No time to worry, for once on the other side the field tore after the hounds. Susan, right behind Harry, called out,“The fence ahead. Turn sharp right, Harry.”
Harry had forgotten how evil that fence was. It was like an airplane landing strip but without the strip. You touched down and you turned, or else you crashed into the trees. Tomahawk easily soared over the fence. In the air and as she landed Harry pressed hard with her left leg and opened her right rein, holding her hand away from and to the side of Tommy’s neck. He turned like a charm and so did Susan’s horse right on her heels. Mim boldly took the fence at an angle so she didn’t have to maneuver as much. Little Marilyn and Fitz made it. Harry didn’t look over her shoulder to see who made it after that because she was moving so fast that tears were filling her eyes.
They thundered along the wood’s edge and then found a deer path through the thick growth. Harry hated galloping through woods. She always feared losing a kneecap but the pace was too good and there wasn’t time to worry about it. Also, Tomahawk was handy at weaving in and out through the trees and did a pretty good job keeping his sides, and Harry’s legs, away from the trunks. The field wove its way through the oaks, sweet gums, and maples to emerge on a meadow, undulating toward the mountains. Harry dropped the reins on Tomahawk’s neck and the old boy flew. His joy mingled with her joy. Susan drew alongside, her dappled gray running with his ears back. He always did that. Didn’t mean much except it sometimes scared people who didn’t know Susan or the horse.
A three-board fence, interrupted by a three-foot-six coop, hove into view. Before she knew it Harry had landed on the other side. The pace and the cold morning air burned her lungs. She could see Big Marilyn out of the corner of her left eye. Standing in her stirrup irons with her hands well up her gelding’s neck, Mim urged on her steed. She was determined to overtake Harry. A horse race, and what a place for it! Harry glanced over at Mim, who glanced back. Clods of earth spewed into the air. Susan, not one to drop back, stayed right with them. A big jump with a drop on the other side beckoned ahead. The Field Master cleared it. Mim’s horse inched in front of Tomahawk. Harry carefully dropped behind Mim’s thoroughbred. It wouldn’t do to take a jump in tandem unplanned. Mim soared over with plenty of daylight showing underneath her horse’s belly. Harry let the weight sink into her heels, preparing to absorb the shock of the drop on the other side, and flew over it, though her heart was in her mouth. Those jumps with a drop on the other side made you feel as if you were airborne forever and the landing often came as a jarring surprise.
A steep hill rose before them and they rode up it, little stones clattering underneath. They pulled up at the crest. The hounds had lost the line again.
“Good run.” Mim smiled. “Good run, Harry.”
Mrs. Hogendobber and Blair drove in her Falcon to where she thought the run would go. The old car nosed into a turnaround. She sprang out of the vehicle.“Hurry up!”
Blair, breathing hard, followed her up another large hill, this one with a commanding view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. His eyes moved in the direction of her pointing finger.
“That’s the first of Crozet’s tunnels, way up there. This is the very edge of Farmington’s territory.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, there’s a national association that divides up the territory. No one can hunt up in the mountains, too rough really, but on the other side the territory belongs to another hunt, Glenmore, I think. To our north it’s Rappahannock, then Old Dominion; to the east, Keswick and then Deep Run. Think of it like states.”
“I don’t know when I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. Did the hounds lose the scent?”
“Yes. They’ve checked while the Huntsman casts the hounds. Think of it like casting a net with a nose for fox. Good pack too. As fleet as sound.”
Far, far in the distance she heard the strange cry of a hound.
Down at the check, all heads turned.
Fitz, now winded, whispered to Little Marilyn,“Honey, can we go in soon?”
“You can.”
“This terrain is really pretty rugged. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’m not alone and I’m a better rider than you are,” Little Marilyn informed him, somewhat haughtily but still in a whisper.
The Huntsman followed the cry of his lone hound. The pack moved toward the call. The Field Master waited for a moment, then motioned for the field to move off. The sweet roll of earth crunched up. More rock outcroppings challenged the sure-footedness of the horses.
“We’re about out of real estate,” Harry said to Susan. She kept her voice low. It was irritating to strain to hear the hounds and have someone chattering behind you. She didn’t want to bother any of the others.
“Yeah, he’ll have to pull the hounds back.”
“We’re heading toward the tunnel,” Mim stated.
“Can’t go there. And we shouldn’t. Who knows what’s up there? That’s all we need, for a bear or something to jump out of the tunnel and scare the bejesus out of these horses.” Little Marilyn wasn’t thrilled at the prospect.
“Well, we can’t go up there, that’s for sure. Anyway, the Chesapeake and Ohio sealed up the tunnel,” Fitz-Gilbert added.
“Yes, but Kelly Craycroft opened it up again.” Susan referred to Kelly Craycroft’s clever reopening and camouflaging of the tunnel. “Wonder if the railroad did seal it back up?”
“I don’t want to find out.” Fitz’s horse was getting restive.
The cry of the lone hound soon found answers. The pack worked its way toward the tunnel. The Field Master held back the field. The Huntsman stopped. He blew his horn but only some of the hounds returned as they were bidden. The stray hound cried and cried. A few others now joined in this throaty song.
“Letting me down. Those hounds are letting me down,” the Huntsman, shamed by their disobedience, moaned to a Whipper-In who rode along with him to get the hounds back in line.
The Whipper-In flicked the lash at the end of his whip after a straggler, who shuttled back to the pack.“Deer? But they haven’t run deer. Except for Big Lou.”
“That’s not Big Lou up there though.” The Huntsman moved toward the sound. “Well, come along with me and we’ll see if we can’t get those babies back down before they ruin a good day’s hunting.”
The two staff horses picked their way through the unforgiving terrain. They could now see the tunnel. The hounds sniffed and worried at the entrance. A huge turkey vulture flew above them, swooped down on an air current, bold as brass, and disappeared into the tunnel.
“Damn,” the Whip exclaimed.
The Huntsman blew his horn. The Whipper-In made good use of his whip but the animals kept speaking. They weren’t confused; they were upset.
As this had never happened before to the Huntsman in his more than thirty years of hunting, he dismounted and handed his reins to the Whip. He walked toward the entrance. The vulture emerged, another in its wake. The Huntsman noticed hunks of rancid meat dangling from their beaks. He caught a whiff of it too. As he neared the tunnel entrance he caught another blast, much stronger. The hounds whined now. One even rolled over and showed its belly. The Huntsman noticed that some stones had fallen away from the entrance. The odor of decay, one he knew well from life in the country, seeped out of the hole full bore. He kicked at the stones and a section rolled away. The railroad had neglected to reclose the entrance after all. He squinted, trying to see into the darkness, but his nose told him plenty. It was a second or two before he recognized that the dead creature was a human being. He involuntarily stepped back. The hounds whined pitifully. He called them away from the tunnel, swaying a bit as he came out into the light.