“No, just being a master.” He laughed.
Cubbing, a six-week to two-month period before formal hunting, existed to teach young hounds the whys and wherefores of hunting. It also served the same purpose for green horses and now, against most masters’ better judgment, green people. The most interesting part of cubbing, though, was it also taught the young foxes what was expected of them, how hounds ran, the calls of the horn, and where to look for cover if they couldn’t get back to their home den.
As older hounds brought along the young ones, so older foxes passed on their tricks to their children.
Douglas and Sister faced each other, checking out their gear.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
CHAPTER 4
As the drizzle turned into a steady rain Sister had ample time to repent her enthusiasm. The hack to the other side of Whiskey Ridge, twenty minutes, soaked her back because she hadn’t fastened tight the collar of her raincoat.
Carefully, Sister, Shaker, and Doug crossed Soldier Road, picking up the gravel road leading to the abandoned tobacco barn where they would first cast hounds.
The hounds, anchored by Cora, a mature female, behaved beautifully. Sister worried that the cooler temperature might encourage the young hounds to consider unplanned excursions but they didn’t. Even Dragon, by nature wild and flashy, kept to the middle of the pack.
The few trailers parked by the side of the road testified to the fact that only the diehards would cub on this early morning.
Betty Franklin huddled in her trailer with Outlaw, her dependable, handsome quarter horse.
Jennifer, in the trailer tack room, called out,“Mom, I can’t find my heavy socks.”
“They’re hanging on the end of my nose,” Betty replied.
“Oh, Mom,” Jennifer grumbled.
Betty heard her rummaging around. So did Jennifer’s horse, Magellan.
“That kid can’t get organized. We go through this every time.” Magellan sighed.
“It’s because they wear clothes. They can never find them. Really, they should go naked,” Outlaw said.
“They’d get pretty cold.” Magellan laughed.“And it’s bad enough to see some of them fully clothed. I’m not sure I could stand seeing all that hairless flesh.”
“Found them!” A note of triumph blared from Jennifer.
“Where were they?” Betty asked.
“In the bottom of the feed bucket.”
“That’s an excellent place for them, my dear.”
Jennifer chose not to reply.
The staff and hounds gathered at the tobacco barn, black in the rain, as Betty and Jennifer emerged.
The only other people there were Marty Howard and Cody Jean Franklin.
Cody, on her own now, had bought an ancient two-horse trailer, paint peeling, and an equally ancient truck but both were serviceable. She made it to the meets on time. And she was glad to see her mother and sister.
Marty, borrowing Fontaine’s aluminum rig, not only wore a dark brown oilskin raincoat, she wore brown Gore-Tex pants as well, neatly tucked into her high rubber boots.
“Sister, I know this isn’t proper but …”
Sister waved her off.“It’s cubbing and it’s raining and let me know if the pants work.” To herself she thought that Marty would be like an olive in a Greek salad; the material was too slick. “Since there are so few of us and aren’t we surprised,” Sister laughed, “if Cody or Jennifer would like to whip, you are certainly invited to do so.”
“Yay.” Jennifer trotted over to Shaker for her orders.
“I’ll stay with you,” Cody said, for she often whipped-in and thought she’d enjoy riding with the master.
Douglas tipped his hat to the ladies, paused a second longer in Cody’s direction, and then moved a hundred yards to the north, as Shaker directed him to do. Shaker placed Jennifer behind him and Betty to his right.
“Ma’am.” Shaker, proper even in the rain, cradled his hat in his lap. A huntsman shouldn’t put his cap on his head until the master gives the signal to cast hounds.
“Oh, Shaker. I’m sorry. Of course we can move off.”
He nodded at the master, clapped his hat on his wet auburn curls, and said to his hounds,“Hounds ready?”
“Yes!” came the tumultuous reply.
“All right then, let’s be off.” Shaker didn’t blow his horn. As long as the hounds could hear his voice he kept his horn in his coat front between the second and third buttons. Besides, Sister loathed a noisy huntsman and whips. The quickest way to draw a reprimand from her was to blather.
The hounds moved ahead of Shaker. They lingered at the tobacco barn for an instant, a rich source of fox scent but it was fading fast.
“Come along now.”
Obediently they trotted across the meadow, slick to the edge of the woods. He urged them into the covert as he waited outside.
“He’s been here!” Dragon triumphantly barked.
Archie, older and pessimistic by nature, therefore the perfect anchor hound, sharply said,“Of course he’s been here, you twit. But he was here at three this morning. Before you run a cold scent look for a fresh one.”
“Besides, you’ve picked this up under a rotted log, Dragon. It will be washed away within two paces,” Cora, ever steady, gently said.
“Cora, can we really do anything today?” Diana, a gorgeous female, firstyear entry, inquired of the leader.
Cora lifted her nose a moment.“Chances are we won’t get much. Pick up and put down kind of day. Scent for twenty yards and then nothing, but we must try. A good hound always tries.”
Diana put her sensitive nose down, moving away from the rotted log.
As they moved slowly, their tails, called sterns, were held upright.
Douglas, a bit ahead, peered down over the western side of Whiskey Ridge to the creek below, swollen with rain, high and swiftly rolling. Crossing it would be difficult.
Jennifer, inexperienced, impatient, pushed the hounds up too much from the rear.
Sister and Cody rode up to her. Cody was on Motorboat, happy to be out.
“Jennifer, let them work. They aren’t strung out.” Sister pointed to the pack carefully making good the ground, working well together.
“I’m sorry.”
“Honey, that’s how we learn.” Sister stopped and waited as Jennifer moved on at a walk. She listened intently, hearing only the patter of raindrops on leaves beginning to turn colors. She heard Lafayette’s and Motorboat’s breathing.
Cody, a fine rider, sat the thoroughbred–quarter horse cross with that grace so peculiar to her. She knew better than to talk when hounds were cast.
Sister turned to her and smiled as if to say,“That kind of day and I’m glad you’re here.”
Sister especially enjoyed the people who turned out regardless of conditions. Over the years they’d become her family, since her blood relations and her two Raymonds had died.
Archie, deeper in the woods, conferred with Cora:“Distinguishable but … ?”
“It’s all we’ve got and most likely all we’re going to get. You do the honors.” Cora confirmed his thoughts.
Archie lifted his head, wiggled his tail a bit.“Come along.”
“Old line,” Cora added in her distinctive contralto.
The other hounds called out in turn and then together, loping along behind Cora and Archie, who moved forward. If scent had been hot, Archie would have taken his usual position a bit like a safety in football, a defensive position. A hot scent even a puppy can find and make good but a scent such as this, fading fast yet distinguishable on the moss and underbrush, demanded a professional.
Archie and Cora worked side by side, running a few steps, then slowing to check and double-check. It would never do to overrun such a pathetic little trail.
Dragon, bored with the pace, decided he could do better off on the right. Besides, maybe he’d pick up something more potent. He had no sooner shot off about two hundred yards than a loud crack pierced the beating rain.