The Triple Challenge, sponsored by the National Beagle Club, a three-day event, tested both hounds and humans. Three phases included the hunting talent of the individual hound, the ability to contribute to the working pack, and the qualities of conformation, movement, condition, and temperament.
Hounds F4R Heroes, a competition later in April, not only showed off the beagle’s versatility but also the basset’s. The competitions hunted on different days since one didn’t hunt bassets and beagles together. Last year Hounds F4R Heroes contributed twenty thousand dollars to veterans.
Each year the event grew as more people learned about it. All the beagle and basset hunters wanted to contribute however they could.
Beagle packs and basset packs had foot followers. People stayed in good shape as they walked the hounds in the off-season, ran after them during the season. Both types of hounds chased rabbits. Anyone who had ever called a rabbit a “dumb bunny” hadn’t chased one. Bunnies managed to elude the hounds, but sometimes the run might go on for an hour or even longer. What a thrill that was for the huntsman, the whippers-in, and the people running their butts off behind the hounds.
Harry and Susan followed the Waldingfield Beagles, the oldest pack in America, having been founded in 1885. Harry and her husband also foxhunted, but Susan and her husband weren’t much for riding so Harry started running along with her friend and found that she loved it. She never could jog—bored her to tears—but following a flying pack enlivened her. Being in good shape anyway, she was now in even better shape.
“How far are we from the cabin?” Harry wondered.
“I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes,” Susan guessed. She looked up at the sky. “Doesn’t look good, does it?”
“What was it Satchel Paige said, ‘Don’t look, something might be gaining on you’?”
Susan laughed. “Don’t look back. Well, girl, I’m about done. Bet the other work parties are, too. Let’s head back.”
“Sounds good.” Harry put her fingers between her lips, emitting a loud whistle.
Tucker, Harry’s corgi, and Pirate, who Harry and Fair had taken in when his owner was killed, lifted their heads.
“Time to go,” the obedient corgi announced.
“Oh, this smells really good.” The already large dog waffled.
Tucker ambled over, put her nose to the ground, inhaled. “Yes, it does smell good, but you don’t want to meet this guy. A bear. Even bigger than you when you’re full-grown.”
Pirate’s lovely brown eyes widened. “A bear. Like we see on TV sometimes?”
“Yeah. Mom watches those nature shows. Black bears don’t want trouble but best to keep your distance. Actually, it’s even best to keep your distance from some deer. Not every animal likes dogs.” Tucker turned, trotting in the direction of the whistle. “Come on. If we show up late, she’ll fret.”
Taking a brief breather, the two friends sat on an old fallen tree off the road.
“I’m feeling my age.” Susan shook her head.
“At forty-three?”
“Forty-two!” Susan squinted at Harry.
“Just wanted to see if your mind was going.” Harry giggled.
“Better be careful. I know how to get even.” Susan punched Harry’s arm lightly.
“Oh, but Susan, you’re such a good Christian.”
“You’re pushing it.” Susan laughed as she noticed the two dogs, smiles on their faces, coming toward them.
“I smelled a bear,” the puppy enthused.
Tucker added, “And a mess of turkeys. I don’t know how many rabbits there are here, but you could sure hunt turkeys.”
Harry dropped her hand on Pirate’s head as Susan petted Tucker. “Isn’t this the ridge near where the First Massachusetts Cavalry was slaughtered? Is that what I’m looking at over there?” She pointed in the direction of the bend in the old road west of the farmhouse. Neither the Union forces nor the Confederate expected to encounter one another that seventeenth of June 1863, but encounter they did, and the First Massachusetts was cut to ribbons.
“That’s supposed to be it.” Susan loved history, having been a history major at college. “People don’t realize that sixty percent of that war was fought in Virginia. There was a reason we didn’t want to secede. We knew those soldiers would cross the Potomac long before they’d get into Georgia or other parts.” She sighed. “But this engagement was fought piecemeal. Brigadier General Judson Kilpatrick, in command of the Massachusetts Brigade, never sent scouts ahead. None of the Union commanders did. And let us never forget, we grew up riding. Those New England boys did not.”
“How many men are in a brigade?”
“Varies. A lot of times, the papers reported bigger numbers than there were to try to scare the enemy. Didn’t work. But maybe a thousand. Anyway. There was a curve—we’ll pass it once we hit the rise where the Confederates held their position. The Federals never had a chance.”
Harry rubbed Pirate. “There’s no such thing as a good war.”
Susan nodded. “No, but there are necessary wars. Got my wind back.” She stood up.
“There’s our little red wagon, waiting for us up ahead. I’ll be glad to dump my chain saw. It gets heavy after a while.”
Overhead the birds started to head home as the women placed their tools in the wagon. Harry took first turn pulling while the dogs tagged along.
They reached the kennels, wooden structures for the different packs, well built, but a tree limb had smashed right through the roof of one kennel, knocking down the fence as well.
“Guess they’ll get to that tomorrow,” Susan noted.
Harry paused a moment. “The main stone building really is impressive. It was a hospital during the war. It seems as good as the day it was built. The white porch and railing set off the stone. Like I said, impressive.”
“Stone lasts,” Susan replied.
“Does.” Then Harry said, “Yet I feel this tug of sorrow when I look at it.”
“What’s strange is that so many died when it was a hospital, and no one is sure where they are buried. But the limbs, the amputated limbs, are supposed to be over there.” Susan pointed to a long, low mound.
“Odd.” Harry grimaced.
They trudged to their cabin, eager to reach it.
As they reached the cabin, sitting on the front porch were Mrs. Murphy and Pewter.
“Killed a platoon of mice. We set a world record!” Pewter puffed up.
As she was given to overstatement, the dogs looked to the far more reasonable tiger cat.
“Barn is full of them.” Mrs. Murphy verified Pewter’s bragging.
The mouse infestation was the reason the cats had been allowed to visit. Of course, none of the house pets could come to the fundraiser, but they were useful right now and happy to be along despite Pewter’s complaining.
Once cleaned up, food put down for the animals, a fire renewed in the fireplace, for it was really getting cold, Harry and Susan walked over to the stone house for supper. The food was always wonderful. Everyone had worked up an appetite.
About twenty people sat at the tables, all talking at once about respective work parties.
Harry, next to Amy Burke Walker, a member of the board of directors and a whipper-in for the Waldingfield Beagles hunted by Dr. Arie Rijke, mentioned the mound.
Amy agreed. “Right, no one knows where the bodies are but people say they’ve seen ghosts out and about. Some have been seen in this building.”