Within five minutes, after much praise, he was back up on Gunpowder.
“Thought I’d go back to the big meadow, hit the south side where Walter planted corn.”
“Good enough,” Sister answered, smiling.
They jumped back over the three logs, trotted over the smaller pasture, jumped the triple-wide coop. Others thought this a good opportunity to try jumping in tandem or even in threes, like a hunt team.
Since hounds weren’t casting, Sister had pulled up to the side to watch the fun. As masters go, she was strict but not a killjoy. The attempts of the makeshift teams to hit the jump stride for stride was fun to watch. Ron and Xavier got their timing just right.
Ken, Tedi, and Edward almost managed it, and they received big smiles for their efforts.
Sister could hear the light chatter behind her. She knew they’d stop once hounds were cast.
“Remember when Nola and Guy took that jump holding hands?” Ron recalled, laughing.
“I think that was one of the few times I was really jealous,” Ken said. “Sybil and I tried but couldn’t do it.”
Xavier handed his flask around. “Funny. You know what made me jealous? That Guy’s nickname was Hotspur. Ralph and I hated that name. Ever notice how people have to live up or down to their names? Hotspur, impetuous valor. Went right to his head.”
“Who first called him that?” Ken tried to remember.
“I think Nola started it.” Ron licked his lips. Xavier put good stuff in his flask.
“She always had nicknames for everyone,” Xavier said.
“Mustache. That was mine. Shaved it off once we knew she wasn’t coming home.”
A beat followed this.
“Mine was Zorro,” Ron said with a slightly embarrassed grin.
“The Gay Blade?” Ken couldn’t resist.
“I could die laughing.” Ron, sarcastic, handed Xavier back his flask. “No. Because I got into a fistfight at the Phi Delt house and got two black eyes. She said it looked like I wore a mask. Zorro was okay by me.”
“She called Sister ‘Artemis,’ ” Ken remembered.
“And she called you Di Maggio,” Xavier reminded him.
“Oh, she did not.” Ken’s face reddened.
“Big stick.” Ron laughed.
“Like she would know.” Ken really was embarrassed.
“Oh, those tight breeches.” Ron rolled his eyes. “And I’ve only got one contact in, but Ken, the bulge is noticeable.”
“See, I was right, Zorro, the Gay Blade.” Ken laughed.
“Let’s see, she called Sybil ‘Puffin’ when they were little, but I don’t remember any nickname when they were older,” Xavier recalled.
“Big Sis,” Ken replied. “Not original, but it fit. You know, I’ve only glimpsed her once today. Hope she remembers the territory.”
“Sybil? You kidding?” Ron adored Sybil.
“What do you know, Cyclops?” Ken teased him.
“Hey, I can jump better with one eye closed than you can with two open.” Ron winked as he said it.
“Well, you’d better start squinting, buddy, because Sister just took off.” Ken clapped his leg on his horse and shot off after her.
“Damn, that’s what we get for talking!” Ron knew he should have paid more attention to what was going on.
Hounds, now in the cornfield, pushed another fox. This run was brief but invigorating. Hounds, master, and huntsman were well pleased.
They gathered themselves up, riding back to the mill ruins and their trailers.
Sister chatted with Bobby as they walked back. He rode up to her and the Hilltoppers mingled in with the field, always a treat.
“Bobby, as I recall, your childhood nickname was Bruiser. Did it scar you for life?”
He laughed. “No. What made you think of that?”
“Nicknames. I overheard the Three Musketeers back there talking about nicknames. Ron said he thought Guy had to live up to the name Hotspur after Nola gave it to him. Do you really think it was inspired by Shakespeare?”
“I don’t know.”
“He was impulsive.”
“Quick with his fists.”
“Wonder if we’re missing something?”
“Like premature ejaculation?”
“Bobby, that thought never crossed my mind!”
What did cross her mind was Shakespeare’s Hotspur saying, “Why, what a candy deal of courtesy this fawning greyhound then did proffer me!” She felt the killer was handing her and everyone else a candy deal of courtesy.
CHAPTER 35
“Amputate. It’s the only way to save her,” Dr. Middleton gravely said.
Walter and Sister bent over the stainless-steel table where the anesthetized vixen lay. Using Sister’s instructions and a Havahart trap, Walter had caught the red fox with the infected paw.
He’d watched her limping about down by the ruins. When she went off her feed he knew the infection was worsening.
“How much of her paw do you think you’ll need to remove?” Walter stroked the animal’s beautiful head.
“I won’t really know until I get in there and see how far the infection has spread. It’s in the bone, and that worries me. Her white cell count is hitting the stratosphere. I’ve got to do this now.”
“Of course, we must save her. I’ll pay all expenses,” Sister said. She loved all foxes, and this perfect young vixen with her spotless white tip had to be one of Target’s daughters.
“My concern is she won’t be able to survive in the wild.” Dr. Middleton removed his glasses.
A compassionate veterinarian and also a foxhunter, Chris Middleton was a trusted figure in the community.
“She’ll have to live in a kennel, then,” Walter replied. “I can build her a wonderful home with a doghouse, plus I’ll dig a big den for her, too.”
“You’ll have to dig two feet down, lay in the chain-link fence. Even with one paw she’s going to try to dig out.”
“By the time she’s ready to come home, she’ll have everything she needs.” Walter rubbed her ears.
“All right, then. I’ll get to work.”
“Do you mind if I stay?” Walter asked.
“No. Be glad to have you.” Chris was already scrubbing up.
“Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to it, much as I’d like to watch.” Sister reached over and patted the vixen’s side. “You’ll get through this, miss. You’re in good hands.” She looked at Walter and smiled. “Maybe I should say a pair of good hands.”
“He’s smarter than I am.” Walter smiled back. “I only had to learn one animal inside out. He had to learn dozens.”
“Bird bones. Now, that’s something.” Chris pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves. “Walter, scrub up. I might need you.”
“Okay, boys. Walter, call and give me a report.” Sister opened the large, heavy swinging doors, passed down the short hall and back into the waiting room.
Sybil Fawkes, trying to get out the front door with her arms full of a large bag of cat food, was surprised when Sister appeared to open the door for her. “Where’d you come from?”
“Operating room.”
“Not a hound, I hope, or Raleigh?”
“No. Walter managed to trap that injured vixen at his place. Chris’s working on her now.” She flipped up the hatchback of Sybil’s Mercedes wagon.
“Thank you. Usually the girl at the front desk will help me, but today everybody’s busy.” She exhaled heavily. The forty-pound bag of food seemed heavier than usual. She closed the hatch. “Sister, I wanted to tell you that I know I’m not Doug Kinser, but I’m learning a lot out there.”
“I’m grateful for your help and I think you’re doing very nicely.”
“Thank you. I get nervous, you know.”
“No one day is like any other. If you think about it, this is a sport that has no time-outs, no manicured playing field, no time limits. And when I watch other sports, you know how I love baseball and football, I watch man pitted against man. At least, usually it’s men.” She smiled. “But with us, it’s man against fox. Guess who wins?”