Inky and Netty ran at a steady speed, occasionally glancing over their shoulders. They reached the other side of the woods in fifteen minutes. Cora and Archie were behind them with the humans far in the rear. At the hog’s-back jump leading onto the high meadows, the two vixens swerved left, hugging the fence line. The hounds reached it about three minutes later, moving single file along the fence. Even though most of the leaves had come down in the winds and sleet, the undergrowth hadn’t died off. The humans fought their way through except for Sister, who trotted along the meadow side of the fence line in case her hounds swerved back out.
Instead they swerved deeper into the woods. She climbed over, fanning back to the left. Sister wasn’t as fast on foot as she used to be but her powers of endurance were superb. Shaker stayed as close to his hounds as he could, slipping and sliding on the slick, icy leaves and pine needles. Doug swung out on the right once the hounds cut off the fence line.
They pushed on for another mile, perhaps more. The humans, tired, had slowed to a jog.
Archie yelled out, “Slow down. Slow down. They’re falling behind.”
The pack slowed to a fast walk. Netty and Inky stayed in sight range just ahead.
Dragon bolted but before he passed Cora, Raleigh hit him so hard he rolled over three times. The Doberman seized the young hound’s throat, scaring the crap out of him.
Raleigh let go. “You’ll learn to be a team player or I’ll rip your useless throat out.”
Tail between his legs, Dragon circled around to the back of the pack.
Panting, Sister was brought up short at the ravine, a fold in the land but a deep one. The hounds had stopped at the edge, too. The humans caught up just as Inky and Aunt Netty stopped at the rope.
“Here it is! Good job,” Netty encouraged Cora. “We’ll leave you here.”
“See you in the hunt field,” Cora replied.
Inky looked for Diana, whose tail was up, her nose to the ground, then scampered off in the direction opposite Netty.
As Sister, Shaker, and Doug skidded, slipped, and slid down the ravine, she said, “Never saw anything like that in my life.”
“Me neither.” Shaker lurched forward, grabbing a tree branch or he would have been pitched head over heels.
“You okay?” Doug asked. He moved down the side diagonally.
“Yes.” Shaker prudently decided to descend the way Doug was.
Sister, too, followed suit.
At the bottom of the ravine the hounds patiently waited.
Cora, Archie, and Diana sat around the rope, the other hounds behind them. Raleigh had joined Sister. If she fell, Raleigh thought he could help her up.
Doug reached the spot first. “Here!” He pointed.
Shaker, at last at the bottom, knelt down. “Damn fine rope.” He looked up at his employer and friend. “Thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Should we leave it here and bring Sidell out?” Doug sensibly asked.
“No. I’ll tell you why. The rain and sleet washed out any prints. We’re lucky this is still here—not dragged off by an animal or dragged off by the killer. Sooner or later he’ll realize he dropped it.”
“I don’t think he dropped it.” Doug, sweating from the long run, unzipped the front of his jacket. “This ravine is a shortcut back toward Soldier Road. Or up to the high meadow, depending on the direction you’re moving. Right?”
“Yeah.” Shaker ran his large hand over his chin. Vexed, he hated not having an answer.
“I think our killer came back through here, tossed the rope, and rejoined the hunt. He had to have hidden the rope somewhere in these woods or somewhere close by, cut out of the hunt, picked it up, tied it to the tree, and then when the deed was done, ridden down through here and tossed it.”
“He’d have to be a pretty good rider.” Shaker held his hand under his jaw as though holding back his words.
Doug took the rope from Sister’s hand as she picked it up. “Can’t buy a rope like this in Virginia. This is the real deal.”
“What do you mean?” Sister asked.
“Belongs to a calf roper or a steer roper. Rodeo. They use special ropes, special twists in the braid. Who would have a rope like this?”
“Nobody in our hunt field rodeos—I mean willingly.” Sister had to laugh, because a few people performed unintentional bronc riding out there.
“Let’s walk out. Head down farther and climb out the west side. It’s easier,” Doug suggested, since a massive rock face with an overhang and ledge loomed before them.
“Cora. Archie, D-puppies, and the children. You may be the best pack of hounds in Virginia. You’re certainly the only detective pack.” Shaker praised his charges.
“Thank you,” they cried in unison.
“And you were impressive.” Sister petted Raleigh. “Never saw anything like it. The hounds and Raleigh stayed behind those foxes at a steady pace.”
“The foxes knew.” Shaker’s voice rang with conviction.
“Seemed to.” Doug shook his head.
As their bodies recovered from the run the cold set in. They zipped up their coats while sliding down in the bottom of the ravine, staying to the west of the creek running through it.
“Whoever did this sure knows the territory,” Doug said.
“That eliminates eighty percent of the hunt field.” Sister laughed. “They’re so busy showing off for one another they don’t look where they’re going. God help them if they ever have to get back on their own.”
“Be easy to slip off. Especially during opening hunt. Clever. Damnably clever.”
Doug walked beside Shaker, since the hounds behaved impeccably. “I can’t figure out how whoever it is got Fontaine to go with him.”
“Fontaine could have stopped to go to the bathroom.” Sister thought Fontaine was doing more of that lately, but then men did as they got on in years. He wasn’t that old, though.
“He stopped and another fellow stopped with him. Then led him off? That sort of thing?” Shaker breathed out two straight lines of mist from his nostrils.
“Partly. But Fontaine would come back to the main group. He wouldn’t get sidetracked by the splinter pack.”
“We were moving fast that day. His hearing wasn’t as good as yours.” Doug paused. “Course, no one hears as good as you. You’re uncanny . . . part fox.” He smiled at Sister. “Sounds bounce around out here. He might have followed the hounds that sounded the closest. He might not have heard the main pack. We really were flying. I mean, people ran out of horse the first hour. I watched them pull out,” Doug remarked.
“When did you have time to watch the field?” Shaker grumbled.
“When I reached Soldier Road. We were running so hard I headed straight for the road. I hoped I could turn the pack but they turned on their own. Almost one hundred eighty degrees. But they were heading back before that because I passed riders on the farm road early on. The pace was scorching.”
“Maybe Fontaine turned back,” Shaker said.
“Gunsmoke. No way.” Sister shook her head.
“He’ll be fine,” Doug said. “Had to call the vet this morning about Trinkle. Asked about Gunsmoke.”
Trinkle was a bitch with uterus problems. She was going to have to be spayed, a pity, as she had great bloodlines and was a good hound in her own right.
“Maybe Fontaine stopped to help someone. Someone good-looking,” Shaker added.
“That’s the best theory yet,” Sister agreed. “And if he or whoever stopped in the woods, they wouldn’t be that easy to see. For one thing he wore that gorgeous black weaselbelly with the white vest. Made for him in Ireland. God, he always was one of the best-turned-out men in the hunt field. If he’d been in scarlet, he might not have slipped away so easily.”