Pansy circled the garage, followed by Dreamboat. Not a tendril of scent assailed their noses. The fox didn’t go to ground. He had vanished, just vanished.
Weevil rode to the edge of the garage, looking inside to see if by chance the fox had climbed onto a shelf. Not a thing.
Well, they’d had another run, short but still good music.
“Come along,” he bid his charges as they turned back to Shootrough.
Leaning over HoJo’s side, Weevil checked for tracks. Raccoon tracks dotted the creekside once he again reached it, but nothing else. Yvonne and her passengers sat on the road. Upon hearing Weevil’s call, then seeing him cross, Yvonne backed up to a spot where she could turn around to park by the side of the farm road.
Weevil passed the storage shed, reached the intersecting farm road, and turned for the big mill itself, two miles off. The day would try the patience of all the giving saints.
Betty and Tootie shadowed him as the field walked far enough behind the hounds, so as not to disturb them.
As the temperature dropped people flipped up the collars of their coats, which protected your neck a bit. If a hunter wore a four-in-hand tie, wider and often thicker than a thinner tie, that helped cut cold. Sister, long in the tooth and wise in the ways of keeping as warm as possible, except for her feet after an hour, wore a cashmere stock tie. Since it wasn’t fuzzy it looked like a conventional stock and blocked the wind.
Heading back onto the trail flanked by thick woods, Barrister, two years old, a young entry, stopped, tail flipping. “Hey.”
Diana checked. “Let’s go.”
This fox, not anyone they knew, had walked in the middle of the farm road, which was helpful of him.
“Okay, girls, bottoms up.” Yvonne shifted into drive.
The ladies held on to their empty glasses except for Yvonne, who handed hers to Aunt Daniella.
Young and strong, the healthy red heard the commotion so he stepped on it, as did Yvonne. She had to crawl behind the last flight, while the fox ran through the creeks between the two hills, charged up the western one, took the big coop in the corner, then ran for all he was worth to the mill itself, now a mile distant, but given its size, visible.
Tootie, now in the pasture, hollered, “Tally-ho!”
Betty, also now in the right pasture, caught sight of the fellow speeding toward the mill. Urging on Magellan, her second horse, she moved up to keep him in view. He was breathtakingly beautiful.
Hounds burst onto the left pasture, speaking as one. Then Weevil took the big coop, pushed HoJo, lengthening his stride so Weevil could close with his hounds.
As there was no coop in the middle of the fence, hounds easily wiggled under but Weevil had to hurry to the end of the pasture, where there was another big coop. By the time he was over and Betty and Tootie had also cleared their obstacles, the fox zigged toward the mill then cleverly ran around it to the front, where the big waterwheel slapped, slapped, slapped.
He weaved through the trailers, zoomed up to the house, moved around it, then hit the afterburner to reach the hay shed, where he spied Hortensia’s den entrance, the one on the western side. He skidded right down into it, emerging in the hay shed, where the stored orchard grass and timothy hay bales smelled like heaven.
Hounds bayed outside. Pookah, Pansy, and Baylor, another youngster, dug for all they were worth. The entrance, cleverly angled, yielded no way in.
“Well done,” Weevil praised them.
“Not fair. Not fair, I can get him if I can dig a little more.” Baylor believed this was possible.
“Give it up, kid.” Dreamboat deeply breathed in the fresh fox scent.
Sister rode up to Weevil. “We’re here. Might as well put them up. They did very well on a spotty day.”
Gray rode up alongside of Sister as they walked to the mill. “Not a bad day.”
“No. Not a terrific day, but hounds did well, no one hit the ground. February baffles me. Always has.”
“Was reading in the paper that many of our worst snowstorms hit us in February. Well, sooner or later have to start shoveling.” He noticed the hounds, sterns up. “Happy.”
“They are. They ask for so little and give so much. Same with our horses.”
Gray patted Wolsey’s neck. “Right, old man?”
“Right,” Wolsey replied.
Once at the trailers it seemed colder than when they began. It was. Temperature plays tricks on one and the spray shooting off the paddles made it seem even colder.
Weevil dismounted, as did the staff. “Kennel up.”
The riders, now on the ground, tidied up their horses, removed bridles, tossed on blankets. Freddie Thomas saw to her horse then rubbed her hands. The cold felt so raw.
As hounds stepped up onto the hound trailer, the party wagon built just for them, Barmaid, young, lagged a bit behind.
Freddie opened her trailer door, foot on the running board, stepped into the room, carpet on the floor, her extra heavy jackets hanging on a rack, a saddle rack and bridle holder on the right wall.
Nose peeping out from the blanket, Hortensia waited until Freddie’s back was turned. “Now!”
Ewald wormed his way out from under the cozy blanket. The two foxes blasted by Freddie, Ewald brushing against her leg. She looked down in time to see the red and the gray vault out of her tack room.
Barmaid, door held for her, turned to see the escape. The odor of fresh, very fresh fox reached her nostrils. She took off.
“Foxes!” she squealed, her young voice still high.
“What are we waiting for?” Tattoo shouted gleefully.
The entire pack exploded out of the trailer, with Trinity in the rear, still a bit shy from being kicked. Weevil stood there with the door open, feeling like an idiot, as he didn’t quickly shut it.
Freddie, finally in possession of herself, yelled, “Tally-ho!”
Sister ordered Gray, “Leg up, honey.”
He cupped her left foot in his hand, gave her a lift, then easily swung up on Cardinal Wolsey. The horses were excited.
People stood at the trailers, dumbfounded.
“Betty, Tootie, mount up!” Sister yelled as Weevil, young and lithe, was already in the saddle, passing his master; he could, being the huntsman. The two foxes, not lacking in speed or brains, streaked through the trailers, now passed the house to hit the open space, all pistons firing.
“Follow me,” Hortensia called out.
The two magical creatures, out in the open, vulnerable save for their head start, blasted for the big hay shed.
“I see them! I see them!” Barrister, Barmaid’s brother, babbled with joy.
The “B” ’s, young entry, never knew foxhunting could be so unpredictable. At that moment, neither did the humans.
Freddie, back at the trailers, for she’d removed her horse’s bridle, stared in wonderment then glanced down at her right boot to see a few slivers of red fox fur where Ewald had brushed her.
Others mounted back up but most had horses already tied.
Weevil, right behind his hounds, horn between the buttons of his coat, remained silent. Hounds needed no encouragement.
Hortensia reached the hay shed, slid into her entrance like a baseball player belly down trying to steal third. Immediately behind her, Ewald also skidded to safety. Thank the fox in the sky that Hortensia’s den was so close.
Hounds crowded around the opening.
“There’s gotta be a way,” a frenzied Barmaid yelped.
Diana said, “Good work, pup. No way we can reach them.”