one-niner...this is Birddog twooo-three...aahhhh...I'm gonna' ease over to the Brimmers stretch and check out the sanderas below the creek bed." "Roger two-three," crackled the reply. "I'm about fifteen from the loop, and I'll head that way to cover." The Game Wardens stationed near the Ranch worked in tandem, a necessary tactic derived from years of experience working to uncover armed infiltrators. They thrived at performing their dangerous job, tracking and apprehending wetbacks and trophy hunters, both intent on not getting caught in the pursuit of their prey. They were damn good at it...and the outlaws knew it.

Markup
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The tall golden coastal grass below danced and swayed in an eerie cadence with the crisp winter wind. Warden Manning Warden Glenn Manning [I strongly believe the warden should have a first name at this first instance; it makes the character more believable. This will be the only time that name is mentioned. (I searched the manuscript and found no other character named Glenn; if you don't like this name here, please pick another one.) The other warden, Sierra 19, is apparently named Curtis Bishop (I learned that when Manning called him "Curt")] quickly banked the gray Piper Cub to his left, diving through the billowing gusts toward [your manuscript was inconsistent between "toward" and "towards"--and, unless an author uses "forwards" and "backwards" and "upwards" etc., I generally decide on "toward," and most U.S. publishers prefer it--the exception might be in dialogue, if a character typically uses the nonstandard "towards" (we will see)] the small herd of Javelina frantically of javelina (pronounced “have a LEE-na,” the term Texans use for the ugly collared peccary, or skunk pig) that was frantically frantically scurrying for cover. [(1) My insertion OK? Your readers not living in Texas or the Southwest might need education on this animal; (2) The manuscript is inconsistent between the "tick" apostrophes and quotation marks and the “curly” ones; let’s stick with the curly ones] He flashed a mischievous grin, gunning the [his grin did not do the gunning (yes, I know a reader will realize this, but a millisecond later than he or she should, and the slight ambiguity introduces noise in the flow of your story--Note that I did not alter your "laughing heartily as he left..." a couple of sentences down, because the "as he left" makes it clear that the phrase modifies Manning, not "the controls")] grin and gunned the engine to heighten the to quicken the scavenger's pace the scavenger’s pace. The portly lead sow squealed sharply in terror, her thick, black, spiny bristles fully erect as she crashed headlong into the mustard green thicket of thorny mesquite and prickly pear. Coveys of nesting bobwhite quail scattered wildly into the brisk morning breeze. Manning eased back on the controls, laughing heartily as he left the surly band of marauders desperately burrowing for cover. [your "for cover" has a nice poetic echo with "Coveys" in the sentence preceding] He had been airborne since just before dawn, searching the vast expanses of the King Ranch for his favorite prey, outlaw hunters...human [the ellipsis should be restricted to pauses within dialogue, speech that trails off (in academic prose, it has another function, to indicate text that has been left out)] favorite prey: outlaw hunters, human predators of the brush. He turned Manning turned south, staying close to the tall deer-proof fences, erected at great expense to keep the cattle and deer in, and the poachers out. Peering through faint spider cracks in the yellow plexi-glass, he yellow Plexiglass, [Plexiglas is a trademark for polymethyl methacrylate (PMMA), or "acrylic glass," and technically it should be used as an adjective rather than a noun (as in "the yellow Plexiglas windshield"), but I seriously doubt that the trademark owner's lawyers will come after you for using it as a noun] he strained keen eyes to get a good count of the mature bucks chasing the large herd of whitetail into the thickets below. The swollen necks of the suitors verified the emerging ritual, each dutifully intent on expanding the endless herds of whitetail on the Ranch on the King Ranch. Local hunters had waited all summer, sweltering in the South Texas the south Texas heat, cleaning and sighting-in their favorite rifles, longing for the spicy taste of venison sausage, flavored by the smoldering embers of roasting mesquite. Chill blue northers blowing blue northers blowing down from Canada provided the Canada engendered the necessary testosterone, ["engendered" OK? testosterone is not carried in the cold wind (even in a poetic sense), but the wind might cause (engender) the hormone to start flowing] enticing both the hunter and his prey with the blustery elements of dominance. Adrenaline saturated the dense, frigid air. Manning continued south, past the ponderous Big House, headquarters ponderous Big House, headquarters for the world famous Kings the world-famous King Ranch. He skirted the sleepy town of Kingsville below, carefully scanning the dusky skies ["dusky" implies evening, but you have set this scene in the morning ("brisk morning breeze" a few paragraphs back, "early morning haze" a few paragraphs down)] the skies ahead for the jet aircraft practicing touch and go maneuvers practicing touch-and-go maneuvers at the Naval Air Station just the naval air station [Chicago Manual of Style (ChiMan, or CMS, the "bible" of the publishing world) entry 8.111 stipulates lowercase for generic military terms like this (but "Naval Air Station Kingsville" [NAS Kingsville] is an official title and gets capitals)] just south of town. Pulling up on the stick, he keyed his mike... his mike: "Ahhhh “Ahhhh, Sierra one-niner...this is Sierra One-niner. [One-niner (and Bird Dog Two-three) capitalized, because "Sierra 19" is essentially a name] This is Birddog twooo-three...aahhhh...I'm gonna' ease is Bird Dog Twooo-three... Aahhhh, I’m gonna ease over to the Brimmers stretch the Brimmer’s stretch and check out the sanderas below [I don't know what "sanderas" are; do you mean senderos (Spanish for "tracks")? would the Anglo warden mispronounce the Spanish? (and if so, would it not be worth mentioning here?)] the senderos below the creek bed." bed.” "Roger two-three," crackled “Roger, Two-three,” crackled the reply. "I'm about “I’m about fifteen from the loop, and I'll head and I’ll head that way to cover." to cover.” The Game Wardens stationed The game wardens stationed near the Ranch ["Ranch" (capitalized) when referring to the King Ranch; a generic ranch (someone else's) would be lowercase] worked in tandem, a necessary tactic derived from years of experience working to uncover armed experience in detecting armed infiltrators. They thrived at performing their dangerous job, tracking and apprehending wetbacks and trophy hunters, both intent ["both" implies that the "wetbacks" are in pursuit of prey, whereas I think you mean just the trophy hunters pursuing prey--right? Of course, the wardens are in pursuit of prey as well--but they are not intent on "not getting caught"] hunters intent on not getting caught in the pursuit of their prey. They were ["They" could be misread as wetbacks and trophy hunters] prey. The wardens were damn good at it...and at their job, and the outlaws knew it.

Result
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The tall golden coastal grass below danced and swayed in an eerie cadence with the crisp winter wind. Warden Glenn Manning quickly banked the gray Piper Cub to his left, diving through the billowing gusts toward the small herd of javelina (pronounced “have a LEE-na,” the term Texans use for the ugly collared peccary, or skunk pig) that was frantically frantically scurrying for cover. He flashed a mischievous grin and gunned the engine to quicken the scavenger’s pace. The portly lead sow squealed sharply in terror, her thick, black, spiny bristles fully erect as she crashed headlong into the mustard green thicket of thorny mesquite and prickly pear. Coveys of nesting bobwhite quail scattered wildly into the brisk morning breeze. Manning eased back on the controls, laughing heartily as he left the surly band of marauders desperately burrowing for cover. He had been airborne since just before dawn, searching the vast expanses of the King Ranch for his favorite prey: outlaw hunters, human predators of the brush. Manning turned south, staying close to the tall deer-proof fences, erected at great expense to keep the cattle and deer in, and the poachers out. Peering through faint spider cracks in the yellow Plexiglass, he strained keen eyes to get a good count of the mature bucks chasing the large herd of whitetail into the thickets below. The swollen necks of the suitors verified the emerging ritual, each dutifully intent on expanding the endless herds of whitetail on the King Ranch. Local hunters had waited all summer, sweltering in the south Texas heat, cleaning and sighting-in their favorite rifles, longing for the spicy taste of venison sausage, flavored by the smoldering embers of roasting mesquite. Chill blue northers blowing down from Canada engendered the necessary testosterone, enticing both the hunter and his prey with the blustery elements of dominance. Adrenaline saturated the dense, frigid air. Manning continued south, past the ponderous Big House, headquarters for the world-famous King Ranch. He skirted the sleepy town of Kingsville below, carefully scanning the skies ahead for the jet aircraft practicing touch-and-go maneuvers at the naval air station just south of town. Pulling up on the stick, he keyed his mike: “Ahhhh, Sierra One-niner. This is Bird Dog Twooo-three... Aahhhh, I’m gonna ease over to the Brimmer’s stretch and check out the senderos below the creek bed.” “Roger, Two-three,” crackled the reply. “I’m about fifteen from the loop, and I’ll head that way to cover.” The game wardens stationed near the Ranch worked in tandem, a necessary tactic derived from years of experience in detecting armed infiltrators. They thrived at performing their dangerous job, tracking and apprehending wetbacks and trophy hunters intent on not getting caught in the pursuit of their prey. The wardens were damn good at their job, and the outlaws knew it.