Hounded To Death

CHAPTER 15

On Thursday, August 7, the heat was shimmering off the hay fields and the dirt roads by seven-thirty.

“Too hot to have been born,” Sister grumbled, as they walked twenty couple of hounds, including three couple of the second T litter: Thimble, Twist, Tootsie, Trooper, Taz, and Tattoo.

The youngsters had behaved so well that Sister and Shaker thought they could all go out together. They’d been walking in couple straps since late spring; then, by early June, they had gone out uncoupled but only four at a time. On a sweltering morning, young hounds would be less inclined to shoot off—or so the humans reasoned.

Sybil, on vacation with her sons at Prince Edward Island, would be home the end of the month. So this morning Tootie took the right side, Betty was on the left, Sister brought up the rear, and Shaker, as usual, walked in front.

“I can never figure out why I want the hounds behind me when I’m on foot but in front of me when I’m on a horse.” Shaker had tied a bandanna around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

“That is a puzzle,” Sister agreed.

The hounds walked toward the foot of Hangman’s Ridge. They were taken a little farther every day to prepare them for cubbing, which would begin after Labor Day. The youngsters had proved so obedient that the humans now thought they could relax.

Then, too, the heat created a lassitude. Even if one was bucking hay, there was a languor to the work.

“Aren’t you surprised that Val stuck to her desk job?” Betty asked Tootie.

“Kinda. She likes the money, though.”

“There is that,” Betty agreed. “Saw Felicity yesterday. She’s really feeling pregnant. Two months to go. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that by the last month you have to walk leaning backward.”

“Carrying to term through summer’s heat.” Sister shook her head.

“Remember all this, Tootie.” Betty laughed. “If you get pregnant try to do it in summer. Then you’ll deliver in spring. It’s much easier.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” Tootie smiled. “You know, what did surprise me was Val coming back for Felicity’s wedding. If it weren’t for you-all and Val, I don’t think anyone would have been there. Val still thinks Felicity is throwing her life away, but she doesn’t say that to Felicity anymore.”

“Both sets of parents will live to regret being so narrow-minded.At least, I hope they will.” Sister still couldn’t believe those people.

“Hell, some people never grow up. Look at Crawford.” Shaker’s loathing of Crawford had not dimmed with time.

Twist, tail up over her back just as incorrect as it could be, whispered to Taz, “Let’s run!”

“Where?” Taz was the literal type.

“Up the ridge. We’ve never been there. The others say it’s haunted.” Twist’s ears pricked up slightly.

“Ha.” Taz dismissed it.

“Don’t break from the pack,” Diane, overhearing, advised the two girls. “There are all kind of ghosts in the world—humans, hounds, horses—as you’ll see in good time.”

But the thrill of rebellion was rising in Twist’s chest. She nudged Taz and then charged toward the ridge. Taz followed.

Tootie started to run after the two bad girls but remembered what Sister had drilled into her: Keep the bulk of the pack together. She dropped her lash and stood still on her side, as did Betty.

Shaker, voice soothing because the other youngsters wanted to follow, crooned, “Relax. Relax. Come on now. Come along.” He turned and the pack followed.

Tattoo and Tootsie hesitated a moment, but Sister pointed the knob end of her whip toward the two young entry—“Don’t even think about it”—and they ducked their heads, trying to look inconspicuous.

When the pack returned to the kennel in good order in a half hour, Diane said sternly to the second litter of Ts who remained, “When those girls come back I will tear them a new one.”

“Can’t do it,” Cora remarked. “They’re in the wimpy girls’ run.”

“I can think about it. And we can all give them a piece of our minds when they come back.”

Shaker, on his way out of the kennels, called over his shoulder, “I’m going out on Soldier Road, just in case.”

“All right then, we’ll go up the ridge,” Sister agreed.

“Shaker, I’ll go with you, just in case. Might be easier, what with two of them to cajole or catch,” Betty said.

“Good idea.” He sprinted toward the old 454 Chevy half-ton.

“Tootie, let’s go.” Sister swept out the door as Tootie opened it for her.

Raleigh and Rooster were waiting patiently outside the kennels, ready to go.

“Boys, you stay here.”

“But we’ll know where the hounds are before you do,” Raleigh protested, to no avail.

“Ass kissers,” called Golly, lounging on a large tree limb in one of the huge pin oaks by the kennels.

“Regurgitator,” Rooster called up, his lovely harrier voice resonating. “My, my, what a big word for a dumb dog.” Golly lorded it over both of them.

“You have to come down out of that tree sometime, Golly, and when you do I’ll get you.” Rooster raised the fur on his neck for effect.

“You’ll have forgotten by then,” Golly sassed.

“I will not,” Rooster called up.

“Ignore her. All she wants is attention,” Raleigh counseled.

“He’ll forget. Rooster’s older than dirt. His mind is going.” The calico thoroughly enjoyed the torment.

“I will not.” Rooster was sixteen and there was a smidgen of truth to Golly’s accusation.

“Doggy Alzheimer’s.”

Raleigh, hoping to make light of the situation, replied, “Halfheimer’s. He’s not that old.”

“Oh, yes he is.”

“You’re nine yourself.” Raleigh could count as well as anyone else.

“The prime of life!” She dropped her luxurious tail over the branch, allowing it to hang for effect, much as a lady might trail one end of a feather boa.

As the house pets indulged in their war of the words, Sister marveled at the clouds of dust. “Thank the Lord for air-conditioning.No more open windows.”

“The Weather Channel said our water level is twelve inches down for this time of year.”

“Tootie, I really believe Al Gore is right. I’ve seen too much change in the weather in too short a time. Damn those puppies.”

“I guess it’s better they run off now, rather than when we start cubbing.”

“Wise words. No wonder you’re going to Princeton.” She smiled.

“I’m pretending I’m excited. Dad keeps asking why I’m not declaring a major in business right away.”

“He’ll let up,” Sister predicted, as the red GMC climbed the twisting road to the top of Hangman’s Ridge.

The two women got out of the truck. Even in the morning heat, a chill pervaded the air.

Sure enough, the youngsters had seen ghosts at the tree, which had so scared the bejesus out of them they’d scampered down the side of the ridge toward the farm. However, the underbrush was so thick, Sister and Tootie couldn’t see them.

“Hey, what’s this?” Taz crawled over to a big fox den.

Originally, this had been Georgia’s den when she left her mother, but she had relocated closer to the kennels. The new living quarters were more pleasant, plus she could visit the hounds at night. There was never a shortage of treats lying about the barns either. And her mother, Inky, was usually there. Inky and Diana were special friends.

“Fox den.” Twist knew that much.

“Wow.” Taz inhaled the heady scent of eau de Vulpes, plus something else equally tantalizing.

“Is someone in there?” Twist called down.

“Yes, you silly ass, and I’ll thank you to leave!” a voice boomed out, making both hounds step back.

“Who are you?” Taz worked up her nerve.

“Who are you?” came the saucy reply.

“I’m Taz and this is my sister Twist. We’re foxhounds, and we live at Roughneck Farm.”

“Good. I’ll run you two until you drop from heat exhaustion. I’m Thales, and I’m the fastest fox in the whole world.” Thales certainly did not suffer from an inferiority complex.

“What’s that other smell?” Twist edged up to the mouth of the den.

“An old toy. You can have it.” The fox chuckled to himself because he figured his toy would bring them trouble.

Thales, named for a Greek philosopher, was far more sly than the original Thales ever was, a man so entranced by higher thought that he fell right into a well as he contemplated the sky.

“I hear them.” Tootie pointed toward the steep incline.

“So do I.” Sister walked to the edge of the ridge; a light breeze swept over her, for there was always some wind up there. “Come on, Twist, come on, Taz. Let’s go.”

Twist, boot in mouth—that was Thales’s toy—said nothing. Taz, beginning to understand that she had seriously discomfited her master, said, “We’d better go.”

“I’m taking the toy.” Twist dropped it for a moment. “We’ll see ghosts again.”

“If Sister’s there, I won’t be scared.” Taz had confidence in the master.

“Tootie’s there, too.” Twist lifted her head, inhaling deeply. “All right.” She picked up the boot.

“Stupid pups.” Thales laughed as they pushed up through the undergrowth.

“There you are. Come along.” Sister knelt down.

Taz ran right up but Twist wanted to show off her trophy. She circled.

“Twist, come on.” Tootie knelt down, too.

Although the humans lacked the superior olfactory equipment of the hounds, the work boot, tongue chewed off, emitted the unmistakable odor of old rot.

Twist walked right up and dropped the boot at Tootie’s feet. Involuntarily, she took a step back.

Sister blinked. “Let’s get these two in the truck first.”

Happily the two leaped into the front seat, where they would ride. Sister closed the door and she and Tootie returned to the grisly toy.

“There’s a foot in there.” Tootie held her nose. “Mostly bones but still some flesh down in the toe.”

“The worms have given up on it.” Sister walked back to the truck and put on her gloves. Then she carefully picked the trophy up and placed it in the bed of the truck.

Tootie squeezed in next to the hounds, and Sister, worried, started down the ridge.

“Sister, there has to be more than a foot,” Tootie said, a slight wave of nausea rising up.

“That’s what worries me. Violence is coming closer and closer to home.”