Рита Браун - Outfoxed

“You’re not telling Target, I take it. Wise. Almost owl-like.” A low hoot rumbled from the enormous bird.

“He’s too emotional. And if St. Just shadows us—you never know about St. Just—Target might forget our mission.”

“I’ll rouse Inky.”

“I’ve underestimated grays. She’s very bright.”

Athena blinked that she agreed, then spread her wings, lifting off, moving quietly between the trees, then tilting upward to skim the tops.

As Netty hurried to her rendezvous spot with Inky, the humans and hounds reached the far edge of the ridge. A curious geological formation, with gneiss and quartz underneath, ancient rocks had been folded into an eight-hundred-foot-high ridge, quite flat on the top but blunt on the northern end as though someone had cut the end off with a cake knife. The other three sides tapered down to the plain. The northern face was a sheer drop.

Hunt staff’s intent was to walk around the edges of the large meadow and then go back to the kennel, a distance of around two and a half miles at the most. A brisk beginning to the day for canine and human.

Fontaine’s coop, the replaced boards blacker than the faded boards, separated the woods from this meadow.

For a moment the humans didn’t notice that Aunt Netty and Inky sat on top of the coop.

Raleigh called out, “One, two, three!”

Every hound lifted up his or her head, singing, “Do you ken John Peel.”

Netty warbled, “At the break of day.” Then hopped off the coop.

Sister said, “We’re foxhunters, aren’t we?”

Shaker took off his cap, swinging it once around his head in a circle. “She’s in there. She’s in there.” He gave a little whoop.

The hounds trotted to the coop, each one leaping over. Sister, Shaker, and Doug followed.

Raleigh stayed up with Cora. His blinding speed would be useful if any hound’s discipline began to waver. Raleigh would run the hound down, bump him hard, and stand over him. If that didn’t work, he’d sink white fangs into a juicy hip. He didn’t think it would come to that.

Inky and Netty ran at a steady speed, occasionally glancing over their shoulders. They reached the other side of the woods in fifteen minutes. Cora and Archie were behind them with the humans far in the rear. At the hog’s-back jump leading onto the high meadows, the two vixens swerved left, hugging the fence line. The hounds reached it about three minutes later, moving single file along the fence. Even though most of the leaves had come down in the winds and sleet, the undergrowth hadn’t died off. The humans fought their way through except for Sister, who trotted along the meadow side of the fence line in case her hounds swerved back out.

Instead they swerved deeper into the woods. She climbed over, fanning back to the left. Sister wasn’t as fast on foot as she used to be but her powers of endurance were superb. Shaker stayed as close to his hounds as he could, slipping and sliding on the slick, icy leaves and pine needles. Doug swung out on the right once the hounds cut off the fence line.

They pushed on for another mile, perhaps more. The humans, tired, had slowed to a jog.

Archie yelled out, “Slow down. Slow down. They’re falling behind.”

The pack slowed to a fast walk. Netty and Inky stayed in sight range just ahead.

Dragon bolted but before he passed Cora, Raleigh hit him so hard he rolled over three times. The Doberman seized the young hound’s throat, scaring the crap out of him.

Raleigh let go. “You’ll learn to be a team player or I’ll rip your useless throat out.”

Tail between his legs, Dragon circled around to the back of the pack.

Panting, Sister was brought up short at the ravine, a fold in the land but a deep one. The hounds had stopped at the edge, too. The humans caught up just as Inky and Aunt Netty stopped at the rope.

“Here it is! Good job,” Netty encouraged Cora. “We’ll leave you here.”

“See you in the hunt field,” Cora replied.

Inky looked for Diana, whose tail was up, her nose to the ground, then scampered off in the direction opposite Netty.

As Sister, Shaker, and Doug skidded, slipped, and slid down the ravine, she said, “Never saw anything like that in my life.”

“Me neither.” Shaker lurched forward, grabbing a tree branch or he would have been pitched head over heels.

“You okay?” Doug asked. He moved down the side diagonally.

“Yes.” Shaker prudently decided to descend the way Doug was.

Sister, too, followed suit.

At the bottom of the ravine the hounds patiently waited.

Cora, Archie, and Diana sat around the rope, the other hounds behind them. Raleigh had joined Sister. If she fell, Raleigh thought he could help her up.

Doug reached the spot first. “Here!” He pointed.

Shaker, at last at the bottom, knelt down. “Damn fine rope.” He looked up at his employer and friend. “Thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Should we leave it here and bring Sidell out?” Doug sensibly asked.

“No. I’ll tell you why. The rain and sleet washed out any prints. We’re lucky this is still here—not dragged off by an animal or dragged off by the killer. Sooner or later he’ll realize he dropped it.”

“I don’t think he dropped it.” Doug, sweating from the long run, unzipped the front of his jacket. “This ravine is a shortcut back toward Soldier Road. Or up to the high meadow, depending on the direction you’re moving. Right?”

“Yeah.” Shaker ran his large hand over his chin. Vexed, he hated not having an answer.

“I think our killer came back through here, tossed the rope, and rejoined the hunt. He had to have hidden the rope somewhere in these woods or somewhere close by, cut out of the hunt, picked it up, tied it to the tree, and then when the deed was done, ridden down through here and tossed it.”

“He’d have to be a pretty good rider.” Shaker held his hand under his jaw as though holding back his words.

Doug took the rope from Sister’s hand as she picked it up. “Can’t buy a rope like this in Virginia. This is the real deal.”

“What do you mean?” Sister asked.

“Belongs to a calf roper or a steer roper. Rodeo. They use special ropes, special twists in the braid. Who would have a rope like this?”

“Nobody in our hunt field rodeos—I mean willingly.” Sister had to laugh, because a few people performed unintentional bronc riding out there.

“Let’s walk out. Head down farther and climb out the west side. It’s easier,” Doug suggested, since a massive rock face with an overhang and ledge loomed before them.

“Cora. Archie, D-puppies, and the children. You may be the best pack of hounds in Virginia. You’re certainly the only detective pack.” Shaker praised his charges.

“Thank you,” they cried in unison.

“And you were impressive.” Sister petted Raleigh. “Never saw anything like it. The hounds and Raleigh stayed behind those foxes at a steady pace.”

“The foxes knew.” Shaker’s voice rang with conviction.

“Seemed to.” Doug shook his head.

As their bodies recovered from the run the cold set in. They zipped up their coats while sliding down in the bottom of the ravine, staying to the west of the creek running through it.

“Whoever did this sure knows the territory,” Doug said.

“That eliminates eighty percent of the hunt field.” Sister laughed. “They’re so busy showing off for one another they don’t look where they’re going. God help them if they ever have to get back on their own.”

“Be easy to slip off. Especially during opening hunt. Clever. Damnably clever.”