Hotspur

CHAPTER 39

Sister and Tedi worked like demons.

Tedi, thanks to friends in the film business, found two physically appropriate actors who could ride a little. She flew them to Richmond. Her friend, senior master of the Deep Run Hunt, Mary Robertson, put them up so no one would see them back in Jefferson Hunt territory. She also, prudently, worked with them a bit on their riding.

Actors, eager for employment, regularly overstate their credentials. The young lady, Melissa Lords, had ridden once or twice in a Western saddle.

Mary had her work cut out for her. But she’d managed to get the beautiful Melissa somewhat comfortable at the trot.

When Tedi drove down to check on their progress, she burst into tears at the sight of Melissa.

The actor, Brandon Sullivan, had more riding experience. His fabulous looks kept the barn girls in a twitter.

Mary would deliver the horses, Melissa, and Brandon to Roughneck Farm early in the morning of the hunt. She’d ride as a guest that day. This would stir no suspicions, as Sister often drove down for a day’s sport at Deep Run and Mary Robertson, Tom Mackell, Red Dog Covington, and Ginny Perrin, the joint-masters, returned the favor.

Walter would park in the hay shed to hide his truck that morning.

Sister chose the day by calling Robert Van Winkle, the weatherman, a local celebrity who had a genuine passion for studying weather.

He told her there might be a bit of ground cover October fourth or fifth. An edge of chilly air should be cutting into central Virginia then.

True to her word, she asked the membership to allow the sheriff to test their .38s. People complied with her request. Nothing came of it, which was no surprise.

She called Alice Ramy in Blacksburg and told her if any wild rumors reached her at Virginia Tech or back home, to dismiss them until they could talk.

By Thursday, October third, she felt they were as ready as they’d ever be. It was still warm with azure skies. She fretted over the weather.

That afternoon she and Shaker walked out puppies.

“Had a good look at Sari Rasmussen’s mother yet?”

Shaker rolled his eyes. “A meddlesome woman.”

“Me or Lorraine?”

“You.” He laughed. “I’ve spoken to her a few times— when she comes by to pick up Sari. I’m starting to like the days when Jennifer’s car breaks down.”

“Good.”

They walked along, praising the young ones. Clouds of butterflies whirled upward from the horse manure in the farm road. Small butterfly umbrellas of yellow, orange, milk white, and rust attracted the puppies’ attention as they passed.

“Nervous?”

“Yes,” Sister answered truthfully.

“I still think you should give Ben Sidell a heads-up.”

“I don’t know. He’d be wasting an entire morning. Nothing may happen.”

“The problem is, if something does flare up, if we do rock the killer’s world, it could get real ugly. You carry your gun.”

“I will.”

“Let’s stroll through the orchard. Won’t hurt these chillun’ to smell apples.”

The boughs of the old trees bent low, their bounty ready for picking. The Mexicans specializing in such small orchards were due next Monday. A young enterprising fellow, Concho, contracted with the small orchards, and his business was booming.

Puppies lifted their heads, nostrils wide open. The rich fragrance of apples greeted them as it did the humans. However, the hounds could also smell the different types of insects there as well as all the various types of bird droppings. Their experience of the orchard was richer than that of humans’, whose senses were duller.

The hound pads pattered over the grass, creating a rhythm. Their light panting provided a counterpoint. The heavier tread of Sister and Shaker sounded like a backbeat.

Once out of the orchard they headed back toward the kennels.

“Occurs to me we are putting down a T cross.” Shaker finally spoke.

“Uh-huh.” Sister felt the warm sun on her back like a friend’s hand, reassuring.

Sometimes, especially if the summer or fall lacked rainfall, the earth packed hard like brick. Getting a line of scent proved damnably difficult. Older hounds, having endured bad scenting conditions, stuck it out, kept trying. Younger hounds became frustrated more easily. Cubbing season coincided with rutting season for deer, so their odor was intensified and tempted young ones. If they couldn’t find fox scent why not try this other heavy, powerful aroma, so powerful even humans could smell it.

Whippers-in would crack their whips, pushing back the “bad kids” if they could reach them. The thick coverts of Virginia sometimes delayed a whipper-in and hounds skedaddled.

Staff could forgive a hound breaking once and needing to be corrected. Touching a deer twice, the proper word being touching not chasing, called for other measures.

Sister and Shaker would get the whippers-in or two trusty members to lay a T cross of scent.

Early in the morning, the dew heavy on the meadows, one person would put down fox scent. The line ended up in a glorious pile of dog cookies.

Crossing this just like a T bar would be a line of deer scent. This line led directly to a thick covert. One or two persons hid in there with noisemakers and ratshot.

Deer scent and fox scent can be purchased at hunting stores. Whoever handled the potent little bottles needed to be careful or they’d reek for days.

If hounds broke at the cross of the T and headed to the covert, an unpleasant surprise awaited them. The humans hollered at them, fired ratshot in the air. If a hound occasioned to be particularly thickheaded, persisting in pushing the deer scent, a little peppering of ratshot on the nether regions cured him.

Usually, the cacophony startled the hounds and they turned tail quickly, joining their comrades who stuck to fox scent.

By the time the group reached the cookies they knew they had made the right decision.

The foxhound is a problem solver, a most intelligent creature. It remained the province of the human to make sure that the hound solved the problem correctly and was properly rewarded for it.

“If this works and the killer goes on the false scent, you’ll be in high cotton.” He opened the chain-link gate to the puppy run. “ ’Course if that doesn’t work you are going to have a lot of people spring-loaded in the pissedoff position.”

“I know.” She shut the gate as the last young one scooted in.

“Even if you don’t see anything, by the time you get back to the trailers there will be questions. For all I know, these two actors will be back there waiting for their Oscars.”

“Well, they’re supposed to come back here.”

“Boss, Murphy’s Law.”

“Oh, shut up. Don’t you think I’ve gone over this until I’m dizzy? I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She said this in a good-natured way.

He sighed. “Maybe it’s a blessing we don’t know the future.”