Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

Pamela turned to see Val’s gorgeous face crisscrossed with scratches like tic-tac-toe. She stifled a giggle and pressed on. Val was displeased to be following Pamela.

Shaker kept close to his hounds as they milled about. Once he thought he knew which was the fox scent, he put his horn to his lips and, doubling the notes, urged them on to the scent.

First to figure it out was Diana. “ Dog fox. Don’t know him.”

The hounds swung to her except for two couple of the second-year entry. The bobcat scent—hot, hot, hot—fooled them into thinking they were closing on their quarry.

Shaker couldn’t count all his hounds in the thick covert. He blew again, feeling his shirt stick to his back from sweat despite the cold. Hounds opened again.

Dana froze as Betty Franklin and Outlaw blasted into the bush.

“Hark to ’em.” Her voice, firm and clear, bided no stragglers.

The two couple squirted toward the sound of the horn and the cry of the pack.

As they scooted away, Betty paused one moment and said to her beloved friend, “How in the hell do we get out of this mess?”

“Leave it to me.” Outlaw lowered his head and pushed through tight cedars, brush, and vines. Tarzan would have felt at home here except for the cold.

Steady as a rock, the quarter horse moved forward until he broke through to the creek again.

He leaped down into the creek; it was a two-foot drop, but the footing wasn’t rocky in the creek.

Betty, trusting him, let him pick his exit spot. Little blue cedar berries, round, had slipped behind her coat collar. They drove her nuts, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. A few had found their way into her boots, too.

“We can fly from here.” Outlaw blew air out his nostrils, waiting for her command.

“I love you.” Betty patted him on the neck, then galloped forward, for they had real estate to cover.

Flavius, free of the hounds, walked to the springhouse, where he’d stashed some kill. He paid no attention to Sybil on Bombardier. The horse shied as Flavius bared his fangs for effect. Sybil flew off. Bombardier stood still, and she remounted, amazed that the bobcat sat and watched her. Sybil felt like prey.

Iggy led everyone on a merry chase. Needing the exercise, he didn’t head straight for the schoolhouse. He boogied to the twin ponds. The heron, livid that Iggy circled both ponds, lifted wide his huge wings.

“Scares me to death,” Iggy sassed him.

Athena and Bitsy reposed on the topmost limb of a towering sycamore denuded of leaves.

“It’s been quite a show,” Athena chortled.

And it wasn’t over yet, for hounds, finally out of that heavy covert, sped over the patchy ground, tiny bits of snow and mud shooting off behind them. Cora, first, flat out, circled the upper pond, leaped down to the lower, and circled that.

Iggy, a secure four minutes ahead—given his speed, he was in the prime of life—veered into the manicured woods, called “parked out” in this part of the world. Making no attempt to foil his scent, he then raced in a large semicircle. As he reached the woods’ edge, he kept to it, knowing it would be full of scent from edge feeders like rabbits.

Just as the field came out by the upper pond, Iggy came into view.

Sister, seeing him, did not make the mistake of an overenthusiastic field master. Her task was to follow the hounds, not the fox. She didn’t cross the huge expanse of snow-covered pasture to get on terms with him. That would have cut off her hounds. She stuck behind the hounds, which she could finally see as they launched themselves off the bank to land next to the lower pond, the waterwheel paddling away.

As “Tally-hos” sounded behind her she fought the urge to turn and tell them she wasn’t an idiot, she might be old but she wasn’t blind, she had seen the fox. Better yet, hounds, heads down, were on. No need for “Tally-ho.” Well, it was a large field. Not everyone knew her, as many were cappers. She pressed on, wondering how people can foxhunt yet remain ignorant. That flew out of her mind as she launched off the upper bank, a tidy drop jump onto the slick surface by the lower pond.

That would part a few riders from their mounts, thereby enriching the club bar. Off you go, and a bottle must be produced at the next hunt. If a junior you had to deliver a six-pack of soda.

The music, spine tingling, swelled, and she now saw Shaker come out of the woods followed by Tootie, Val, Felicity, and Pamela.

Jumping off the upper bank, Bunny also beheld her students. She’d get to the bottom of this when the hunt was over. What were those girls doing behind the huntsman? She was going to skin them alive.

Iggy, in the open now, treated everyone to a view as well as an appreciation of his blinding speed.

The pace began to tell. People fell behind. Gray, riding in the middle of first flight, moved up behind Tedi and Edward, who rode right up behind Sister. He didn’t feel it was proper for him to ride with Sister on days when there were large fields. It would smack of favoritism. When fields were small, he’d be close.

As Sister thought, five people came a cropper on the drop from the upper bank to the lower. Ronnie Haslip, a good rider having a bad day, broke his collarbone. Walter stayed with Ronnie, sending Jason forward in case anyone else went down hard.

“I’ll ride back to the trailers with you,” Walter offered. “Or if you want to stay here I can drive up here for you.”

“It’s only my collarbone. Tie my arm up with my stock. Hurry, Walter, hurry.”

Walter unpinned the long white four-fold tie and wrapped it around Ronnie’s shoulder, careful not to make it too tight as he looped it under Ronnie’s forearm resting across his chest.

“There.”

“Give me a leg up, Master.” Ronnie grinned.

Walter, strong as an ox, practically lifted the lighter man up and over onto the other side.

They lost ten minutes but caught up with the field in time to see Iggy dart under the schoolhouse.

Bobby put the hilltoppers just to the side of first flight so they could see everything.

Ben Sidell, riding with Bobby, felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He’d pick up the message later.

Shaker, blowing “Gone to ground,” effused over his pack. “Picking up the right scent, what good foxhounds. What good hounds.”

“We were good, weren’t we?” Diddy’s tail flipped like a windshield washer.

“I made you look good.” Iggy laughed. “Hey, I’m one smart fox. I live under a schoolhouse.”

Cora called back, “Okay, Professor.”

This would be his name ever after: Professor.

Shaker walked over to Showboat. The footing was slick as an eel. He slid, nearly falling flat on his face. Tootie held Showboat’s reins.

“Thank you, Tootie.”

“Thank you. I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Thank you.” Tears filled Tootie’s eyes.

He took the reins, patted her hand, “Tootie, neither have I.” He swung up, then said to the other girls, “You all can go back to Sister now.”

“Thank you.” They beamed and rode past Sister, all smiles, and joined Jason, Walter, and Ronnie at the rear.

“Let’s pick ’em up.” Sister would have searched for another fox had the footing been better.

They’d had a bracing day, been out for two hours. Best to stop.

The clouds reached them at last, the only clear sky being a thin, brilliant, blue stripe in the east. Pines rustled. Branches started to sway.

By the time they reached the trailers, the first snowflakes were dotting their velvet hunt caps.

Val, on hearing of Ronnie’s mishap, volunteered to cool out his horse. He offered her money, which she quite properly refused. She wanted to help. Tootie took care of Moneybags for Val.