As the field rode off, Grace, Yancy, and Patsy, one by one, crept out of the hole. They put their noses to the earth like hounds.
“Cora said blood.” Uncle Yancy frowned.
They continued moving on in a line.
“Here,” Patsy said.
The other two ran over, noses to the ground.
Yancy grimly picked his head up. “It is blood. Fox blood.”
“What do we do?” Patsy worried.
“Should we follow them at a safe distance?” Grace asked.
“No. Wait until we hear the hounds go back to the kennel. We’re close enough that we can hear. Then we follow this trail ourselves.”
Sister pushed on. The hounds, baffled again at a creek, milled about. She counted heads. Only fifteen people were left out of the forty-one that had ridden first flight. She wondered how many hilltoppers were left. She hadn’t seen Bobby Franklin since the hog’s-back jump at the high meadow. Even Fontaine was out of the run and she couldn’t remember when he’d dropped back.
She couldn’t worry about who was where now. Hounds picked up the scent again about thirty paces downstream. She found a crossing and over they went. As she stayed close behind she glanced at the ground, a habit born of tracking on difficult days. She, too, noticed blood. Not buckets of it but a steady drip, drip.
She reached the high meadow, took an in-and-out on the western side, then cantered across the meadow. She pulled up before the hog’s back.
Doug and Shaker dismounted and held up their hands. She saw a horse on the ground and then a human.
“Stay here. Martha, you’re in charge. Don’t anyone move.”
Crawford had just reached the last of the field. He, too, pulled up, Czapaka now sound as a dollar.
The hounds sat in the meadow. Some of them were lying down.
Sister dismounted. Gunsmoke, on his side, was barely breathing. Fontaine, face down, wasn’t breathing at all.
“He has no pulse,” Shaker simply said.
Sister didn’t bother to ask him if he’d called 911 on the tiny hand-held he carried. She knew that would be the first thing Shaker did.
“Doug, help me turn him over. Shaker, how long have you been here?”
“About one minute and a half.”
She and Doug rolled Fontaine over. No mark was on him save one hole on the left side of his chest. He was emphati-cally dead.
“Better call the sheriff.”
He flipped open the phone and dialed 911 again. As he gave precise directions to the sheriff’s department, Sister and Doug walked over to Gunsmoke. She felt his pulse. She checked his gums, which weren’t white. She pointed to a mark across his throat. She felt to see if his windpipe was broken.
Then she walked back to Lafayette and got her flask out of its case. She knelt down by Gunsmoke’s head, pouring port into her hand. She rubbed it over his lips. His eyes opened.
“He’s got the wind knocked out of him and he’s scared. We’ve got to get him up. Doug, give me your whip.”
She stepped back and cracked her whip, stinging the lovely animal on the flank.
“Oww!” He struggled up.
“Sorry, Gunsmoke.” She ran her hand along his neck, pressing her ear to his neck, low. “He’s all right, I think.”
She hadn’t realized that she was shaking slightly. She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Martha, take the field home and start eating breakfast. Now!”
Martha, smart, knew Sister needed everyone out of there before people panicked. She waved and turned the diminished band home.
Sister bit her lip. “Did you see anything or anybody?”
“No,” Shaker replied.
“No, but I heard a shot about fifteen minutes ago. I thought it was another whip,” Doug replied.
Betty rode out of the woods, beheld the spectacle. “Oh my God. What happened?”
“We don’t know.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Shaker said.
Betty, too, dismounted. She viewed the corpse with horror, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized he’d been murdered.
A whining drew Sister’s attention. Dragon walked up, dropping a dead red fox at her feet. The fox, too, had been shot. It was Reynard, Target’s son. A rope was still wrapped around his hind paws.
Sister patted Dragon on the head. The humans scarcely knew what to say.
As Gunsmoke caught his breath he shook a little bit.
Lafayette asked, “Did you see anything?”
“No. I took the hog’s back and I hit something. I don’t remember anything.” He cast his big brown eyes at his dead rider. “He was a strong rider, you know. Never gave a false signal.”
“I’m sorry.” Lafayette sympathized. If it had been Sister, he would have been crushed with sadness.
“Yeah.” Gunsmoke hung his head.
“I told you I’d get the fox,” Dragon bragged as he rejoined the pack. The other hounds stared at him, not daring to speak under the circumstances.
They all heard the sirens on Soldier Road. As the ambulance and patrol car turned onto the farm road the noise grew louder.
Overhead St. Just cawed and circled once. Vengeance was sweet.
CHAPTER 36
Three blasts on the horn brought Cody to the hog’s-back jump. Cody arrived in about five minutes’ time, bringing Sally, an older hound who had slowed due to the pace.
Shocked, the sheriff was there, as was an ambulance.
She remained silent. After brief questioning the whips were released to take hounds back to the kennel.
Sister Jane and Shaker remained behind. The sheriff, new to the area, had been recruited nationally from a list of qualified candidates. The county department, swept clean with a new broom, certainly increased in efficiency. However, Benjamin Sidell, secure in his knowledge and training as only an Ohio man can be, was surprised by murder in this most Virginian of pastimes.
“Mrs. Arnold, can you think of anyone who might want to kill the victim?” Ben had asked the other obvious questions establishing everyone’s whereabouts.
“Sheriff, any one of us collects enemies in life but no, I can’t think of anyone who’d trip over the line,” she truthfully answered.
Shaker stepped up to stand next to Sister. He watched the hounds following Doug in good order as Betty led back Gunsmoke. When Ben turned his gaze directly to Shaker, the curly-haired, broad-shouldered man simply shrugged. “Good-looking. Bad at business. Bad with women.”
“Some life.” The young sheriff allowed himself a wry smile.
“Will you notify his wife and children? They should be at the University of Virginia football game today. You might try there,” Sister Jane thoughtfully informed Ben.
“Thank you, I’ll go there myself.” He ran his hand over his slick hair, good haircut. “Was Mr. Buruss a good friend of yours?”
“I knew him all of his life. Yes, he was a friend, although I’m not sure I would depend on him. It’s difficult to think about it right now, Sheriff. Did I like him? Yes. He was a most charming man even when he was lying to you.”
“Ah.” The sheriff had discovered Virginia specialized in such fellows. “And you, Mr. Crown?”
“Didn’t like him but I could get along with him.”
“And why didn’t you like him?”
“Empty-headed. Thought he knew hounds. Didn’t.”
“That’s a reason to dislike a man?”
“To me it is.”
“Yes, well . . .” The sheriff’s voice dropped off. The ambulance crew had loaded Fontaine on the gurney. The wheels clicked as they rolled it the few yards to the ambulance. “Perhaps you could tell me why this dead fox has a rope around its hind legs. Did you shoot it while hunting?”