Рита Браун - The Hunt Ball

“She took what she needed. The cloak isn’t torn much,” Sister replied.

“M-m-m.” He started to reach down into the hole.

“Ben, don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because the cub is in there. The reason Shaker and I came this way was to check the path and to see if the den had a new occupant. She or he will bite you, and believe me, it hurts.”

“Sheriff, you need prophylactic rabies shots,” Gray suggested.

“Too late now,” Ben grunted. “Ty, give me that flashlight.”

Ty handed him the heavy flashlight run on a nine-volt battery. Ben tilted it to illuminate the deeper recess of the entranceway.

“Nothing,” Sister remarked.

“How do I know this fox doesn’t have more in the den?”

“You don’t.”

“Then I’ve got to dig the critter out.”

“Shaker and I will do that. We can trap the cub without harming the animal or ourselves. We’ll move her—I think it’s a vixen—to another den. Shaker, how about that one in the apple orchard?”

“Yeah, that’s empty.”

“Why won’t she come back here?” Ben was curious.

“We do a soft release. We’ll put her in a big hound crate, with food and water. We’ll put the crate in front of the new den. Every day we’ll check on her. The third day, we’ll put fresh straw by the den, a little sweet-smelling hay, and a five-pound feed bin with a lid on it, a small hole drilled in the bottom. We’ll tie that to the closest tree. Come nightfall, we’ll open the gate. She might run off for a few hundred yards, but it’s too good a location. She’ll be back.”

“Why hasn’t some other fox used it?” Ben handed the flashlight back to Ty.

“Oh, it was Uncle Yancy’s and he’s fickle that way. He moves around. If he were human he’s the kind that would redecorate every year. You know the type.”

Ben laughed. “You know the foxes as well as you know your hounds.”

“Some. We’ll pick up a fox on a new fixture or during breeding season, courting foxes. That’s exciting because we’re trying to figure them out. They’ve got us figured out.”

“How long do you need to get the fox out of here?”

“If you and Ty will go down to the house and wait for me, Shaker and I should be able to do this pretty quickly. The reason I ask you to go to the house is that she can smell you, hear you. The more people there are, the more frightening for her. She might fight harder.” She stood up. “Gray, will you go down with them and bring back the caller, the little trapping cage, and the heavy gloves? They’re in the kennel storage room. Oh, bring a shovel, too. We’ll have to stop up the other getaways.”

“Georgia isn’t going to like this,” Bitsy chirped.

“Sister’s right, though, the orchard den is much better than this one.” Athena heard mice scuttling to their homes as the wind was stronger now.

“Little apples are tasty to foxes.”

Athena, full of the devil, egged Bitsy on. “While all the humans are here, why don’t you give them a song?”

The small screech owl puffed out, warbling what she thought was a little ditty she’d heard on the barn radio. “Since my baby left me—”

“Jesus!” Ty jumped out of his skin.

Even Shaker and Gray froze for a moment, then laughed.

“What the hell is that?”

“Son, that’s Bitsy, the screech owl.” Sister had to laugh at him. “She lives in the barn.”

“Well, what’s she doing up here?” He regained his composure.

“Bitsy’s the social sort. She likes to know what’s going on.” Sister enjoyed the little owl with her big eyes. “Sometimes she hangs out with the great horned owl. Bitsy’s song might scare you, but Ty, if Athena ever flies over your head, that really will put the fear of God in you. She’s huge and you don’t know she’s there until she’s right on top of you. If she balls up her claws they are as big as your fists. Shaker and I call her ‘The Queen of the Night.’ ”

“Hoo ho, hoo hoo.” Athena let out her deep, soothing call.

“That’s her,” Shaker said.

“These animals are like people to you, aren’t they?” Ty, a suburban boy, found it all strange.

“No, they are what they are, but we live with them and respect them. They have powers beyond what we can imagine. This earth belongs to all of us.”

“Chiggers, too,” Gray called over his shoulder as he started down the steep path.

Once the three men were out of sight, Sister and Shaker turned off their flashlights.

Wind at their backs, they squatted by the den, the dark aroma of fox filling the air.

Neither one spoke for a long time.

Bitsy flew closer, landing on a branch of a young fiddle oak. “Did you like my song?”

“Ha ha,” Athena chortled, then joined Bitsy.

Sister and Shaker could see the outline of the two birds.

“She really is nosy.” Shaker had grown accustomed to Bitsy.

She’d emerge from the rafters at twilight. If he was still in the kennels, she’d perch on a branch or even the weather vane to watch him.

“She reminds me of my aunt, who lived in great fear that she’d miss something. If she were alive today I expect she’d be the first person to buy a wrist TV.” Sister grinned remembering Aunt Sian.

“Some people are like that.”

“Did you all like my song?” Bitsy then broke into the chorus.

“Bitsy, for God’s sake, have mercy.” Sister grimaced.

“Ha ha,” Athena laughed louder now.

“I remembered the words,” Bitsy said and prepared for another go.

“Save your voice, dear. The night is young.” Athena appealed to the little owl’s ego.

“You’re so right. I hadn’t thought of that.” Bitsy ruffled her light-colored chest feathers. “Winter’s here.”

“Yes.” Athena watched the two humans sitting quietly. “They have owl-like qualities, those two. They silently watch. Neither one is quick to move until sure of the game.”

“Still think it’s a pity about their eyes.” Bitsy made a crackling sound with her sharp beak.

“We don’t need them mucking about in the dark. They’d just get in the way. There’s enough trouble with the coyote coming in and hunting at night. Imagine if the humans were out there with them. Between the two of them, they’d flush our game.”

When Gray arrived with the required items, it didn’t take Sister and Shaker longer than twenty minutes to get the pretty young gray fox into the cage. One of the reasons, apart from their skill, was that Athena called down to Georgia, telling her she’d be better off cooperating and a much better home awaited her.

Upon seeing her, Sister remarked, “She’s dark gray but not black like her mother. Bet she has her mother’s intelligence.”

While Shaker settled Georgia into the big traveling crate, Sister met with Ben and Ty waiting in her kitchen.

Gray offered the men a drink, which they declined, but they eagerly downed Sister’s fresh coffee. It might be a long night for them.

“I hope you can lift a print.” Gray sat across from Ben at the old kitchen table.

“Not much chance, but we can always hope. A better shot is a strand of human hair, anything like that, a spot of blood.”

Sister commented, “Whoever it is knows where the dens are. Has to be someone who has hunted with us for years.”

“Could be a deer hunter.” Ben had to consider every angle.

“Yes, it could. Donnie Swiegart knows where the dens are. Not that he’d kill Al Perez.” Swiegart was a local man who was as passionate about deer hunting as she was about foxhunting, the difference being that he ate what he brought down whereas she never brought anything down.