Рита Браун: Fox Tracks

Lafayette snorted. Sister heard horses below her beginning the climb. She heard a crack, a slash of fire from high up in one of the pines, then felt a hard hit over her heart. She slipped off Lafayette, hitting her head on the ground.

The horse didn’t move, but put his face down to the unconscious woman.

Target doubled back, looking up at the horse. The fox swiftly moved beside the woman who fed him. He touched her cheek. The hounds had turned, so he sped off without saying anything to Lafayette.

The dogs reached Sister just as the first rider climbing the path did.

“Hold hard,” Edward Bancroft called.

He maneuvered his horse to the right of Lafayette. There wasn’t much room.

Dragon already had his nose to Sister’s and the pack surrounded her.

“She’s alive,” the head hound called.

Shaker was blowing the hounds back to him, but they didn’t obey.

Betty had no idea what had happened and was trying hard to get to the horn.

The shooter, down from his perch, was sliding down the steep side of the ridge, progress hidden from view. But the hounds heard him. Dragon wheeled away from Sister in pursuit. The pack followed.

Dragon let out a deep call, which the hounds with Betty heard. They, too, took off.

Shaker struggled to get up with his pack, as did Tootie and Sybil.

Betty pushed Magellan on. A fast horse, she made up the ground. She saw the pack ahead of her, closing fast on a man with a rifle strapped across his back. He cut back into the woods, climbed up a tree just above the hounds, unslung his rifle, and focused through his scope. Betty was dead center. Dragon and the hounds leapt up, one grabbing the toe of his boot as he fired. The shot hit the top of her hard hat, creasing it.

The force knocked Betty off Magellan. Unhurt, she picked herself up out of the wet field, then laid back, flat, her helmet upside down in the field. Magellan took off toward the barn.

Hearing the hounds, Betty, face muddied, looked up. She saw the hounds around the bottom of a tree and a man in it.

She crawled, then rolled. He didn’t fire.

With no time to think whether she was crazy or scared, she stood up, sprinting toward the woods. She’d be a tougher target out of the clear.

Reaching the edge, she got behind a tree. Peering out, she saw the hounds yanking at Tariq’s feet. He kept kicking at them, but he couldn’t get his rifle properly aimed downward.

She saw Sybil and Tootie emerge above him on the old trail.

“Get out!” Betty shouted.

Tariq didn’t see but he heard the two women above him. He could fire up and he did. Then he reached up, pulling himself up a bit higher, in the tree, firing in Betty’s direction. She heard the bullet whiz past yards away, then thunk into a tree.

Sybil ordered Tootie, “Get back up on the ridge. Take my horse with you.”

With that, she dismounted, slipped her .22 pistol with ratshot out of the holster and crept downward, one tree at a time.

Tootie did as she was told. Fit to be tied, Shaker was calling and calling his hounds. Tootie hollered to him for all she was worth.

He made his way to her as she headed to the ridge. She told him what she had seen. He dismounted, taking his ratshot, handing Hobo’s reins to Tootie.

“Wait here.” The muscular huntsman ran down the deer path.

The hounds, treeing their human quarry, set up a booming racket.

Much as Tariq wanted to shoot them, he knew people were coming for him. Cursing, because he might have made it, he reached into his pocket for more shells.

Sybil and Shaker, working together now that Shaker had reached her, fanned out, moving toward Tariq.

The hounds heard them coming, but the Egyptian did not.

A flurry of ratshot hit the tree. He ducked, turning away from the shooter. He realized he had a chance to get away if he could kill or wound the hunt staff, especially Shaker and Sybil, who were closing in. Betty was below him. He didn’t know who was above him, but he figured it had to be staff.

Betty left her tree and ran to another.

She picked up a small rock jutting out of the soft earth, threw it for all she was worth. It clattered, hitting a tree near the one the hounds surrounded.

It was enough to draw Tariq’s attention. Shaker, who had been stealthily making his way down, fired, as did Sybil, from the opposite direction.

Tariq tried to fire at them, but lost his balance and fell from the tree, the rifle discharging into the air. That fast, Dragon ripped out his throat.

CHAPTER 37

“I’ve always wanted a purple boob,” Sister told Betty, Tootie, and Gray as she sat in the den, her feet up.

“Thank God you bought that cigarette case,” said Gray. “I’m glad I didn’t say anything about the cost.” He smiled. “It’s priceless.”

He picked up the case from the coffee table. A bullet wedged in the middle of it, the tip flattening against the back side.

Gray and Tootie had brought back Sister from the emergency room. After cleaning up, as she’d been muddy from head to toe, Betty had met them at the house. She’d brought her cap for them to see the crease on the top made by Tariq’s bullet.

Sister sighed. “We can give thanks Dragon killed him before he shot anyone else. If Tariq could have gotten his rifle up he would have fired.”

“Odd,” Betty mused. “He fell out of the tree but he never loosed his grasp on the rifle.”

Tootie said, “He was such a good teacher. I liked him so much. What happens to people?”

The three older people didn’t immediately respond.

Even Golly, quick with a criticism, said little. Events had shocked her, too.

At last, Gray offered a partial explanation. “I guess anyone can justify what they do if they believe they are doing it for a great cause. For Tariq, raising lots of cash to help protect the Coptic people, millions of them, was worth a few American lives. That’s all I can think of, but I know we all underrated Ben Sidell.” Gray moved his thoughts to something he could understand.

Gray had spoken with the sheriff once they got Sister to the emergency room, where she regained consciousness. “Ben knew contraband was moving out of our county. At first he assumed it was illegal liquor, but then realized it had to be tobacco. The laws have changed to allow smaller batches of liquor to be sold. That isn’t to say there still isn’t money in moonshine, but the ’shine is off, forgive the pun.”

“How’d he know that?” Tootie asked.

“Pretty much the same way Sister figured it out: Albemarle County and central Virginia are the perfect distribution centers for the northeast, and even into Chicago.”

Sister leaned on Gray’s shoulder for a moment. “But Tariq. Never in a million years would I have thought he was behind something like this.”

“The real leadership of his smuggling operation is in Cairo. He was important, had a great cover, spoke perfect English.”

A knock on the back door sent the dogs barking. Tootie hurried to see who was there, and shortly afterward she and Ben Sidell returned.

“Did you learn anything new just lately?” the genial sheriff asked Sister.

“Yes, you’re a good sheriff.”

“Butter me up. I ought to slap you with every citation I can find. Sister, you damn near got yourself killed, nearly blew our operation. And furthermore, I had to spend a damned whole hour with Animal Control convincing them the hound was protecting his owner. I spun a lovely tale for Dragon. Madam, you are a lot of work.”

“I am. I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“A stiff Scotch would help. I’m finally off duty.”

Gray walked to the bar to pour Ben a serious amount of single-malt Scotch. “Anyone else ready for a libation?”