Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

Cora ran over to Dasher and inhaled deeply. “Rock and roll.”

Hounds opened. Shaker blew three short notes three times. Given the thick covert, he couldn’t see whether all the hounds were on. He didn’t blow “Gone away.” He fought his way through the brush.

Matador, a little up now, listened to Sister. She possessed the gift of soft hands, imparting confidence to her horse through light contact with the horse’s mouth. Nor did she clamp down her legs in a vise. She had an educated leg. Matador appreciated that, too.

Both Betty and Sybil battled the rough territory.

They emerged onto an untended field, sumac sticking up out of the snow, spikes of broomsage visible. That was easier going, and the little group ran as hard as they could.

Surprised by hounds, the fox would learn in time what all this meant. Today all he wanted to do was reach his den. As he headed for it he leaped logs but otherwise kept a straight course.

As the small red plunged down into a steep ravine, a fine place against harsh winds, Darby lifted his head. “What’s that?”

Even Cora didn’t know what the sweet odor was. She slowed, waiting for Asa to come alongside. As the senior dog hound he might know, she thought.

“Don’t know,” he said as he kept running.

Delia, the oldest hound there, ran at the rear of the pack. “Hold up.”

Her wisdom went unheeded as the second-year entry shot past even Cora, who paused for the senior hound. Cora then stretched out to catch the pack.

By now Sister had caught the deep sweet odor. “Shit,” she thought to herself.

Gray recognized it. Tootie did not. Tedi and Edward, swept along with the run, glanced nervously at each other.

Five seconds passed. Then a terrible crash rising out of the deepest part of the ravine told the tale.

Shaker blew three long notes. “Come to me. Come to me,” he called.

A shotgun blast shattered the air. Matador leaped straight up.

Sister, with her years of training, didn’t even think about it. She sat deep, leaned forward, and pulled one rein down to bring Matador back down. She kept a tighter rein on him so he wouldn’t put his head down and buck after standing up.

“They’re going to kill us.” Matador sweated.

Nonni, Ben Sidell’s been-there-done-that trooper, calmly said, “Steady, young feller. Hounds will get shot before we do.”

Keepsake leaped straight forward but settled right down as Tootie remained calm.

Sister slowed Matador. “Ben, you’d better come up here with me.”

Gray rode on one side of Sister, Ben on the other.

Tootie, Tedi, and Edward rode behind.

Clouds of condensation billowed from mouths and nostrils. Sister passed a jutting ledge to behold a large still, broken glass and bottles everywhere.

Alfred DuCharme, shotgun pointing at Shaker, cussed a blue streak.

Tedi uncharacteristically blurted out, “Guess Alfred’s not such a lazy sod.”

“Get the hell out of here!” Alfred bellowed.

The hounds—unhurt, thank God—bundled around Gunpowder and Shaker.

Ben Sidell calmly rode forward. “Alfred, put that shotgun down.”

“Goddammit!” Alfred recognized the young sheriff. “Goddammit to hell!” He lowered the shotgun.

“Break it open, Alfred.”

Alfred did break open his shotgun.

The smell of fermenting corn nearly knocked Tootie off her saddle.

“Anyone have cut pads?” Sister rode up to Shaker as Betty and Sybil rode in, quite shocked at the scene.

“No.” His face was pale.

“Alfred, you’re operating an illegal still, and you’re trespassing on…” Ben turned to Sister.

“Franklin Foster.”

“…Foster’s land.”

Dejection overcame Alfred. “Will this be in the papers?”

Canny, Ben dismounted. Tootie rode up to take Nonni’s reins. Ben removed the shotgun from Alfred. “Now, Alfred, things don’t look good for you. If you help me, I’ll help you.”

A fleeting look of hope crossed Alfred’s craggy features. “What can I do?”

“The first thing you can do is destroy this still. Remove all traces of it. You wouldn’t want Mr. Foster to find out and nail you to the cross, now would you?”

“No.”

“The second thing you can do is promise me you will not do this again.”

“I do.” Alfred almost sounded believable.

“There’s more. Are you listening?” Ben kept his voice low.

“I am.”

“Did you sell to Iphigenia Demetrios?”

He cleared his throat. “I did.”

“Did she come out here to you two Saturdays ago, January 7?”

“Yes.”

“Was she a regular customer?”

“Yes. She’d pour my stuff in other bottles. She drank bourbon, too, mind you, but when she needed a real pick-me-up, she came to me.”

“I see. Did you kill her?”

“No!” He stepped back, frightened.

“It’s not so far-fetched, Alfred. She could have threatened to expose you, and from the looks of this, you’ve profited greatly from illegal liquor.”

“I would never kill anyone. Even for that. Because I break one law doesn’t mean I’d break all laws.” Alfred’s wits were returning.

“I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t,” Ben joked. “Any idea why she was so upset that Saturday?”

“Work. Said work wasn’t going right. Said she had no love life. Said she felt betrayed.”

“By whom?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Does a cell phone work down here in this hollow?”

Alfred nodded. “If you climb up there on that rock ledge, it does.”

“All right, here is what we are going to do. I’m going to call the fire department. Tattenhall Station is the closest volunteer station. I’m going to tell them that I’m performing a controlled burn here. I won’t give the circumstances. But this way, if they get calls from anyone, they won’t respond. I won’t arrest you, and I will swear these people to secrecy.” Ben nodded toward the field. “Are you with me?”

“Yes.” Alfred sighed deeply.

Not only was Ben saving his face, he was saving him lawyer’s fees, possible jail time, and significant damages to the state.

Ben walked over to Sister. “Sister, you are to never speak of this. Shaker, Betty, Sybil.”

They agreed.

He walked over to Tootie, Tedi, and Edward.

“Edward, do you have room on your trailer to take Nonni back with you? I don’t know how long it will be before I can pick her up.”

“Be glad to do it,” Edward replied.

“Tedi, Edward, Tootie, you must promise not to reveal what has happened here.” He stopped a moment and hoped Tootie, despite her youth, could resist telling the story. “This may have a bearing on Iffy’s murder. I need full cooperation.”

Each pledged not to tell.

He spoke louder. “Alfred, when next you see any of these people, do you swear not to speak of this or treat them rudely?”

“Of course.” Alfred might hate Binky, but he treated other people with respect.

“You’re going to drive me to After All once we finish business here,” said Ben to Alfred.

As the little group left, the fox, den up on the ledge within hearing distance of the clear creek below, thought this day memorable.

The hounds passed right under his nose.

“He’s up there,” Asa said.

“We must go in,” said Delia, now up front, as they were walking.

“How’d you know?” Dasher asked Delia, his mother.

“Long before you were born there was a still hidden in a stone springhouse not far from Tattenhall Station. Fox ran into it and so did we. Once you get a whiff, you don’t forget. The humans use different grains, so it can smell different, but it’s always sweet and thick.”