Рита Браун - Out Of Hounds

“People sleep in these things. Some of them have living quarters, but it makes the trailer way too big, I think. Sleeping in the nose must be okay. With blankets a human can keep warm. Hey, mind if I eat a gummy bear?”

“No. Whole bag full.” Hortensia reached in for a grape one, placing it in her mouth. Very ladylike.

A stiff wind gust blew the door shut. The latch clicked.

“Uh-oh.” Ewald pushed the door.

Hortensia scratched at it. “Damn.”

Ewald looked at her then climbed up in the nose again. “At least the hounds can’t get in here.”

“No, but the human can,” Hortensia fretted.

“She’ll be tired. It’s cold today, and bet you Grenville gives them a run. He likes to zigzag, cover rough territory, and see them fall off. Here’s what we do. We sit tight. If we stay perfectly still when she comes back, she won’t even know we’re here.” He slid under the blanket, only his black nose sticking out. “Come on. This is warm. She won’t be back for hours. When she turns her back we can go.”

“You’re more hopeful than I am. I say she opens the door, sees us, and screams.”

“You give the humans much too much credit. The last thing she will expect is two foxes in her tack room. Get under the blanket with me and when the door opens stay perfectly still.”

“I hope you’re right.” Hortensia joined him.

All one could see were two black noses sticking out from under the blanket. One would need to look for them.

While Hortensia and Ewald snuggled in, Grenville, true to form, waited at woods’ edge. Hounds walked on the left side of the farm road while he observed on the right side. To reach him all would need to take a stout coop. He wasn’t worried. He could thread his way through the woods, giving everyone fits. He liked to hear the “Ommph” when someone hit the ground.

Giorgio, nose to the ground, moved slowly. He’d hunted here over the years, knowing that often Grenville left a signature on pastures. However, he needed to draw the pasture he was on, not the one across the road. Had to obey his huntsman.

Yvonne stopped to watch. “A lot of people out today.”

“February is great if you can take the cold,” said Aunt Daniella, short heavy coat on, her legs wrapped in a plaid throw.

Kathleen, in the back, learning about hunting, asked, “This is an old fixture. They must know where the fox is.”

“Yes and no.” Aunt Dan watched as Tootie disappeared into the woods on the left side.

“Sister, Weevil, and Betty, especially Betty, know where the dens are. Tootie does, too, because she started hunting Mill Ruins when she was at Custis Hall. But knowing where the dens are doesn’t mean the fox was out, may not be scent.” Yvonne had learned a lot in the last year.

Ribbon, her Norfolk terrier, sat in her lap, keen to see everything.

Grenville waited for hounds to reach the woodline across the farm road then he trotted into the open pasture, sat down, and waited.

The field passed on the road. Then Second Flight passed. The sheriff was riding tail that day and he noticed a flash of red.

Counting to twenty he called, “Tally-ho!”

Ben turned Nonni in the direction of Grenville, now heading into the woods. His cap off, arm outstretched, he said nothing. Betty, already in the woods, jumped back out, saw Ben, then waited. Tootie stayed where she was.

Weevil jumped the coop in the corner, crossed the road, jumped the coop into the right pasture. Sister, on Rickyroo, stopped, for she and the field were in the middle of the farm road.

Rickyroo’s ears swiveled. Grenville waited for Weevil to clear the jump then he tore off into the woods.

Ben kept his hand and hat steady as Betty also held out her cap.

Weevil, seeing the direction, put hounds on what he hoped was the line. It was.

Not a second of being tentative, all opened, leaping over, under, and through the three-board fence. Weevil took the coop in that fence line.

Sister thought staying on the road paralleling the hounds might be the best choice. It was, but that road dropped soon enough, footing slippery. She slowed a little.

“Well,” Yvonne muttered.

“They’ll all back up at the stream crossing,” Aunt Daniella predicted. “Wait. If we hear hounds going away we can cross the stream, too. Shouldn’t be too high. But if not, I’d sit tight.”

Although the stream flowed rapidly thanks to the rains and snow meltoff, the depth was only a foot. There had been times when the water rose higher than that. All the riders splashed through easily.

Yvonne crept down as the last rider, Ron Haslip, crossed, riding tail for Second Flight, which he didn’t want to do but Bobby Franklin was desperate to give Ben Sidell a day up front.

“All right, girls.” Yvonne put her vehicle in low gear just in case. “Any predictions, Aunt Dan?”

The older woman opened her window, a slash of cold air right on her face. “Wind is shifting. More westerly to east than coming right down from the northwest. He’ll run with the wind at his tail.”

“Why?” Kathleen asked.

“Blow scent away from the hounds. If Weevil turns his hounds into the wind, the scent will carry. Foxes know this, so if their scent gets picked up they’ll zigzag to confuse the hounds. Then, too, if there’s a stiff wind they’ll use it to blow their scent yards away from its original path. They are cunning creatures.”

“Tootie says the only creature that understands scent is the fox,” Yvonne repeated her daughter’s wisdom.

Kathleen noted, “People seem to find a buddy or a group they stick with.”

“Sometimes that’s due to the athletic ability of their horse. A person on a fast or long-strided horse will usually ride with like horses. Otherwise they’d need to be rating their horse,” Aunt Daniella explained.

“I would have never thought of that,” Kathleen confessed.

“All kinds of stuff going on out there. You can see Carter next to Buddy. Both on 16.2H, or thereabouts, Thoroughbreds. They’ll stay up front.” Yvonne was learning a lot from Tootie and Sam.

“Buddy travels a distance to hunt here,” Kathleen noted. “He certainly pays attention to what I have in the shop when he’s here.”

Aunt Daniella smiled wryly. “Kathleen, he’s paying attention to you.”

A few moments passed then Kathleen said, “Doesn’t seem like it. He only chats about the pieces.”

“Ah well, his wife died two years ago. They married out of college. I suspect he has no idea how to date now.” Aunt Daniella took a breath. “I knew them both. He’s a good fellow. Took good care of Sophia. Men have a much harder time, you know?”

Buddy Cadwalder, tall and lean, did want to know Kathleen. Furniture gave him a reason to talk to her, overcome his shyness. Kathleen, polite and warm, seemed to have no interest in him, while other women threw themselves at him. This made her all the more fascinating. Being a man of a certain age, he wanted to make the first move but wasn’t sure of himself.

Before Kathleen could comment Yvonne said, “Feathering. Just a few.”

“That devil will make them work. He knows the territory. He knows the hounds. He’ll make fools out of them,” Aunt Daniella predicted.

Grenville, comfortably ahead of the speaking pack, trotted along the stream, heading east. Hounds picked up scent but it wasn’t hot. They knew they were on but the wind at their backs created difficulties, blowing scent away from them.

Pickens, a younger hound but not a youngster, nose down, stopped a moment. “Bobcat.”

Diana and Dreamboat came over, touched the earth, then Dreamboat pronounced, “Not long ago.”