Bitsy tried to remember the last time there was a kill. It had been three years ago; one of the red tribe at the edge of the territory came down with distemper. Either way he was going to die because he refused to eat the medicines put out for him; he refused to go into one of the Havahart traps that Sister and Shaker put out in an effort to save him. He knew other foxes had been taken to the vet, but he did not trust any human, not even Sister.
“At least he died fast,” Bitsy thought to herself.
If she was worried, Uncle Yancy was not. Yes, the pack was faster. Sister had retired quite a few older hounds over the summer who now graced barns and hearths throughout the membership. These young ones had speed. Sister was breeding in more speed. He would have to tell the others.
In the meantime, he had to shake these damned hounds. He heard Cora’s distinctive voice, then Asa’s, both smart hounds.
“But not as smart as I am.”He chuckled as he raced for the covered bridge and trotted across it, dragging his brush purposefully to leave a heavy, heavy scent. Then he started up the farm road, covered in brown pearock. The Bancrofts spared no expense on those items they considered aesthetically pleasing.
He whirled around, 180 degrees, backtracking in his own footprints, then launched himself at the edge of the covered bridge and down into the waters of Snake Creek, which were high, muddy, and fast from all the rain. Swimming to the opposite bank proved harder than he’d anticipated.
“Hurry!”Bitsy blinked from atop the covered bridge.
Uncle Yancy made it to the far side. The swim had cost him precious time and tired him. He heard the hounds not a third of a mile away, closing with blinding speed.
“Damn them,”he cursed as he raced for the place where Nola and Peppermint were now buried.
The red fox with a little white tip on his tail leapt over the zigzag fence, crossed the twenty yards to the other side, and leapt over that. The earth, still soft from the digging and from the rains, showed distinct footprints marking his progress. Tedi had put up a zigzag fence until the stonemason, in high demand, could build stone walls around the graves.
A muddy trail followed him as he headed along the ridge, then turned in an arc back toward Roughneck Farm. He was more tired than he wanted to be. A groundhog hole, messy but under the circumstances better than nothing, had been dug right along the fence line between After All Farm and Sister’s wildflower meadow. He wasn’t going to be able to make the loop back to his den at this rate and he wished he’d paid more attention to Bitsy, faithfully flying overhead.
“Ouch!”
Uncle Yancy looked upward. St. Just had dive-bombed Bitsy, pecking her.
“You little creep!”St. Just pecked at Bitsy again, who was built for silent flight. She couldn’t maneuver as handily as the blue-black bird, but she was smarter. She flew low to the ground, right over Uncle Yancy. If St. Just tried for her, Yancy could whirl around and possibly catch the hated bird in his jaws, or even with his front paws.
St. Just knew better than to get close to a fox. He cursed Bitsy for helping the fox and squawked loudly. If only he could turn the hounds before they reached the covered bridge, he could get them on Uncle Yancy fast. But his outburst and his bad language offended Athena, who had just stopped over between the two farms. A nest of baby copperheads, born late but with a good chance of survival thanks to the abundance of game, were close to the large rock where they lived. She thought one would make a tasty dessert, and St. Just spoiled everything by scaring them back under their rock.
He offended her in principle. He didn’t know his place. Then, when she saw him go after Bitsy, her blood boiled. She lifted off the evergreen branch, her large wingspan impressive, and noiselessly, effortlessly came up behind the crow with four big flaps of her wings. She zoomed for him, talons down. He heard her a split secondtoo late. As he turned to avoid the full impact of her blow, she caught him on the right wing. Enough to throw him off and enough to tear out feathers painfully.
“Out of my sight, peasant!”
Feathers flying, St. Just feared he might fall to earth with them. He pulled himself out of the dive, veering back toward the woods. Uncle Yancy, pursued though he was, would have made short work of this mortal enemy and then left the carcass to distract the hounds. Fresh blood was always distracting to a hound.
“Thank God you’re here,”Bitsy hollered, her high-pitched voice frightening four deer grazing below.
“Thank Athena.”The large bird hooted low, mentioning her namesake, then with a few powerful blasts she was over the wildflower meadow, heading to her home high in a huge walnut by Sister’s house.
Back at the creek, the hounds charged across the covered bridge in full cry.
Sister was about to lead the field across, knowing there’d be some fussing from the horses inside the bridge, when she heard a change in Diana’s voice. Wisely, for she trusted her hounds, she paused.
People panted. Horses’ ears pricked forward; they thought stopping pure folly, but they did as they were told.
Cora had overrun the line. Asa came up to Diana. He, too, changed his tune.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?”Trident thought he’d done something wrong.
“Pipe down and listen.”Dasher put his nose to the ground.
In a situation like this, Dragon was invaluable, for he was highly intelligent and had an incredible nose. But he’d been left back in the kennel since Shaker felt he had enough good hounds out and Dragon could be a handful. He thought the young ones, especially this T litter, might do better without Dragon today.
Little by little, Dasher, not as brilliant as his brother but methodical, worked his way back to the bridge.“Ithink he’s doubled back.”
Hounds milled around, then Cora said,“Well, there’sonly one way to be sure. Dasher, go through the bridge;be careful, because some fool human will say you aredoubling back on the line, and then Sybil, who’s new, remember, will rate you. But if he has doubled back, hisscent will be stronger on the other side. Which direction,I don’t know. Take Diana with you.”
Both Dasher and Diana tore back across the bridge.
“Heel,” Ronnie Haslip whispered to Crawford, who nodded knowingly.
Technically they were right, but Sister did not call out to her hounds to join the others. Diana and Dasher were terrific second-year entry.
Sybil, forward of the bridge, turned to head back. Shaker sat right on the far side of the bridge, close to his lead hounds.
Dasher said low to Diana,“Here, I think this is fresher.”
She put her nose down and inhaled.“Yes, but we’d best be sure before we call them all back to us.”
They ran top speed and then were quite certain that the fox had headed up the ridge.“Yes! He’s here. Come on.”
Shaker, thrilled with these two, blew three doubling notes, sending the others on to them, claws clicking on the wooden floor of the bridge.
They emerged, cut hard right, and flew up the ridge. They all jumped the newly installed zigzag fence, running hard over Nola’s and Peppermint’s graves, headstones not yet carved.
Sister hesitated one moment, waiting for her huntsman to get ahead of her. She then rode up the ridge but wide of the new grave sites. Ken Fawkes, usually a strong rider, lost control of his horse, who wanted to follow the hounds directly. The big dark horse, almost black, catapulted over the first line of the zigzag fence, took one giant stride, and was over the second. Deep hoofprints now mingled with Uncle Yancy’s prints and those of the hounds.
The woods reverberated with the song of the hounds. Within minutes they were back over the fence line dividing After All Farm from Roughneck Farm.
Sister, knowing she had to head back to the new coop, turned and pressed Lafayette on. She cursed because the underbrush was thick. The leaves were still on the trees, and she couldn’t see her hounds in the thick woods. This was another reason cubbing was harder than formal hunting. If she didn’t hurry up she’d get thrown out and be way behind. She reached the new coop, got well over, then headed right on a diagonal across the open field. She could see the flowers and hay swaying and sterns swaying, too, where hounds pushed through, their voices in unison.