Shaker, up with his forward hounds, swung off Showboat. He couldn’t open the door, so he blew “Gone to Ground” as the slimmer members of the pack crawled in the sluice. Once inside the springhouse, the din was phenomenal. Shaker, pure frustration, was outside with the larger hounds and an irate Dragon.
Betty, riding hard, came in, hopped off Magellan, and the two of them sweated over the big old door, creaking on its hinges.
“Damn. I hope Yancy is okay.”
“Yancy can take care of himself.” Betty had learned to admire the senior citizen over the years. He had a big bag of tricks.
They still couldn’t get the rusted door open.
Walter rode up.“Master, may I help?”
“Of course.”
As Walter was the strongest man in the field, Sister readily gave him permission to move ahead of her.
Walter jumped down, put his shoulder to it. The door gave way, the sound of old iron grating on iron eerie in the deepening gray.
Yancy slithered down a pathway underground that hooked right, in the direction of the schoolhouse. He hoped so anyway.
He popped out. Yes, there they all were: the humans, their sides to him, and no one was looking. He didn’t trust Dragon. He knew the hound might not obey the huntsman. He took a deep breath. Bitsy watched with apprehension. Yancy crept up out of the exit hole, slinking, belly to the ground, toward the schoolhouse. He’d be able to use the woods and then he’d come out into the open pastureswhere he knew he’d have to use every ounce of speed left within him.
Sister, catching movement out of the corner of her eye, saw him. She counted to twenty, considered the circumstances, counted twenty more, then said,“Tallyho.”
Shaker, blowing“Gone to Ground” in the springhouse, didn’t hear. Betty did and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tallyho. Sister.”
Without a word, Shaker bolted out of there, his hounds following. He vaulted into the saddle, touching the horn to his lips, then thought better of it.“Come along.”
Once the hounds cleared the springhouse, Walter struggled with the door. Shaker blew the hounds to where Sister sighted Yancy. She stood still, horse’s head pointed in the direction in which Yancy was traveling. Her cap was off her head, arm outstretched in the direction, also, the tails fluttering in the strengthening wind.
“Yes!”Diddy caught a scent so fresh it nearly knocked her over.
Within seconds, all were on. A dark coop was nestled in the old fence line between the woods and the pastures. Shaker cleared it first, Sister twenty yards behind. Once in the pasture, they saw Yancy streaking for the schoolhouse, Dragon leading the hounds thirty yards behind him, and the rest of the pack moving up, the young entry showing more speed than Sister had anticipated.
But Yancy had enough of a head start just to make it. He dove into his spacious den, the biggest entrance along the basement of the old clapboard structure. Once there, he flopped on his side, trying to catch his breath. That was a close call. He hated to admit that he was slowing down, his judgment getting sloppy, but it was true.
Overhead, Bitsy shadowed. Sister looked up to see the sturdy little screech owl intently watching the pack. The owl emitted an earsplitting shriek when she landed on the cupola of the roof.
Later Sister reflected on that. There was so much humans don’t know about species cooperating with one another. Just why, she couldn’t say, but that made her think again about the Jim Meads photograph, the one showing a hot glance between Izzy Berry and Dalton Hill.
CHAPTER 22
Snowflakes fluttered down, illuminated by the four large curved lights bending over the long white sign reading“Roger’s Corner.” This convenience store supplied everything from beer to ratshot to Swiss chocolate. Its prime product, however, was gossip.
Located at the intersection of Soldier Road, which ran east to west, and White Cat Road, which ran north to south, the store had run in the black from the year it was founded, 1913. White Cat Road was the last decent north-to-south road before one crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains. Other roads running in that direction were potted or dirt or both.
Roger, a contemporary of Ronnie and Xavier, studied the business under his father. He was the fourth generation to own this store, and was named for its founder. He liked being at the county nerve center.
This Saturday evening, the Prussian blue of the clouds, the falling snow, the gas pumps wearing snowcaps, the light from the sign washing over Roger’s Corner—all combined to resemble an Edward Hopper painting.
Inside Shaker, Sister, Xavier, Tedi, Lorraine, and Sari had each purchased what they needed. They lingered at the counter.
Affable Roger provided hot coffee.“So, good hunt this morning?”
“Ask the boss.” Shaker nodded at Sister, then looked out the window at the snow-covered windshield of the old but strong 1974 Chevy truck with the 454 engine, a real beast.
“Pretty good, thank you for asking, Roger. We hunted at Dueling Grounds, on the flat by the river. Had a large field this Thursday and an even bigger one today: sixty people. By the time we finished, we were blue, but hey, the foxes ran, the hounds did well, and, when we returned to the trailers, we thought we’d done something.”
Tedi, sneaking a cigarette because Edward hated for her to smoke, puffed.“Oh, tell Roger about the lady from where was it?” She paused a moment, a plume of blue smoke curling upwards. “Ah, she was visiting from Wabash Hounds outside of Omaha, Nebraska. Well, she couldn’t have been nicer or better turned out, but they don’t have the kind of thick woods we do. Takes their trees longer to grow, I guess. Our first blast through tight quarters, she feared for her kneecaps. She was a good sport. Took her fences in style, too.”
“When people from the Midwest or the West hunt Virginia, they’re often surprised at how thick the cover is here even in winter. Some of those places are pretty flat, too,” Shaker added to the conversation. “Boss and I drove out one year for the Western Challenge. The terrain ranged fromlow desert to high desert to plains. Mostly coyote.”
“What’s the Western Challenge?” Lorraine asked.
“All these hunts in the West get together for two weeks. Each day, unless it’s a travel day, you hunt with them and watch their hounds work in their territory. At the end, the best pack gets a cup,” Sister explained.
“You can drive nine hours before you get to another hunt,” Xavier said. “The spaces are incredible. Course the Bureau of Land Management owns most of it, which is to say the federal government.”
“Is that good or bad?” Young Sari felt comfortable enough to speak with the adults. Since she had proven herself in the hunt field, the adults no longer thought of her as a teenager, but simply a young foxhunter.
“Depends. In some places the BLM preserves and protects the land. In other states, it’s a struggle. If you get a warden on a power trip, he can make life miserable for everyone out there,” Xavier told her. “Now I’ve never attended the Western Challenge, which I really want to do, but Dee and I go out to Wyoming and Montana for two weeks in August. I love it out there.” He paused. “Ronnie and I are going to try and do the challenge this year.”
“God, you and Ronnie in the trailer for two weeks.” Tedi rolled her eyes. “Strains credulity.”
“Strain more than that.” Shaker laughed.
“I know.” Xavier laughed. “We’re the odd couple. He is so fastidious and I’m, well, I’m not as sloppy as Ronnie says, but let’s just say I’m not anal.” He winced. “Wrong choice of words.”
Everyone laughed except Sari, who didn’t get it.