Рита Браун - Fox Tracks

Gray studied the woman he loved for a time. “Janie, did anyone ever tell you you could have made a good criminal?”

Upstairs, another good criminal knocked over Sister’s silver tray with a brush, comb, and small perfume bottle on it that had been given to her by her mother. Golly evidenced no interest in perfume, she wanted to nestle in the alpaca sweater her human had put on the bureau instead of in it.

Sister had been in a hurry when she left the sweater there, which she would regret. In kneading the sweater, for Golly loved the cool feeling of the alpaca wool that then turned warm, the cat tore a big hole.

Later, when they went to bed, Sister spotted the damage and saw red. She likely would have stayed mad, too, if Gray hadn’t reminded her that it was mating season. He never failed to make her laugh.

CHAPTER 21

Sister and Shaker walked fifteen couple of hounds, thirty hounds single, on foot. Hunting hounds are counted in couples, a practice dating back to ancient Egypt. Sometimes after a rousing hunt, huntsman and master would walk out those hounds that had not hunted the day before, as well as a few who had. Mostly, the hunted hounds relaxed while the others enjoyed some exercise.

Pookah and Pansy had hunted, but their youth invited a bit more instruction from their trainers. Hounds being pack animals, as are humans, need to learn to work together. Veteran hounds, Dragon, Diana, and Diddy also walked out to give the youngsters some ballast.

It was 31°F under clear skies at nine in the morning on February 8 as they headed for Hangman’s Ridge.

Sister liked long walks. She felt they worked out the kinks. Also, walking didn’t pound her feet as did running, although she and Shaker would trot with the pack in bursts. Fearing old age was not in her nature, fearing laziness was.

Dragon led, Diddy’s nose on his flanks.

“If I’d been out yesterday, we would have brought down that coyote,” said Dragon.

“Right.” Diddy agreed, although she didn’t believe him.

“He could run,” Pansy exclaimed. They hadn’t been there, how could they be so confident?

“I’m faster than any ugly coyote.” Dragon puffed out his chest.

Raleigh chortled. “Dragon, you’re a conceited ass. I’m faster than you are.”

The house dogs accompanied the pack walks, serving as canine whippers-in. Hounds knew the Doberman and harrier would enforce the huntsman’s commands.

“ If I didn’t have to walk with everyone, I’d take you down ,” the well-built American hound threatened. Dragon followed that with a low growl.

“You and what army?” Raleigh laughed, as did Rooster on the other side of the pack.

“Shut up, you miniature foxhound,” Dragon snarled at Rooster.

Medium-sized, Rooster did appear to be a smaller version of the foxhound, but then most scent hounds bore some resemblance to one another, even a beagle, an especially engaging animal.

“That’s enough.” Shaker quietly reprimanded Dragon, who shut up.

The hounds behind Dragon wished the huntsman would have smacked the braggart hound with the butt of his crop, but Shaker rarely struck a hound, and he wouldn’t do so for chatter. Dragon would push in front of other hounds, most of whom ignored him. Sooner or later a young, strong male would gain enough confidence to challenge him. The fight would no doubt be ugly.

The slippery and steep climb to the top of Hangman’s Ridge had everyone puffing. Minks, on their hind legs to observe the humans and hounds, scurried into their dens.

“All these minks. Years ago there wasn’t a one,” Shaker noted.

“There were always a lot at Pattypan Forge,” Sister recalled. “Small though they are, they can be ferocious. They’re weasels.”

“Apart from dinosaurs, I reckon we have just about everything in our territory.”

“Give it a few years. The elk released in the reclaimed mining lands in southwest Virginia will be here, too.” Sister swept her eyes over the long flat ridge, the hangman’s tree moaning in the breeze. Up here, there was always a slight wind, even on a calm day.

“Repent,” a ghost whispered, but only the hounds and dogs could hear.

“Don’t they know there are spirits up here?” Twist shivered.

“I think they can feel them,” Rooster answered the youngster. “They deny it.”

The tricolor, Twist, was surprised. “Why?”

“Quirk of the species.” The harrier stuck with the humans, covering the large expanse of ground.

“Coyote tracks,” Shaker called out. “Fresh. Not from yesterday.”

Sister walked over and took a look. “Very fresh.” She put her gloved hands on her hips. “The coyotes are using this as a crossover. Pop over Hangman’s Ridge and hit up Foxglove or us. At least they can’t get into the feeder boxes. We’ve got plenty of fox tracks by the feeder boxes, which is a good thing.”

“No, but they can stick their paw in and pull out food.” Shaker pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. “It’s always colder up here. I’ve read too many horror books. Spirits. Makes it colder.”

“Well, who knows what’s in this world that we can’t see?” asked Sister. “But we sure can see coyote tracks. Shaker, if there’s one, there’s a family and probably a couple of families.”

“Yep.” He took a deep breath. “The air’s good though, isn’t it?”

“ ’Tis.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the coyote found Carter Weems first. Didn’t Gray say there wasn’t much left of the doe?”

“Meat gone. Then the carcass collapsed. But if the coyotes ate the deer, you’d think they would have pulled out the second corpse.”

“I don’t know.” Shaker headed toward the path down. “It’s funny. You don’t think about stuff like that. Something happens and I try to come up with answers based on what I know. As to why he was killed, I’m not going to figure that out.”

Moving to the other side of the pack, Sister stated, “Doubt I will either. You know, Shaker, I have this feeling more’s to come or something. I don’t know why. It’s probably this place giving me the willies. God knows, there are, what, eighteen unquiet souls up here?”

“You really believe in ghosts?” he asked.

She thought about this, then said, “Of course, no one can prove an afterlife, but throughout history so many inexplicable events have happened. What about the apparition of Joan of Arc to the French soldiers in the trenches of World War One? Thousands saw her and described her the same. Was that her spirit? Was it some mass delusion? Sometimes when I come up here to check for tracks or to see if there’s a new fox den, I could swear I hear whispers from that tree. I’m just suggestible, perhaps.”

“I don’t want to hear them,” said Shaker.

“Who does?” Raleigh sensibly said.

Shaker, unusual for him, murmured to Sister. “Are you afraid to die?”

Without hesitation, she replied, “No. I’m more afraid of not living, I mean really living: full gallop, devil take the hindmost.”

He laughed. “You have nothing to fear.”

“Want to hear something really silly?” She patted the left side of her chest. “I stick that cigarette case from World War One over my heart when I can. Makes me feel good.”

He brightened. “Well, if you believe in spirits, then each man who signed that old cigarette case and the officer to whom it was presented, they’re all watching over you.”

Back at the kennels, each hound eagerly received a treat as his or her name was called, then the happy animal walked into its particular run.

Raleigh and Rooster needed a treat, too. After all, they whipped-in.