In the distance they heard hounds; then they heard silence.
Comet knew hounds would find scent soon enough but they weren’t where he thought they’d have to cast again. “I need to get out of here before the pack is here.”
“You’re in dangerous territory even if you do get out. Your one hope is to go under the porch.”
“You can’t let him go! You can’t.” Rooster was beside himself.
“I have an idea.” Golly spoke to Comet: “Stay here. We can’t get in. The hounds can’t get in. If you don’t kill one chicken, Sister will put hounds up and us, too. She’ll let you go. It’s better than taking a chance with Rooster.”
“No!” Rooster spun in circles of frustration.
“Calm down.” Raleigh’s deep throaty growl meant business. “You can hunt rabbits all you want but leave the fox alone.”
“But I’m a harrier. I can hunt foxes as well as those damned foxhounds.”
“I don’t doubt that but you’re not supposed to hunt foxes and besides, where would you be if Sister hadn’t brought you home? She doesn’t want any fox killed. This is no way to reward her. Peter would be upset if he knew you offended Sister.”
Rooster, anguished, lay down, putting both paws over his eyes. He moaned.
“Your word?”
“Yes.” Comet, full of corn, wouldn’t have killed a chicken anyway, but no point in spoiling his image.
Raleigh stood over the harrier. “I’m bigger, I’m stronger, and if you even twitch, I will tear you up.”
“And I’ll scratch your eyes out.” Golly puffed up to three times her size. Then she hissed at Comet. “You, too. Worthless carcass!” She was brave but sitting under Raleigh’s chest she was especially brave.
The gyps in heat, the household animals, and Comet listened as cry picked up, then stopped again.
“I thought they’d be halfway here by now,” Comet commented. “I wonder what’s going on?”
Back at the edge of the woods, the hounds hit a hot pocket, one of those swirls of air sometimes ten or more degrees hotter than the air around it. The scent, already over their heads, scattered. As the hounds cast themselves St. Just flew low overhead. He circled, then flew down just above their heads.
“Target’s in the ravine. Comet split off from him. You’ll have a split pack if you aren’t careful.”
Dragon, ready to roll, shouted to Cora, “Let’s follow the raven.”
“No. We pick up scent properly. We aren’t gallivanting across the county because of one raven’s revenge. Put your nose to the ground and get to work. Now!”
The check, that pause in hunting where hounds must again find scent, although unexpected, was near the ravine, a half mile away if one could move in a straight line, which one couldn’t.
Sister leaned over to Martha. “Will you take the field? I’m feeling punk.”
Thrilled to be given such responsibility, acting field master, Martha gushed, “I’d be glad to. Would you like someone to go back with you?”
“You know, I think if I walk back I’ll be fine and if I feel better I’ll find you. I must have eaten something that doesn’t agree with me.” Standing in her stirrups, Sister said, “Stay with Martha.” Then she rode across the meadow as though heading home. To her surprise, Walter Lungrun followed her.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
“Upset stomach. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll escort you home. We’re close enough to go back to your place, don’t you think?”
“You rejoin the field. I’ll be fine, thank you.”
He hesitated. “It won’t take long. I can find them.”
It occurred to her that Walter might have killed Fontaine to revenge his father. She thought he was too smart to risk his career, his own life . . . but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have done it. Find a motive and you find the murderer. A thin ripple of fear shot through her. She shook it off. Even if he did have reason, she didn’t think he could ride well enough or knew enough about scent to lay a good drag. She was fluttery inside.
“I’m the master and I’m telling you to rejoin the field.”
“Yes, Master.” He obediently turned Clemson back toward the field, which was still waiting for hounds to find the line.
Sister walked across the creek meadows to the base of Hangman’s Ridge. She followed the base of the ridge until she was out of sight. She heard hounds strike again, moving across the creek meadows toward the woods. Once into the woods she turned back, squeezed Lafayette into a canter, skirted the meadow, jumping in at a stiff coop—three feet nine inches—used only by staff. This dropped her closer to the ravine. She dismounted, leading Lafayette to a sheltered overhang. Tying him to a low limb, she patted his neck. “Stay here, buddy, and stay silent.”
“Yes, but don’t leave me for long. It’s too good a day,” he pleaded.
She rubbed his head. “Silent, dear friend.” Then she used whatever cover she could find and slowly worked her way toward the rock outcroppings. She reached them in five minutes, slipping a few times. At the outcroppings she dropped down to the ledge, partially protected from view by holly bushes at the edge plus the low full limb of a fir tree. There she waited.
She heard hounds at the other edge of the ravine, the sound funneling down, then lifting up to her. She heard another check, another find, and she heard the pack split, the bulk moving away from her, a splinter group heading down into the ravine. Below her she saw Target, fat, glossy red, trotting down to the creek. Then he walked through the creek, crossing a bit above the rocky crossing where the envelope was tacked to the tree. To her amazement, Aunt Netty popped out of her den and Inky called from the tree she was perching in.
Target paused, barked something to Netty, then hearing the splinter group close in, he hurried up toward the rock outcroppings as Netty ducked back into the den, her nose still visible.
Low into the ravine flew St. Just, dive-bombing Target. And behind St. Just, closing fast was Dragon, three couple of young hounds racing with him.
“Kill him. Kill him,” St. Just screamed.
Hoofbeats thundered behind the rock outcropping. Sister shrank farther in, flat now against the rock. She prayed Lafayette, beautifully gray, wouldn’t catch the eye of the whip above her and he wouldn’t whinny to the horse. He didn’t.
Down into the ravine the whip rode and it wasn’t until she saw Keepsake that Sister knew it was Cody.
“What a gifted rider,” she thought to herself as Cody cracked her whip, trying to turn back Dragon.
St. Just dive-bombed Target again, so intent on his mission, the blue-black bird didn’t hear Athena overhead. She waited for St. Just to reach the bottom of his dive. Then with open talons she streamed down, raking the raven across the back.
Sister had never seen anything like it. The two birds climbed into the air and St. Just screamed at Athena, who silently flew to a high tree branch. St. Just swooped past her, then dove for Target again, who was climbing up toward the rock outcropping. Athena opened her wide wingspan, lifted off, again striking the raven, this time with her claws balled up. Black feathers flew and St. Just pulled off Target to face the huge owl. St. Just’s only weapon against his foe was speed. Athena’s size, wisdom, and famed ferocity ensured that only a fool would tangle with her.
By the time St. Just pulled away, turned in the air to strike again at the red fox, Target had reached the rock outcroppings, climbing to the ledge.
He froze when he saw Sister, then boldly ran right between her legs, ducking into the den behind her.