They slowed; the old den was on their right. With some of the underbrush now leafless, the den could be clearly seen. A clever location, it afforded good privacy, had many entrances and exits, and was less than two hundred yards from a clear, fast-moving feeder stream to Broad Creek. The wildflower field to the west was nice enough from a fox’s point of view, but the hayfields to the east, the hay rolled and stacked alongside the edge of the fertile field, provided field mice, rabbits, and voles lovely places to make their homes. It was a convenience store for foxes.
Shaker noticed the clump first.“What the hell?” He quickly dismounted as Sister held HoJo’s reins.
“I can’t really see in there. What is it?”
He picked up a piece of cloak.“Zorro.”
C H A P T E R 1 5
The front moving through kicked up gusts of twenty knots, not enough to knock one down but enough to cut through a thin jacket. The cold was settling in along with the night.
Athena and Bitsy sat in the branches of a scrubby pine. Their luminous eyes observed everything. Both birds kept their backs to the wind.
Young Georgia, Inky’s half-grown vixen daughter, huddled in the back reaches of her many-chambered den. She listened to the commotion at the wide entrance. This particular den, like an old pre–Revolutionary War home, had undergone many improvements over time. Hearing Sister’s voice reassured Georgia that she had a friend out there among the other humans, but she loathed the fuss at her main entrance.
Given the grade of the topography, Ben Sidel couldn’t set up tripod lights. Ty held a powerful beam, as did Gray Lorillard. Shaker was also pressed into service. Ben wanted foxhunters with him on this task. The only person he brought out from the department was Ty Banks, who had a real feel for police work.
Sister, on her hands and knees with Ben, pointed out the scraps of material.
Ben, wearing plastic gloves, carefully teased out long pieces of light wool, although most of the cloak, which Shaker first pulled out, was intact.
Shaker shone his flashlight right onto the spot.
“The cub has been working at it,” Sister replied.
“It looks like the fox was pulling it in.”
“She was. See.” She pointed to triangular holes at the edge of the cloak, the lining torn, the chain just showing. “This will make wonderful bedding.”
“Then why are other parts of the cloak outside the den?” Ben, like most foxhunters, knew precious little about their quarry.
In Ben’s defense, he was new to the sport, but the majority of foxhunters do not study foxes. They listen to hearsay or read an article here and there. The only way to learn about foxes is to observe them, to live by them, although reading about them doesn’t hurt.
“She took what she needed. The cloak isn’t torn much,” Sister replied.
“M-m-m.” He started to reach down into the hole.
“Ben, don’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because the cub is in there. The reason Shaker and I came this way was to check the path and to see if the den had a new occupant. She or he will bite you, and believe me, it hurts.”
“Sheriff, you need prophylactic rabies shots,” Gray suggested.
“Too late now,” Ben grunted. “Ty, give me that flashlight.”
Ty handed him the heavy flashlight run on a nine-volt battery. Ben tilted it to illuminate the deeper recess of the entranceway.
“Nothing,” Sister remarked.
“How do I know this fox doesn’t have more in the den?”
“You don’t.”
“Then I’ve got to dig the critter out.”
“Shaker and I will do that. We can trap the cub without harming the animal or ourselves. We’ll move her—I think it’s a vixen—to another den. Shaker, how about that one in the apple orchard?”
“Yeah, that’s empty.”
“Why won’t she come back here?” Ben was curious.
“We do a soft release. We’ll put her in a big hound crate, with food and water. We’ll put the crate in front of the new den. Every day we’ll check on her. The third day, we’ll put fresh straw by the den, a little sweet-smelling hay, and a fivepound feed bin with a lid on it, a small holedrilled in the bottom. We’ll tie that to the closest tree. Come nightfall, we’ll open the gate. She might run off for a few hundred yards, but it’s too good a location. She’ll be back.”
“Why hasn’t some other fox used it?” Ben handed the flashlight back to Ty.
“Oh, it was Uncle Yancy’s and he’s fickle that way. He moves around. If he were human he’s the kind that would redecorate every year. You know the type.”
Ben laughed.“You know the foxes as well as you know your hounds.”
“Some. We’ll pick up a fox on a new fixture or during breeding season, courting foxes. That’s exciting because we’re trying to figure them out. They’ve got us figured out.”
“How long do you need to get the fox out of here?”
“If you and Ty will go down to the house and wait for me, Shaker and I should be able to do this pretty quickly. The reason I ask you to go to the house is that she can smell you, hear you. The more people there are, the more frightening for her. She might fight harder.” She stood up. “Gray, will you go down with them and bring back the caller, the little trapping cage, and the heavy gloves? They’re in the kennel storage room. Oh, bring a shovel, too. We’ll have to stop up the other getaways.”
“Georgia isn’t going to like this,” Bitsy chirped.
“Sister’s right, though, the orchard den is much better than this one.” Athena heard mice scuttling to their homes as the wind was stronger now.
“Little apples are tasty to foxes.”
Athena, full of the devil, egged Bitsy on.“While all the humans are here, why don’t you give them a song?”
The small screech owl puffed out, warbling what she thought was a little ditty she’d heard on the barn radio.“Since my baby left me—”
“Jesus!” Ty jumped out of his skin.
Even Shaker and Gray froze for a moment, then laughed.
“What the hell is that?”
“Son, that’s Bitsy, the screech owl.” Sister had to laugh at him. “She lives in the barn.”
“Well, what’s she doing up here?” He regained his composure.
“Bitsy’s the social sort. She likes to know what’s going on.” Sister enjoyed the little owl with her big eyes. “Sometimes she hangs out with the great horned owl. Bitsy’s song might scare you, but Ty, if Athena ever flies over your head, that really will put the fear of God in you. She’s huge and you don’t know she’s there until she’s right on top of you. If she balls up her claws they are as big as your fists. Shaker and I call her ‘The Queen of the Night.’ ”
“Hoo ho, hoo hoo.” Athena let out her deep, soothing call.
“That’s her,” Shaker said.
“These animals are like people to you, aren’t they?” Ty, a suburban boy, found it all strange.
“No, they are what they are, but we live with them and respect them. They have powers beyond what we can imagine. This earth belongs to all of us.”
“Chiggers, too,” Gray called over his shoulder as he started down the steep path.
Once the three men were out of sight, Sister and Shaker turned off their flashlights.
Wind at their backs, they squatted by the den, the dark aroma of fox filling the air.
Neither one spoke for a long time.
Bitsy flew closer, landing on a branch of a young fiddle oak.“Did you like my song?”
“Ha ha,” Athena chortled, then joined Bitsy.
Sister and Shaker could see the outline of the two birds.
“She really is nosy.” Shaker had grown accustomed to Bitsy.
She’d emerge from the rafters at twilight. If he was still in the kennels, she’d perch on a branch or even the weather vane to watch him.