By now, everyone on the ground found refuge in a tree or had made it into the barn, slamming a stall gate behind them.
“Let’s blow this joint!” Cly snorted as she headed in the direction of the hounds.
Betty pushed up the hounds to the rest of the pack, and when those hounds passed Shaker he looked straight up to the sky and smiled.
Aunt Netty ran so fast one expected to see white jet trails behind her. Famous for her speed and cunning, she had no time to play with hounds today. She’d eaten too much and they were too close behind despite the efforts of Shaker to hold them.
No huntsman wants to chop a fox. If one is bolted close by, the rule is count to twenty. Well, he didn’t get to count to two.
So Netty ran for her life on this Thanksgiving Day. She didn’t bother to foil scent, swim small creeks, she ran flat out, belly to the ground.
With the schoolhouse in sight, she put on the afterburners and just made it to the hole in the foundation as Dragon’s jaws snapped at her sparse brush. He got a few little hairs in his teeth for a reward.
By the time Sister and the field—what was left of it, given the speed and the jumps along the way—reached the schoolhouse, Shaker was blowing “gone to ground” and Netty, plopped on her side, was sending up a prayer of thanks to the Great Fox in the Sky.
This moment would have lasted longer except for the low tang of a cowbell coming ever closer.
Felicity, who had fallen back and rode at the rear, looked around.“It’s a mad cow!”
Cindy Chandler turned. The sight of her pet and Cly’s son on the rampage turned her face chalk white. “Oh, dear, she’s uncontrollable when she gets like this.”
Sister called to Shaker,“We’ve got to get out of here. Go over the in and out!”
Shaker did not question his master. He gracefully mounted, saw Sybil already on the other side of the wide dirt road. He squeezed Showboat over the first coop. Showboat knew better but he was still jangled from all the uproar, so he sucked back when his front hooves hit the dirt. Sometimes a horse will get a little tentative if the surface changes.
Shaker squeezed, touched him with the spurs, and whacked him proper on the hindquarters with his crop. If Showboat balked, then Keepsake might, doubtful, but he might. And other horses in the field would, too, so he had to get over.
With a surge, the Thoroughbred left a half stride early. Shaker leaned back a bit in the saddle but he was ready for it.
On the other side, hounds with him, he trotted down to the woods at the edge of the meadow and cast hounds. Soon enough the field got over.
Cly thundered up to the coop. She considered crashing it but she was tired. Her full figure didn’t get much exercise and she’d been running and bellowing for half an hour.
“That ought to teach them a lesson!”
“What’s the lesson, Mom?”
“That this is my farm and they’d better do as I say.” She belched, the sickly sweet odor of cud emanating from her mouth and nostrils.
Turning to walk at a leisurely pace back to the stable where she hoped feed lay about, she noticed seven riders coming toward her, including Bill Wheatley, a piece of his britches flapping every time he stood up to post.
“Oh, let’s have some fun.” She lowered her head and rolled right for them.
Scattering them like ninepins, Cly shook her head, reveling in her power.
“You’re hamburger, you old monster!” A rider angrily pointed his finger at her.
She turned, pawed the ground, lowered her head as did Orestes, and scared him so bad he burnt the wind getting out of there.
“What’s hamburger?”
“Nothing to concern yourself about, son.” It was occurring to the huge old girl that she may have crossed the line. She decided not to rummage the stable.“Let’s go back to the pasture and have a nap.”
Shaker and the pack, all together, got up another fox, and had a good fifteen-minute burst. But people were ragged out from the adventure. So he swung hounds low and back toward the house. It took fortyfive minutes to get there and they did get two more short runs in the bargain.
Sam Lorillard, on hearing the horn, turned back toward the stables. He had a pretty good idea that Shaker was drawing back and he’d just seen the devil cow go back that way.
He walked behind her at a respectful distance. When she walked into the pasture and dropped to her knees, asleep almost instantly, he put his horse in a stall.
Sam kept tools in his truck and trailer, as did most smart foxhunters. He pulled out his toolbox, got a hammer and some nails, and walked around to the side where Cly had smashed up the coop. Unsalvageable.
He walked back to his truck, fired it up, and drove around to the shed where Cindy kept her supplies. He loaded up boards, drove around the outside of the pasture, and nailed them up.
That would at least keep Cly from aimlessly wandering out until the men of the club could get back here and rebuild the jump.
He knew Cly well enough to know she only smashed through fences and jumps when playful or angry. Her usual modus operandi was to eat and sleep and then eat some more.
By the time the field got back, all was secure.
Crawford handsomely tipped him for it and Sam gratefully accepted. Then Crawford, expansive, since he’d managed to ride out this wild hunt, offered a beautiful bronze sculpture for the hunt ball silent auction. Sorrel Buruss, chair of the silent action, waxed ecstatic, rode over to him, and kissed him from horseback.
When Bill dismounted, Charlotte laughed at him.“Well, Bill, I now know you’re a boxer man and not a briefs man.”
“I’m just glad to be in one piece.”
“Your pants look like Zorro slashed them into a ‘Z,’ ” Valentina giggled, then apologized, “Sorry. I forgot.”
Bill smiled up at her,“It’s all right, Val. Life goes on.”
Shaker hopped off Showboat to open the party wagon door. Hounds walked in happy with this exciting day.
Sister, Keepsake at the trailer, walked over,“Never, never in my life have I hunted a day like today. How you and Betty got those hounds all on was a miracle.”
“May the saints preserve us.” He beamed.
Showboat, standing by the party wagon, laughed.“I preserved you, not the saints.” All the other horses in earshot laughed.
C H A P T E R 2 0
The heavenly aroma of turkey filled the house, along with the sweet scent of sweet potatoes, corn bread, cranberry sauce, special fried grits cakes, all manner of sauces, spices, vegetables, and salads.
Golly stayed at her window post behind the sink. She knew if she behaved many tidbits would be tossed her way as Sister and Lorraine put on the finishing touches to the meal.
Tootie, Valentina, and Felicity set the tables while Gray made everyone drinks. The house overflowed with people. Sam came and of course Sister invited Rory, Crawford’s farmhand, as he had no people left who would have him. Shaker, still beaming, regaled the girls with hunt tales as he folded linen napkins. He liked to be useful and never thought of chores as women’s work or men’s work.
Tedi and Edward came. Sybil, too, and she brought her two sons. Edward III, called Neddie by everyone, even though still in grade school showed every sign of growing to be taller than his grandfather.
Walter came and brought as his date Sorrel Buruss. That would set tongues wagging, mostly because it happened under everyone’s nose. Ah, what an offense to those who had to know everything about everybody because their own lives were such a bloody bore.
Mandy, Gray’s daughter, drove down from Washington. She looked more like her mother than her father, but she had her father’s quiet sense of command as well as his wonderful way with color. Over the last year Sister and Mandy learned to value each other.
Marty and Crawford Howard came, and Sister told Shaker, who strongly disliked them, that he had to abide Crawford. The Howards would always be invited to the big parties or functions where Crawford’s checkbook was hotly desired. But no one invited them to the family dinners, the true gatherings of the clan. Once Sister discovered this she thought she’d set it to rights. Crawford wasn’t so bad. He needed to stop bragging about himself, a sign of weakness, but Sister wanted to give him achance.