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While the hounds cast themselves at the lake bed, Trident, an excellent nose, found a middling scent: a gray dog fox. He kept his nose down and as it warmed, he spoke very softly. Trinity, bolder than her brother and littermate, walked over.

“Line!”Trinity called out.

Cora trotted over and checked it out.“Let’s give it atry.”

The rest of the pack, eighteen couple today, joined them, although the pace was relatively slow. The American hound doesn’t run with its nose stuck to the ground like glue. The animal inhales, lifts its head slightly, moves along, then perhaps thirty yards later, puts its nose to the ground. As each hound is doing this, the line is well researched. And the whole point of a pack is that hounds must trust one another as well as their huntsman.

Shaker knew the line was so-so. He also knew it couldn’t be the first fox they had run; the line would have been hotter, the music louder. As it was, hounds opened but never in full-throated chorus. They were more like geese, calling out flight coordinates at this moment.

But as hounds moved away from the lake, climbing to higher ground, frosty pastures still in shadows, the pace quickened. The music grew louder.

A tiger trap squatted in the three-board fence line. Shaker and Gunpowder easily popped over, the ground falling away on the landing side. They slipped a little, then the lovely thoroughbred stretched out as the hounds picked up speed. They covered the pasture, jumped a log jump into a woods filled with ancient hollies, twenty feet high, the tiny red berries enlivening the woods with endless dots of color. Called possumhaw by country people, swamp holly by newer folks, Shaker knew he’d be in a swamp soon enough. Possumhaws loved the muck.

Sister knew it, too. She also knew raccoon scent would be heavy as the coons love the berries in winter.

Hounds ran on despite the heavy odor of raccoons. The gray fox, a young one, thought the swamp would slow down his pursuers. He was right, but it also held scent. He needed to get up, get out, and fly across a meadow still untouched by the sun.

He figured this out at the end of the swamp, climbed over the slippery low banks, darted through an old pine woods, many of the Virginia pines having fallen from age, then hit the cold western meadow, revving his engine.

Gunpowder kept right up, but stumbled when he ran over flat rock in the piney woods. His right hoof skidded on the slick rock. He pitched forward, pitching Shaker with him. If a horse loses his balance or drops a shoulder, a human can rarely stay on. A cat couldn’t stay perched on even with claws. Shaker shot over Gunpowder’s shoulder, hitting the rock hard.

Gunpowder stopped, put his nose down on Shaker’s face.“You okay?”

Shaker didn’t move as Gunpowder stood by him.

Sister arrived within a minute. She hadn’t seen the fall. Quickly she dismounted and felt for a pulse. There was one, thank God.

She lifted one eyelid. His pupil was dilated. Fearing a concussion, she hoped it wasn’t worse. As for broken bones, no way to tell until he regained consciousness.

The other riders halted, watching with apprehension.“Ron, give me your flask.”

Ronnie quickly dismounted, handing his reins to Gray, and brought her his flask. He knelt beside her. She poured out a little alcohol in her hand and touched Shaker’s lips with it, then rubbed it on his cheeks. Blood rushed to his face, and he flushed.

His eyes fluttered. He started to sit up, but she held him down.

“Not yet.”

Ronnie moved behind his head, holding it.

“Shaker, can you feel your feet?”

“Uh.”

“What day is it?”

“Uh, hunting …”

“Can you feel your toes?”

His mind cleared a bit. He wriggled his toes in their scratched boots, polished many times.“Uh-huh.”

“Can you feel your fingers?”

He wiggled his fingers in his white string gloves.“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Ronnie, don’t kiss me.”

“You asshole.” Ronnie laughed.

“What day is it?”

“Hunting day.”

“No. What day of the week?”

“Uh … what happened?” He started to sit up. Ronnie and Sister let him, since nothing seemed to be broken. He winced when he took a deep breath. “Ahhh.”

“Lucky it’s not worse.” Sister continued to kneel next to him.

“Cracked a few.” His breath was a little ragged when he inhaled. “I’ll tape them up.”

“It will only hurt when you breathe.” Ronnie stood up.

“You’re a big help.” Shaker wrapped his arms around his chest.

“And if you were the last man on earth, I wouldn’t kiss you.” Ronnie figured the best way to help him was to torment him. He was right.

“Jerk.”

“Asshole.”

“Gentlemen.” Sister shook her head.

“Sorry,” Ronnie said.

“Look, honey, you’ve cracked some ribs, maybe broken them. If you’d punctured a lung, we’d know; you can hear that plain as a tire hissing. But I think you’ve suffered a mild concussion.”

“Got no brains anyway.” He smiled his crooked grin, all the more appealing, given the circumstances.

“At least you admit it.” Ronnie leaned over, putting his hands under Shaker’s right armpit.

Sister did the same for his left.“One, two, upsy daisy.”

Shaker stood up unsteadily. Both friends kept hold. He rubbed his head, the horn still in his right hand.“Jesus.”

“Sister, I can call an ambulance.” Xavier carried a tiny cell phone inside his frock coat.

“I’m not riding in any goddamn ambulance. I fell off. Big deal.” Shaker’s head throbbed. He reached for Gunpowder’s reins.

“Don’t even think of it.” Sister took the reins instead.

“Well, someone’s got to stay up with the hounds.”

“Betty is there and so is Sybil. You are going to stay right here. Sari, I want you to stick with Shaker. Jennifer, ride back to the trailer, tie up your horse, drive my truck here, and then drive Shaker to Walter.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, and I’m the boss.” Her words had bite. “If you don’t go to Walter, as a precaution, and your damned bullheadedness costs us the season, you’ll have a lot more pain from me than what this fall has caused.”

“Hard boot,” he grumbled.

“You’ll call me worse than that.” She looked up. “Jennifer, move.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jennifer turned her horse, galloping back toward the trailers, which fortunately weren’t but a mile away.

Xavier said,“Sister, let me go back with her, and I’ll tie my horse next to hers. Just in case the horse gets silly by himself.”

“That’s a good idea, and X, go with her to Walter, will you? She’s only a kid, and I should have thought of that. John Wayne here might feel compelled to give her orders, such as to forget it. I’ve put her in a bad spot. I know he can’t do a thing with you.”

Xavier touched his crop to his derby and cantered off.

Shaker wanted to say something back, but he was foggier than he realized. Ronnie continued to hold him up. He blinked, then handed the horn to Sister.“Better kick on.”

She took the horn.“Jesus H. Christ on a raft,” is what she wanted to say. She’d hunted all her life, but she’d never carried the horn. She was the master. Her field, small though it was today, looked to her. It was her responsibility to provide sport. “Okay, I’ll give you a full report later.”

Ronnie stayed back with Sari and Shaker.

Sister walked away, not wishing to make Gunpowder or their horses fret. Once away from the three, she turned.“Edward, take the field, will you?”