“Golly,” the hound gushed, “I’ve been on your line but I never thought I would see you.”
Aunt Netty, pleased, replied, “I know a trick or two.”
“What are you all doing out on a filthy night like this?”
“Diana, we need your help.” Inky came straight to the point. “Reynard, Netty’s nephew, was shot, then used as a drag to split the pack.”
“That’s how—“ Diana hoped Dragon wouldn’t get into more trouble, since he’d led the split faction.
Netty interrupted, her sharp features ablaze, sleet stinging her face. “We have only one clue.”
“What?”
“A rope left in the ravine to the northeast of the hog’s-back jump. This weather will blot out any hoofprints but the rope should still be there. If we help you, do you think you can get the pack to go there on hound walk?”
“The humans will never stand for it. If we bolt, I mean.”
“I think I have a way.” Netty raised her voice, as the sleet intensified. “Since Raleigh goes on hound walk you must tell him this plan. His cooperation is the key.”
Diana listened gravely as Netty mapped out her idea to be used on the first clear day.
After the sleek red finished, Diana blinked her eyes. “I’ll talk to the others.”
“Thank you.” Inky smiled.
“Diana, has anyone told you you’re much like your grandmother, Destry?” Before Diana could answer “No,” Netty chortled. “Now, that was a hound.”
The foxes melted into the darkness as Diana walked back to the kennel. She was young. Who would listen to her? But she hadn’t put a paw wrong since cubbing began. She decided to whisper to Cora while the others slept. If Cora listened, it meant two things. First, they might get the humans to the rope. Second, she had earned the respect of the pack’s strike hound.
She softly picked her way through the sleeping girls, as Sister called them, to snuggle next to the hard-muscled, lightning-fast Cora.
“Cora,” Diana whispered low. “There’s a rope in the ravine. It might have something to do with Fontaine’s murder. We need to get the humans to it. Aunt Netty has a plan.”
At the sound of Aunt Netty’s name Cora’s eyes opened wide. Diana had her full attention.
CHAPTER 41
Puffs of breath rolled out of Sister’s, Shaker’s, and Doug’s mouths like cartoon balloons. Each carried a knob-end whip with a long eight-plaited thong. A twelve-plaited thong existed but it was so expensive, almost two hundred dollars for twelve feet, that few staff members were fortunate enough to own one. At the end of the thong a brightly colored thin popper dangled.
The popper, if one were to be perfectly perfect, should be the same color as the hunt’s colors. Made in Italy, woven of silk, long poppers could be ordered from Fennell’s Tack Shop in Lexington, Kentucky, for 95 cents. Shorter ones were sold by Horse Country in Warrenton for about $1.25.
In desperation people had been known to use shoelaces for poppers, L.L. Bean duck boot laces proving the most reliable.
The knob-end whips, formed from ash, blackthorn, or even apple wood, were generally used only by staff members for walking hounds. A good knob-end was passed down from generation to generation, as was a good antler-handle formal hunt whip.
The three humans gathered in front of the kennel paid no mind to their knob-ends. Wearing down vests, thermal underwear, and other secrets of keeping warm at sunrise, they discussed who to take and who to leave in the kennel. They were as fooled by the weather, that sudden sharp turndown, as they were stunned by Fontaine’s murder.
Raleigh, called aside by Cora, listened intently.
Golly, lounging in the house kitchen, thought Raleigh loony tunes to roar out on a frosty morning, thanks to last night’s odd weather. She ate whatever crumbs were scattered on the countertops, then paraded into the pantry, where she jumped onto a shelf, throwing down dish towels until she succeeded in making a nest to her specifications in the remaining red-and-white-striped dish towels. Golly was very particular.
“Let’s just take them all, Shaker. They’ve been penned up a full day because of the weather. Doug can take the right; I’ll take the left. If our young group bolts, I think we can get them back. The longer we leave them in the kennel, the rowdier they’ll be.”
“There is that.” He pulled his lad’s cap further down on his head. “I’ve my doubts about this Dragon. Pity he’s so handsome.”
“Took his father two years to mature and settle down. Don’t give up on him yet.” She thought to herself that if he didn’t learn his lessons she would couple him to Archie. Archie did not suffer fools gladly.
“Ready?” Shaker asked Doug.
“Yes.” Doug pulled up his turtleneck.
“Okay, then.” Shaker opened the draw run gate and out they ran, invigorated by the cold and filled with purpose.
“I’ll go up front.” Raleigh danced around.
They walked in good order through the hickory-lined back lane that spilled out onto the low meadows, long grasses mixed with lespedeza, bent over by the frost and last night’s battering. As the sun rose each blade reflected its rays, thousands upon thousands of tiny rainbows.
Athena silently flew along the edge of the meadow, then disappeared into the woods.
She landed in the substantial pin oak by Netty’s den. “They’ve just plowed into the meadow at the bottom of Hangman’s Ridge.”
Netty stuck her head out of her front entrance. “Thank you, Athena. I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re not telling Target, I take it. Wise. Almost owl-like.” A low hoot rumbled from the enormous bird.
“He’s too emotional. And if St. Just shadows us—you never know about St. Just—Target might forget our mission.”
“I’ll rouse Inky.”
“I’ve underestimated grays. She’s very bright.”
Athena blinked that she agreed, then spread her wings, lifting off, moving quietly between the trees, then tilting upward to skim the tops.
As Netty hurried to her rendezvous spot with Inky, the humans and hounds reached the far edge of the ridge. A curious geological formation, with gneiss and quartz underneath, ancient rocks had been folded into an eight-hundred-foot-high ridge, quite flat on the top but blunt on the northern end as though someone had cut the end off with a cake knife. The other three sides tapered down to the plain. The northern face was a sheer drop.
Hunt staff’s intent was to walk around the edges of the large meadow and then go back to the kennel, a distance of around two and a half miles at the most. A brisk beginning to the day for canine and human.
Fontaine’s coop, the replaced boards blacker than the faded boards, separated the woods from this meadow.
For a moment the humans didn’t notice that Aunt Netty and Inky sat on top of the coop.
Raleigh called out, “One, two, three!”
Every hound lifted up his or her head, singing, “Do you ken John Peel.”
Netty warbled, “At the break of day.” Then hopped off the coop.
Sister said, “We’re foxhunters, aren’t we?”
Shaker took off his cap, swinging it once around his head in a circle. “She’s in there. She’s in there.” He gave a little whoop.
The hounds trotted to the coop, each one leaping over. Sister, Shaker, and Doug followed.
Raleigh stayed up with Cora. His blinding speed would be useful if any hound’s discipline began to waver. Raleigh would run the hound down, bump him hard, and stand over him. If that didn’t work, he’d sink white fangs into a juicy hip. He didn’t think it would come to that.