Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 23

Walter and Weevil waited for the ambulance while Sister turned the field back to Whiskey Ridge. Tootie and Betty followed with the hounds although Tootie had to drift off after Dragon. While not a hound that skirts he was strong-minded, always wanted to be the first. He was skirting now.

Tootie, squeezing Iota, moved outside him to push him back. Determined, he looked up at her, moved back toward where Showboat seized up. Furious, she couldn’t crack her whip. She didn’t want to set off the rest of the pack. Betty, keenly aware of the situation, slowed from a walk to a crawl.

Sister, turning to look back, didn’t see Dragon but fully understood there was a problem with hounds. As they knew her, she motioned for Gray to move up to her while halting the people.

“There’s a problem behind. It’s Dragon but we don’t want the pack to blow up. They’re upset. Will you take the field back and I’ll get there as soon as I can?”

“Of course.”

Sam rode up, a good hand with hounds. “Master, allow me to go with you just in case.”

“Thank you, Sam. Whatever is the problem here, the two of us ought to be able to handle it.” She thought to herself as they rode side by side, Thank God for Sam. He’s quick-witted and stronger than I am.

Passing Betty, Sister quietly briefed her.

Hounds wanted to go with Sister but she told them firmly, “No.” They knew what no meant as well as “leave it.” Ears drooping, they gave Betty piteous and worried looks.

Sister should have paid attention to those looks.

Dragon, trotting now, Tootie still on his outside, stopped about fifty yards above where Walter and Weevil stood. Showboat had come back to Weevil, who held his reins. Walter’s angel mount, Clemson, stood like a rock, which certainly helped Midshipman, a youngster. Clemson also calmed Showboat, still a little nervous.

Shaker remained unconscious.

Sister and Sam pulled up next to Tootie, who had just stopped.

Dragon reached down, picked something up, turned to head back down to the pack.

Tootie’s face registered disgust. As Sister and Sam could now see Dragon, they, too, were aghast. Dragon, thrilled with himself, was carrying a human hand or what was left of it, cleanly cut above the wrist. The flesh, mostly eaten, still gave off the distinct odor of decay. The bones had been gnawed.

“Let us walk calmly back. He’ll carry it with him. We can remove it from him once we’re out of here and once I call Ben.”

“Sister, why don’t I ride ahead and alert Ben?”

“Good idea, Sam. Dragon will walk with Tootie and myself.”

Dragon, fearing to drop his prize, did not open his mouth but obediently followed the Master and the whipper-in, walking between them, head up, tail up.

Tootie said, “There has to be more out there.”

“Yes. I expect the smell is what set off Showboat. You’ll notice horses don’t like dead things. If a deer carcass lays in a field, they’ll shy away from it. If they become used to it—say it’s out in high grass and we can’t see it—they won’t eat near it. Showboat is a good animal.” She paused. “God, I hope Shaker is all right.”

“I didn’t see him come off.”

“Right over the hindquarters because Showboat stood straight up. He hit hard. His head hit the ground with a snap. Even with his hard hat, that will ring your bell. I was a bit aways but I saw the whole thing.” She rode a little more, then said, “Tootie, don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen. We’re going to pull up once we reach the pastures, the flats, at Whiskey Ridge. Ben should be with Sam by then, in a car, I hope.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“People will be talking enough. This will set off high drama. Never doubt that a situation can’t be made worse. The less they know at this point, the better.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her memory unlocked by events, Sister counseled Tootie. “Think like a Master. No matter what goes wrong, you must remain calm. Hounds and horses will feed off your emotions, as will the people. The worst are the people, of course.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Honey, I know you’re upset. This is horrific. Occasionally sorrowful things happen in the hunt field. A hound may be killed—I’ve only lost two in my long career. A horse may drop dead of a heart attack or a stroke just like a person. You have to stay calm. If an animal is injured, the first thing you have to do is prevent them from harming you or themselves but this, well, this I believe, is murder.”

“The hand. You think it belongs to Gregory Luckham?”

“I do.”

“The rest of him has to be out there somewhere.”

“Tootie, yes, but animals eat carrion. He could be scattered all over. Then again, he could have been partially buried, unearthed. This is Ben’s job, not ours. We have to keep our mouths shut. Obviously, we inform staff. You all will need to be extra vigilant.”

The two women and a very happy hound stopped at the edge of the flats. In the distance they could see Betty on Magellan quietly walking hounds up the drive toward their party wagon. The field walked up also. No one noticed them as they were far enough away, plus everyone had to be talking about the accident.

Ben in Sam’s truck, well, Crawford’s truck, rolled down that same drive. Sam could hitch and unhitch a truck and trailer in a skinny minute. Ben would have still been working on it so he wisely stuck with Sam. The two men reached Sister and Tootie, stopped, and got out.

Ben knelt down, eye to eye with Dragon who was not going to drop the mangled hand.

Sister dismounted, handing her reins to Tootie. “Dragon, drop it.”

He looked at her with baleful eyes. He did not drop the loathsome prize.

She reached for it. Ben grabbed her hand. “Don’t. Give me a minute.” He turned. “Sam, do you have a plastic bag or an old rag, anything in the truck?”

Sam opened the door, rummaged around the small seat behind the driver’s seat, retrieved an oil-soaked rag. “All I got.”

“It will have to do.” Ben took the rag, the oil smell preferable to decay, knelt down.

Dragon turned his head. Sister knelt beside Ben.

“Good hound. Good hound. What a find.”

Dragon, ever responsive to praise, wagged his tail, faced his beloved Master.

“Ben, give me the rag. He’s not going to open his mouth for you and you can’t force him. He’s a powerful animal.”

Ben handed her the rag, which she folded over, placing it around the hand. “Dragon, good boy. Good boy. Give it to me. Come on.”

With such reluctance he opened his mouth. The hand dropped into the rag. Sister folded it over the mess, patted him on the head as she handed the object to Ben.

“Thank you,” Ben acknowledged.

He was about to say something about her composure with something so gross. Then he remembered she had lost her son to a PTO accident, the spinning shaft on the back of a tractor that runs the attached implement. Today those PTOs are covered. In 1974 they were not. By the time she had reached her son, her husband having run up to the house for extra help, he had been strangled by his T-shirt, which caught in the PTO. It spun until her husband could climb up on the seat and cut the motor. RayRay remained in one piece but was nearly torn apart. Strangulation does not leave a pretty corpse.

Sam, a young man when this happened, did not have it in mind, but he knew Sister Jane was tough. He also noticed Tootie, and his opinion of her shot sky high.

Ben carefully placed the evidence in the seat as they heard the ambulance sirens approaching where Shaker was laid out.

“Excuse me. I need to call backup.” He fished out his cellphone, then added, “Before you go, tell me what happened.”

They waited for him to finish his call, then Sister, Sam, and Tootie recounted Dragon veering off, a mission in mind.

He jotted a few notes down. Ben always kept a thin leather Smythson notebook in a pocket, even while hunting. He then looked up to see the ambulance crew walking up into the woods.

“This has turned into one hell of a day.” Sam watched the stretcher being carried.

“We can pray. That’s about all we can do.” Sister, too, watched.

“Thank God, Walter was there,” Ben remarked.

“And Weevil. He did everything exactly correct, as did Tootie and Betty.” Sister smiled a thin smile at Tootie. “We have a fabulous staff!”

“What about me?” Dragon felt he performed wonders.

Sister reached down to pet him. “We need to get him back to the others.”

They could see the ambulance team carrying Shaker, Walter walking next to him, down to the ambulance. The ground wasn’t level so this was arduous.

Once Shaker had been placed in the back of the ambulance, Weevil and Showboat on one side and Clemson on the other waited for Walter to mount. Walter must have said something to the ambulance driver about the sirens with the horses there. The ambulance pulled away and the driver didn’t hit the siren until a good quarter mile down the road.

Walter and Weevil walked toward Sister, Tootie, Sam, and Ben. When they reached them Ben thought it prudent to inform them of why Shaker really hit the ground.

“I’ll do my best to keep you all up to date.” Ben walked back to the passenger side as Sam got behind the wheel. Sam put the windows down because he didn’t want the smell to linger in the cab of the truck. Crawford didn’t need to know what had happened. As Sam turned to go back to the trailers, the two men were talking about how to get the hand into a box, anything to keep it out of sight. Ben would drive it to headquarters while Sam would take his horse to Crawford’s barn. Things were complicated. Sam would have to figure out how to pick up Ben’s rig if he couldn’t find a free hand to do it from Whiskey Ridge.

The four, horses happy to go back, walked.

Sister said to them, “Thank God for all of you.”

Walter, her Joint Master, replied. “You’ve drilled us enough times.”

“Well, I didn’t drill you on medical procedure.”

“No. Once I get Clemson home, I’ll drive to the hospital and stay with Shaker. When I know what his injuries are, I’ll call you, then later text the club. The last thing we need are people calling the hospital or you. I’ll take care of it.”

“Should I call Skiff?” Sister asked. “They are becoming very close.”

“That’s a good idea. If she’s there when he wakes up, it might help. I doubt he will have any recollection at all. I hope his memory isn’t impaired, will come back. His head hit the only damned rock on the path.”

“As I said—we need to pray.”

“We do,” Weevil agreed, sobered by events. “Master, do you think that hand belongs to the man who is missing?”

“DNA will tell us that.” Walter spoke for Sister, although he, too, could correctly be addressed as Master. “But I expect we all think that is part of Gregory Luckham.”

They reached the flats, Sister pulled up. “Wait a moment. Gather round.”

Weevil, Tootie, and Walter surrounded her, the horses’ noses turned into a circle.

“Tootie, you might want to stay with your mother or have her stay with you. Whoever has killed knows Chapel Cross, knows it well. So well, he, or possibly she, could kill in a snowstorm and get rid of the corpse without anyone suspecting. If she won’t agree, then I’ll ask Sam to stay with the Van Dorns. Actually, I should ask him anyway. Scratch my request. This will work better. But as we hunt, especially when we hunt again at Tattenhall Station, we’d better be hyperalert.”

“We know Chapel Cross. Most Jefferson Hunt members know it, too.” Walter stated the obvious.

“That has occurred to me, but I can’t think of anyone with enough motive,” Sister replied. “Or maybe I don’t want to. It’s too terrible.”

“Crawford,” Walter immediately responded.

“Well, he does, but he is not a stupid man. I don’t know what we’re up against. It seems as though this is about the pipeline, but it does seem so extreme. We’re missing something.”

Back at their trailers, Dragon put in with the others, the four took care of their horses, then appeared at the breakfast as though nothing else had happened. Everyone asked about Shaker and Walter could tell them he was carefully carried and placed in an ambulance. He made a short announcement that he would send an email once he knew Shaker’s condition.

Sister marveled at what good actors they all were. She was proud of her staff. What she couldn’t keep from recurring like an unwanted theme song in her mind was, What am I missing?