“He’s close! He’s close!”
And he was. Uncle Yancy slid into the groundhog hole, rolling right on top of the groundhog.
“I beg your pardon.”
The groundhog, large and unkempt, but jolly, said,“Care for some sweet grass?”
“Thank you, no.”Yancy couldn’t understand how any animal could be as sloppy as this fellow.“You know within a second those hounds will start digging at yourmain entrance.”
“Good. That will save me work.”
“I shall assume you have other exits should it cometo that.”
“One of them right under a hanging hornet’s nest. Three feet long it is.”The groundhog, lying on his back, laughed just as Cora dove toward the hole and began digging frantically.
Uncle Yancy’s scent was so strong, it drove her wild. Red, moist earth splattered up behind her paws. Diana joined her at the edges, as did Asa and Dasher.
Trident asked his sister,“Are we supposed to do that?”
“I think you have to be first. There isn’t room for us toget in there, but I think we’re supposed to sing really, really loud.”
Trudy and Trident did just that and were joined by every hound there. Triumph!
Shaker arrived, hopped off Gunpowder, and blew the happy notes signifying that these wonderful hounds had denned their fox.
Sybil rode up, taking Gunpowder’s reins.
“I know my job,”the gray snapped, incensed that Sybil thought he might walk off.
Betty rode in from the opposite direction as the field pulled up not ten yards away.
Shaker took the horn from his lips.“He’s in there. He’s in there. What good hounds. Good hounds.” He grabbed Cora’s tail, pulling her out of there. She weighed seventy pounds of pure muscle. “You’re quite the girl.”
“I am!”Cora turned a circle of pure joy.
Then Shaker called each hound by name, praising their good work. He petted the puppies.
Sister rode up.“A fine beginning. Shall we call it a day?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Shaker smiled. “And did you see how Dasher and Diana came back across the bridge? That’s as nice a piece of work as I have ever seen in my life.”
Sister looked down at the two tricolor hounds.“Diana and Dasher, you have made me very, very proud.”
They wagged their whole bodies.
“Proud of you, proud of you.” Shaker again blew the notes of victory, then, without a grunt, lifted himself back into the saddle.
As they rode back toward the kennels, Ken, ashen-faced, came alongside his motherin-law.“I am terribly sorry. I couldn’t hold him. I—”
She held up her hand.“Ken, to have the fox and hounds run across your grave is a good thing. No apology necessary. Nola would be laughing with the excitement of it.”
No one else said a word about it while the Bancrofts were around.
Uncle Yancy thanked his host and stuck his head up to make sure there were no stragglers.
Bitsy, in a pawpaw tree, giggled.“A near thing. Andrunning over Nola and Peppermint like that.”
“That’s an unquiet grave,”the red fox said. Mask to the west, he headed for home.
CHAPTER 15
Crawford and Marty Howard hosted a First Day of Cubbing breakfast. Upon reflection they decided to pass on having an evening gathering. Instead they hired a local caterer who set up outdoor stoves outside Sister’s stable. Crawford considered setting them up on the long rolling lawn overlooking Sister’s fall gardens, but then he’d have to tell her. He wanted the breakfast to be a surprise, as did Marty. Having it back at the stable where the trailers were parked wouldn’t disturb her lawn. As people often brought homemade breads, sandwiches, or drinks, sharing same at the trailers, Crawford and Marty thought they wouldn’t need to ask permission and the surprise would be complete.
It was. People untacked and wiped down their horses to the scent of bacon crackling on the grill, succulent blond and regular sausages, and omelettes.
One gave the two chefs their omelette order and within minutes it was ready. Breads, jellies, fruits, cold cereals, and fresh milk along with sweets covered the long table to the side of the stoves.
The riders were thrilled, as were the hounds, who could smell the enticing medley of aromas. Whatever might be left over would be mixed into their kibble later.
“What a wonderful idea,” Betty Franklin said to Sybil as they stood in line.
“I never realize how famished I am while I’m hunting, but the second I get back to the trailers my stomach makes as much noise as The 1812 Overture.” Sybil laughed at herself.
Marty Howard was whispering directions to the caterer’s assistant, pouring coffee.
“Right away, madam.” He handed her a large cup.
She carried the steaming coffee to Shaker, still in the kennels.
He looked up and smiled as she came through the door.“Mrs. Howard.”
“Here. What a great day. Now come on over and get your piping hot omelette. The Boss said for me to tell you to come on, you can wash down the kennels on a full stomach better than on an empty one.”
“Did she?” He smiled broadly. “What a good woman.” He gratefully took a swallow. “Very good.”
“Jamaican.”
“High test.”
“Ninety-three octane.” Marty waited for him to toss a collar in the bucket hanging from the wall, a bucket used just for this purpose, as collars were removed from hounds when they returned from their labors.
As they walked back together to the festivities, Marty asked,“Did you always want to be a huntsman?”
“Yes, I did.”
“How did you learn?”
“My parents allowed me to move up to Warrenton to live with my aunt. I was twelve and I begged because the huntsman at Warrenton, Fred Duncan, said he’d set me to work in the kennels. That’s how I started. Fred was a fine huntsman. He’d whipped-in to Eddie Bywaters, the last huntsman of the great Bywaters clan. I learned so much from Fred, and I could go over and watch Melvin Poe hunt the Orange County hounds. Fred would take me up to watch the Piedmont hounds.”
Marty loved hearing these stories and knew there was so much to learn not just about foxhunting itself but about the incredible people who had carried it forward throughout the generations.“When did you get your first job?”
“Here.” He put his hand under Marty’s elbow as she was about to step into a small depression. “Jefferson Hunt needed a first whipper-in, and even though I was young, Fred vouched for me. Raymond put me on every screwball horse he could beg, borrow, or steal before he’d hire me. He finally said, ‘Kid can stick on a horse.’ That was that. And I never want to leave. I love it here.”
“Do you ever worry about the money? I mean, huntsmen make so little, and what if something were to happen?”
“I don’t worry. Maybe I should, but I knew as a little kid that my life wasn’t about money. This is what I’ve always wanted to do, and you know, Mrs. Howard, there isn’t enough money in the world to get me to give it up.”
“But what if you’re hurt?” Marty belonged to the worrying class.
“The Boss will take care of me just like I’d take care of her. We’ve been though a lot together.”
Marty thought about this, an attitude so different from the way she was raised and from the milieu in which she lived.“You’re a lucky man.”
Betty called out to Shaker,“How about those young entry?”
He gave her the thumbs-up sign.
Crawford, hoping to ingratiate himself with a person he considered a servant, and technically, Shaker was a servant, said,“Thank you.”
“The hounds did all the work.” Shaker smiled.
Sister, in line, observed the exchange as well as the high spirits of the group.