Рита Браун: The Hounds And The Fury

“Blow again.”

Shaker put the brass horn to his lips and blew the notes that sounded like “Whipper-in,” two medium notes followed by one shorter one.

Nothing.

“We need to move on, Sister,” Ben firmly told her.

“I can’t leave her there, Ben.” Sister’s voice was low, soft.

Shaker spoke up. “I’m going with you.”

Tedi and Edward came to them, realizing their daughter had not come back to the horn. Walter also rode up.

“Tedi, you stay with the field. I’ll go,” Edward gently ordered his wife.

“No. This is my fault. He was quicker and more ruthless than I thought. I should have known better.”

“He was lucky,” Shaker said.

“Yes, but smart. He used the boar.” Sister respected her foe. She had underestimated him and desperately prayed that Sybil wouldn’t pay for it.

“I’m going. I’m a doctor.” Walter spoke firmly. “Edward, please help with the field in case someone makes a mistake.”

“What if he comes back to snag a hostage?” Betty had ridden in, since hounds rested.

“Ben’s with them.” Edward wanted to go.

“We’ll have too many people. We can’t risk him shooting all of you. You, too, Shaker.”

“I’m not letting you go!” Shaker noticed Gray riding toward them.

“We can’t risk the pack because I was stupid. He’ll shoot my hounds. No. You, Betty, go back. Edward, get Gray, and get him turned around before he knows what’s happening. Go back. I can outfox this son-of-a-bitch.”

“I’m going with you.” Walter, accustomed to command when necessary, faced her.

“I’m an old woman. If I die, so what? Walter, you’re young. Go back with the others.”

As the others turned, Shaker called the pack, and Betty floated out to the side.

Walter said, “I’m going.”

“I’ll see you back at the trailer, Betty. I owe you.” Sister realized that Walter would not be dissuaded.

Betty, deeply distressed, fought back the tears and nodded.

“Walter, unbutton your coat. You’re wearing a shoulder harness. Make sure you can get to your gun fast.”

He did as he was told. They cantered to where the riders were pulled up and circled until they found Jason’s tracks.

“I’m worried sick,” Walter confessed as they followed the tracks.

Sister replied, “With good reason. This is my fault.”

Before he could protest that it could have happened to anyone, she picked up the pace.

The deer paths were wide. She slowed at one point where fox dens were near a thread of a creek.

She noticed a glob of frozen blood, footprints.

She pushed Aztec from a canter into a gallop, pointing at the blood with her crop.

Walter looked down as he passed. A grim determination filled him. Sister had been caught off guard. He’d been duped by a colleague. He wanted to strangle Jason for that as well as for the harm the other doctor had done.

Jason, moving south toward Chapel Cross, slowed after a half-mile gallop. A sense of direction wasn’t his strong point, so he carried a small global positioning device, which he checked from time to time.

He knew the closer he got to Chapel Cross the more wary he needed to be. There’d be cops everywhere, but he thought he could elude them by dismounting and smacking Kilowatt on his hindquarters. That might divert them long enough for him to cross the road. Once on the other side of Chapel Cross he knew he could steal a car or truck from a farm as the county became more populated.

He’d change cars along the way. Arrogant, he felt he was smarter than everyone. He believed he could lay low, angling toward the Canadian border. He had his passport with him, a habit he’d learned when overseas. He also had a forged Belgian passport. He thought ahead. In time he figured he’d fly out of Canada. The money was safe in a bank in Zurich.

Jason hadn’t thought it would reach this point, but he always had backup plans. Iffy had screwed up the original plan by panicking and, worse, insisting they run away together. She’d paid for it.

He walked along, not realizing that Sybil shadowed him a quarter mile behind. She could have shot his horse when he galloped past her as she sat on a ridge.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill a beautiful animal who happened to have a criminal on his back. She knew she was wrong in terms of human justice, but she felt in her heart that she was right.

She knew Jason wasn’t a country boy, smart though he was. Tracking him would be easy enough. If she had a chance for a clear shot at him, she’d move up and fire. Her advantage lay in surprise.

The thick undergrowth forced them both to stick to deer trails. She stopped abruptly as Bombardier snorted when a deer approached downwind, their usual approach when their curiosity was aroused.

The doe stopped, looked at the horse, then bolted into the brush.

She had heard Shaker blowing for her. She wondered how Jason had gotten away. She told herself that one great thing about being a whipper-in was you became resourceful.

A soft flutter of wings startled her. She looked up to see, right over her head, Athena, low, followed by Bitsy, flying silently as only owls can do. Bombardier didn’t flick an ear. The owls were so close that the variations in feather colors showed clearly.

Jason, senses straining, also did not hear the owls, who gained altitude while staying behind him. The thick forest gave way to a rolling hay field. The only route to Chapel Cross was over that field. Fortunately, it was far off a state road—but still, how long before the helicopters would be looking?

Jason figured Ben had called in all the resources he had, but it would take the helicopter team at least forty-five minutes to reach him because the small airport was thirty-five miles away, and the team would need to suit up, mount up, then fly to Paradise.

He had a comfortable window of time to reach Chapel Cross. Even in his black frock coat he’d stand out crossing the white hay field, but if he skirted the edges he’d tack another fifteen minutes onto the ride.

He pushed his horse into a trot and risked it.

On reaching that same spot, Sybil pulled out the cell phone Sister insisted she carry in case of injury. She punched in Sister’s prerecorded number, which was 7.

At the vibration, Sister grabbed her phone out of her pocket.

“Sister, I’m at the edge of Binky’s southernmost hay field. Jason’s crossing it at a trot, heading for Tattenhall Station, I expect,” said Sybil in a low voice.

“Thank God, you’re all right. Don’t take any chances, Sybil. Walter and I are behind you, moving up. Half mile. Tops.”

“Right.” She clicked off the phone.

Jason heard a human voice, very faint. He turned to see Sybil at the edge of the woods. He wheeled Kilowatt, pulled out his gun, and rode hard straight for her.

Sybil slipped back into the thick woods. She rode off the deer trail to dip down into a swale. It would take him a minute or two to find her. She noticed boot prints at the edge of the swale.

Conventional wisdom would have dictated she run, but her entire back would be exposed. Steeling herself, she clicked off the safety of her .22, six bullets in the chamber instead of ratshot. Small though the caliber was, in the right place that .22 could stop a person cold.

She held the reins in her left hand, her right arm extended. All she needed to do was swing her arm to her target.

Jason assumed she would run away. Kilowatt, fast, would get so close to her that he could drop her. Then he would turn and race like mad across the hay field. He couldn’t lose more time.

He stopped to listen for the sound of her hoofbeats. Silence. Then he heard the rustle of leaves as Bombardier moved a little. Walking deliberately toward the sound, he, too, readied his .45.