“What if Raleigh’s out?” Comet wondered.
“Raleigh’s main concern is Sister Jane. It’s the damn cat I worry about.” Target grimaced.
“She’s too spoiled and fat to chase us.” Patsy sniffed.
“She’s not too fat to scream at the top of her lungs and get the kennel in an uproar,” Comet said.
Aunt Netty’s tail waved to and fro slightly.“Well, I’m willing to chance it. Reynard must be avenged. Only a coward shoots a fox and only a cad would use the carcass as a drag.”
“Hear, hear,” the others agreed.
“That Raleigh is fast,”Charlene warned,“if he has a mind to chase you.”
“The only animal faster than myself is a cheetah,” Netty boasted.
“Well, I wasn’t thinking of you exactly. I was thinking of Inky. No offense, Inky, but I don’t know how fast you are.”
“Not as fast as Aunt Netty.” She called the red“Aunt,” which was what all the young animals called her.“But I can climb a tree if I have to.”
A low flutter hushed them. Athena glided down, tail used as a brake, to sit on the top railroad tie of the hog’s back.“I’m very sorry,” she said swiveling her head to the reds.“St. Just is behind this. Whoever killed Reynard, he led them straight to him.”
“Leave St. Just to me.” Target crouched low, baring his fangs.
The others agreed that they would.
“When will the hunt meet at this fixture again?” Comet asked. His gray fur, soft as the clouds, lightened a bit.
“Not for another two weeks,” Yancy said.“The only way the hounds can get to the rope is if someone bolts during hound walk.”
“That’s a big risk for them. Ratshot in the rear if they keep going.”Charlene frowned.“What are we to do?”
Patsy and Grace said at the same time,“Bring the rope here.”
“No,” Aunt Netty sharply replied.“The humans need to find the rope where it was dropped or thrown. That will tell them where the human killer was. They must be led to the rope. As it is, by the time we get them there the tracks could be gone, especially if it rains.”
“We need Raleigh.”
“Sister, Shaker, and Doug may not follow Raleigh,” Grace said to Comet, who’d proposed the idea.
“If he goes on hound walk, which he often does, he can help convince the humans. If a hound bolts, even a hound as respected as Cora or Archie, the humans will crack the whip and then finally use ratshot. That’s their job. They’ll think the pack is going to hell. If Raleigh makes a commotion and the hounds honor him, I think the humans will follow. We have to try it, as it’s our only hope.”Yancy listened.“Is it settled then?”
“Yes. We’ll go tonight.”
The foxes and Athena silently melted into the forest about an hour before Sister, Shaker, Walter, and Doug emerged on the other side of the meadow. They reached the jump in a few minutes, peering into the woods as a twig crackled.
They combed the scene. The sheriff and his deputies trained in crime detection were good but they weren’t hunters or country people.
“There are so many hoofprints here.” Walter ran his fingers through his blond hair.
“Let’s divide up. Walter and Shaker head south down the fence line, one on either side. Doug and I will head north. Shaker, give a toot, I will, too.” Sister always carried an extra horn, a lesson learned when Shaker fell hard from his horse years ago, squashing the bell of his horn.
Twenty minutes later Doug, on the forest side of the fence line, found tracks.“Look.”
Sister climbed over the fence, dropped to her hands and knees.“Yes. Could have been a whip coming in. Betty, maybe. These look like number one shoes, smallish feet. Could be Arts.” She mentioned the other popular shoe.
“Not a quarter horse. Not round enough.” Doug, too, was on his knees. “God, Sister, that’s half the horses in the hunt field. There were horses yesterday we’d never seen before.”
“I know. I know.” She stood up, put the horn to her lips, and let out a steady, one-note blast. The hounds heard it, two and a half miles away. They replied, which sounded faint and far away on this cool, overcast morning. “Good hounds.” Sister smiled weakly, for she remained terribly distressed.
Doug leaned against the fence.“You’ve bred them. They can hold their own against any pack.” A touch of pride crept into his light baritone.
Walter and Shaker joined them within seven minutes.
“What took you so long?” Doug asked.
“We were clipping right along.” Shaker hunkered down. “Ah. Number one.”
“Maybe Arts,” Sister said.
“No. Number one.” Shaker stood back up. “If only there’d been a bar shoe or a weighted shoe, a little dog to the inside. Number one. Standard. Well. Let’s follow it.”
“It might not be the killer,” Sister calmly said.
“No. But then again it might.” Shaker put his head down and followed the tracks over the fallen leaves. The pine needles carpeting the earth nearly threw them off, but they picked up the tracks again once out of the pine stand.
They lost them at the flat-rock outcropping and even though they each took a different direction off the flat rocks, they were soon brought up short by a tremendous thunderclap overhead. With no warning the heavens opened. Cascading heavy rain drenched them to the bone.
By the time the four reached the stable they were all shivering. The tack room, toasty, warmed them as Sister made a fresh pot of coffee on the hot plate. She offered clothing—she’d kept shirts and sweatshirts around for just such a purpose—but the men stood by the gas stove. Slowly they began to thaw out and dry out.
“See the body?” Shaker asked.
“Yes. I went down to the morgue.” Walter’s eyebrows furrowed for an instant. “The bruises on his left side were apparent. He’d been hit cleanly in the chest. Right through the heart, I would say. Apart from whatever emotions he felt at the fall I’d guess his death was swift. I suppose that’s a kind of mercy. Can’t jump to conclusions. I’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report. Except whoever shot him was a good shot. Dead-on.” He realized his pun. “Sorry.”
“You know I never liked that son of a bitch, so I can’t pretend I’m sorry.” Shaker opened a small cigar box, offering the men a smoke.
“I’ll take one. I need something soothing.” Sister reached in, grabbing a thin cigar.
Shaker cut the end for her with his round cutter, then held a flame. As she inhaled the end glowed scarlet and gold and he said,“Funniest damn thing, though. I would have bet you dollars to doughnuts that Crawford would be murdered. Not Fontaine.”
“Countenancing murder, are you?” She closed her eyes gratefully as the mild yet complex tastes reached her tongue and throat.
“No. But Crawford stirs up hornets’ nests. Fontaine”—he shrugged—“lightweight.”
“A crazed husband?” Doug offered.
“Hell, no. By the time he got at them the husbands were bored.” Shaker roared with laughter.
“If you say so.” Sister exhaled, knowing what the others did not—that Fontaine had had a fling with Shaker’s wife before she left.
“Business?” Walter asked.
“Worthless,” Shaker resolutely replied.
“Better find out who he owes money to, then.” Doug turned his back toward the stove. His pants stuck to his muscled legs.
“Half the county. I can tell you that.” Sister took off her boots, her wet socks, too.
“I can see it now: ‘Murder among the hunt set.’ ‘Galloping revenge.’ How about ‘Toff goes to ground’?” Shaker smiled slyly and the others couldn’t help it; they smiled, too.
“The papers and TV stations will have a field day. Paper ought to be delivered by now.” Walter sipped the coffee, glad for its warmth. “I expect there will be a lot of questions at the hospital today.”
“Walter, you were kind to come out here this morning.”
“Sister Jane, I will help in any way I can.”
“Smart killer, I’d say. Drawing off the young entry like that. Had to be a real hunting man.” Shaker puffed contentedly.