Target, wishing he hadn’t stuffed himself full of corn, hit top speed, twenty-five miles an hour. He knew this pack and somehow they’d managed to stick to his scent despite conditions. Five more minutes and his odor would have risen over their heads. He knew how fast the American hound can be. Still, he stayed straight as an arrow until he turned to see Dragon and Cora perhaps one hundred yards behind. He turned hard right in midair, ducked down low, and shot for the state road. The asphalt would help him since the tar smell would kill his scent. It was an old two-lane highway and he reached it—no cars as it was in the back of the beyond, so he tiptoed across it—then blasted into the pine plantation.
Dragon and Cora were flying so fast they overshot the line. Diana, a bit more deliberate, turned hard right.
Before she could open her mouth, Trinity, a third-year hound, a brilliant child, bellowed,“To the right.”
Dragon whirled almost as gracefully as Target to rejoin the pack. Cora breathed on his heels. Cora hated any hound getting in front of her. She was jealous of her position to the degree that Dragon was arrogant and wanted it for himself. The two would never get along.
The Custis Hall girls hung tight. Tootie had never been on a run this fast. The thrill of it diminished the hazards. Valentina, too, proved tight in the tack. Felicity, even though Parson was good as gold, experienced butterflies at some of the stouter jumps. Pamela Rene, not to be outshone by Tootie or Valentina, didn’t bat an eye. She rode right up, for the girls had begun to pass some of the field members whose horses were slowing in the heat.
The etiquette was that the girls should ride in the rear, but once a run unfolded the rule became whoever could keep up should. So if a younger member passed an older member or if a person without their colors passed someone with their colors (even though this was cubbing, everyone knew who had colors and who did not), it was acceptable. Yes, it irritated, sometimes, those who were passed, but at this level, with this distance being covered at warp speed, whoever had the best horses moved to the front. The Custis Hall girls, thanks to the wealth of their families, rode top-flight horses. Nothing instills confidence like a great horse. Nothing shakes one’s nerves like a second-rate one.
Sister felt the sweat roll between her breasts. The back of her shirt stuck to her. Her mouth felt parched. Thank God, she’d clipped her horses. She pitied any animal today with the beginning of its winter coat. Surely its rider would have brains enough to pull up and spare the horse.
The hounds, too, felt the heat, but their drive was so great, later on they’d fling themselves into a creek or even a water bucket—but only after they’d accounted for Target.
The heat affected the big red, too. He began to sink with one mile to go. He zigged, he zagged. Finally he noticed a large tree that had been uprooted in a windstorm. He nimbly leapt up, ran all the way up, then dropped fifteen feet below.
The hounds threw up, or lost the scent, for a moment at the huge old sycamore. Sycamores grow in moisture, often by creeks or river branches. This one had been uprooted thirty yards from Broad Creek so Target plunged straight down into the creek, swimming up toward After All Farm. The water felt good.
Gingerly, Ardent, an older hound, tried and true, sniffed the tree trunk.“He went up the trunk.”
Most of the Jefferson hounds, fast but sixty to seventy pounds, were too big to attempt to follow the line. Little Diddy, the runt of the whole pack, only in her second year, surprised everyone by hopping onto the trunk, pieces of bark flaking off, exposing the lighter color underneath. Carefully she picked her way up, the angle at thirty degrees.
“He made it to here,” she called down, the branches obscuring her, for she’d gone up quite far.
“Thanks.” Diana and Trudy walked under the end of the tree, jumped in the creek, swimming to the other side. The others followed, noses to the ground, once on land.
“Here!” Trudy called, the other hounds flocking to her.
They spoke at once, then came up against a bend in the creek. Trinity jumped in and swam straight across but he found no scent there.
“Work both sides of the bank,” Diana ordered.“He’s heading back to his den so he went north.” She figured he crisscrossed the creek again at the bend to throw them off.
It took four minutes of intense searching but finally Doughboy came up with the line, very good work for a second-year hound.
They opened. Shaker blew them on.
Target reached the spot where Snake Creek feeds into the larger, fast-moving Broad Creek, he turned left, staying on the left side of Snake Creek; He was now on After All Farm.
He reached the covered bridge, ran across it, then made a loop, coming back to Snake Creek, where he recrossed it. It was an obvious ploy but it would buy him just enough time. He could hear the hounds closing and he prayed they were as hot and tired as he was. If only he hadn’t been such a damned pig.
He traveled right over Nola Bancroft’s grave, Tedi and Edward’s daughter, who died in 1981 at twenty-four. She was buried with Peppermint, her favorite horse. He outlived her, making it to thirty-four. A beautiful stone fence enclosed the plot.
The hounds tore across the bridge. The field clattered over it, hooves reverberating inside, the noise deafening.
“Reverse!” Sister quickly turned when she saw the hounds jump back into Snake Creek.
Shaker knew he’d get balled up in the bridge because someone wouldn’t be able to turn their horse around. He jumped down the steep bank, into the water, grabbed mane, stood up, and leaned forward on HoJo. A young horse who didn’t make it on the steeplechase circuit struggled to find purchase.
Tootie, thinking ahead, turned her horse’s head and slid by everyone else as soon as Sister called “Reverse.”
The Custis Hall girls and Bunny followed.
Marty Howard stuck a minute, but she finally got herself around. Her horse spooked at some goblin seen only by himself.
Sister knew better than to try to pass them all, so she waited, tried not to bitch and moan, then hurried through as Tedi finally managed to get them out of the way.“Good job, girl.”
Tedi smiled and quickly fell in behind her old friend. The hounds leapt over the stone wall, ran over Nola and Peppermint’s grave.
Far from aggrieving Tedi, the sight of hounds running over her firstborn made her happy. For a fox or hound to cross a foxhunter’s grave is a sign from heaven. It’s to be wished for, not avoided.
With a maniacal burst of energy, Target skidded through fallen leaves, hoisted himself over a larger stone wall, this one separating fields closer to the main house. The outer fields had three-board fencing.
His den in sight, he soared into it like a basketball that doesn’t touch the rim.“Thank God!”
Dragon, Cora, and Doughboy reached the den first. Little Diddy had had a bit of a time getting off the tree and had needed Walter’s help. They brought up the rear as everyone tried to pile into the opening.
The remnants of a nice pattypan squash as well as a pumpkin littered Target’s den. He’d meant to clean it out but the morning, fresh with hope, lured him outside.
“Come on out!” Dragon dug.
Target kicked pumpkin seeds at him.
Betty rode up, as she’d come in from the left, took HoJo’s reins. She knew they were all on, no point in staying out there. Wouldn’t be a second cast in this heat.
Shaker blew and praised his hounds. As he withdrew them from the den, he watched pumpkin and squash seeds spew out like a tiny white and orange Vesuvius.
Sister saw it, as did those closest to her.
He paused. More seeds were tossed into the morning light.
“He thinks he’s so cute.” Ardent smiled.
Shaker laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Betty, too.
They thought they’d seen it all but this reminded them, foxes do have imagination.