Sister slowed. She didn't want to run into the fence, plus she knew Aztec, bursting with talent, would just lift off and clear the fence. She thought it unwise to ask some of the riders behind her to follow suit. The coop, once she found it, would be more prudent.
Off in the distance she heard Diana's voice, and Cora's bel canto.
“Fly! Fly! Fly!”
The other hounds in chorus,
“Yes.”
“Where is that damned coop?” she whispered, eager to be with her hounds.
A blackened shape interrupted the fence line.
“That's it.”
Aztec curved to the right, then swung to the left with long, fluid strides to hit the spot perfectly in front of the coop, the rain-soaked earth squishing underneath his hooves. He gave an extra surge of power because of the footing, clearing the coop with a foot to spare, which made Sister laugh as she hadn't expected Aztec to jump so big. He was still young, inclined to overjump.
“Good boy.” She patted his neck.
Behind her she heard Tedi land, then Edward, both superbly mounted, as always. She headed left again, following the face of the corn.
Shaker was in the cornfield, behind his hounds. Betty sat now on the farm road, waiting for the hounds to emerge like small ghosts from between the straight-planted rows.
She heard Shaker's high-pitched “Whoop.” If he was going to turn or call them back, she'd hear the horn, the three or four long, piercing notes of equal length.
Betty hoped Sybil was on the far side of the cornfield. She couldn't see a thing, contenting herself with the knowledge that no one else could, either.
The bulk of the pack now ran thirty paces behind Dragon. Delia, bringing up the rear, was fifty paces behind.
Charlie scampered over the zigzag fence, ran between Outlaw's legs for effect.
“Gotcha!”
he shouted over his shoulder.
Both Betty and Outlaw, hearts in their mouths, had to settle themselves for a second, then Betty laughed. The gall of that fox.
“Outlaw,” she whispered. “Steady yourself. The whole pack is going to run right through us.”
He twitched his ears forward and back.
“Okay.”
Within two minutes they did just that, then Betty jumped over the fence on the opposite side of the farm road and was swallowed by the fog. She was heading for the orchard. Had she been able to see she would have spurred on Outlaw the minute Charlie ran between her legs, but she couldn't. She thought the wiser course was to let the hounds blow through her; she wouldn't hurt anyone that way and she could ride hard through the orchard, a kind of shortcut.
Sister, face wet from corn leaves, heard the flap, flap, flap behind her as other riders were getting it full in the face. There was no ducking the corn, the silken red tassels loaded with the moisture.
She felt clammy. The dew point was soggy to the max. Then Sister felt the first drops of a drizzle. She blasted out of the corn row, lifted over the zigzag fence, hooves sunk into the farm road, the red clay now viscous. She hooked left.
Shaker, ahead, blew them on.
Before she knew it, she'd jumped over the zigzag fence on the opposite side of the road and headed straight into the apple orchard. The scent of the apples, almost ready to be picked, filled the air.
The voices of the hounds suddenly stopped.
Trident whispered,
“What happened?”
Diana said,
“We've lost the scent.”
Dragon, furious, growled,
“I was right behind him!
He's got to be here!”
Shaker rode up to his hounds. “Try on. Eee-lou.”
Dutifully, all hounds put their noses to the ground, but nothing. A youngster wanted to run heel, but Cora put her right.
“But it's good here,”
Rassle whined.
“I know, but you're heading backwards. Must stay
forward.”
Diana confirmed Cora's correction.
The field finally caught up. Betty stayed on the other side of the apple orchard since Shaker didn't blow her in.
Sybil was at the foot of Hangman's Ridge; having gotten herself turned around, she finally found her way out by following first the creek bed, then emerging into the north side of the cornfield. She followed a row in the fog and drizzle to the farm road at the base of the ridge.
Sister rode up to Shaker. “You know, we'd better call it a day.”
“Damn, how could he give us the slip like that!”
“I don't know. He's got some kind of mojo, but the fog isn't lifting. If anything, Shaker, it's thickening and my built-in weather station”âshe tapped her collarbone broken in the seventiesâ“tells me this drizzle will be a downpour soon enough.”
“Okay.” He put his horn to his lips, blowing in his whippers-in.
“Thank God,” Betty thought to herself as she picked her way through the fog back down into the apple orchard.
Betty couldn't understand how Charlie could turn his scent off. If he'd ducked into a den, they'd know. But he'd vanished. Not a trace.
Sister turned to face the field, huddled together, exhilarated that they'd survived the fog hunt, as it would come to be known. “Folks, well done. This wasn't an easy task, but it was an exciting one.” She turned to Edward. “Do you mind leading people home? Since I'm here I thought Aztec and I would road hounds back to the kennels. We'll come back to pick up the hound wagon.”
“I'd be happy to take everyone back.” Edward touched the brim of his cap with his crop.
“Shaker, ready?”
“You read my mind.”
“Sybil,” Sister addressed a bedraggled Sybil, who had just joined them, “Shaker, Betty, and I will put hounds up. You ride back with the others.”
“Thank you.”
After each field member said, “Good night, Master,” and rode off, Sister turned to her hounds.
Edward took the riders back over the zigzag fences and followed the edge of the corn row. Tedi rode up front with him. Folks tried to stay within sight of one another.
The fog, pewter gray now, swirled droplets of moisture. People waited to jump the last coop into After All Farm, although you could barely see it until one stride in front of it.
Ralph Assumptio, boot to boot with Xavier, passed his old friend his flask.
“You know what? Let's walk the fence line and find the gate. This is stupid. We have the whole rest of the hunt season in front of us, and I, for one, don't want to buy real estate during cubbing.”
Xavier savored the marvelous port in Ralph's flask. “You got that right, buddy.”
“I agree,” Ken called from in front of them, although they couldn't see him.
“Me too,” Sybil chimed in.
The sound played tricks on them in the fog.
“Ron, you still with us?” Xavier asked.
“To your right.” Ron gently squeezed his horse, who walked forward, the two of them appearing spectral in the swirling mists.
Xavier handed Ron his flask.
“What do you have in yours?” Ralph asked Xavier.
“Schnapps.”
Ralph wrinkled his nose. “You carry that stuff so the rest of us won't drink it.”
“I like it.”
Ken's voice floated toward them. “Xavier, admit it.”
“Admit what? I like schnapps. I like sweet stuff. My waistline ought to prove that. Sybil, where the hell are you? Not with your husband, I hope. The entire point of foxhunting is to depart from one's spouse.” He knocked back some of his schnapps. “Within limits, of course.”
“I'm on your left,” she called out.
Ken laughed. “Xavier, don't give my wife ideas.”
They heard a rub up ahead at the jump. Someone's horse's hind hooves literally rubbed on the jump.
“If I recall, the hand gate is maybe two hundred yards down the line, wrong direction from the house, but we can follow the fence line back once we're through the gate.”
Rolling his shoulders, Ralph replied, “Well, let's do it. It's too damned raw out here.”
Ken's voice again reached them. “I'll go first. Why don't we fall in line and try to keep the horse in front of you in view.”
Ron moved toward the fence, or what he thought was the fence. “I don't hear anyone up ahead.”
“Must all be over.” Xavier picked up his reins.
“Or unconscious from missing that jump.” Ron laughed.
“We'd have heard the screams,” Ken called out, his voice moving farther and farther away.
“Sybil, where are you?” Ron asked.
“I'm the rear guard.”
“I'll take your word for it.” Ralph raised his voice so she could hear, but the fog carried sounds strangely; little sounds were magnified.
“I'm here,” she called back reassuringly.
They walked along, silent for a few moments. The squish, squish of their horses' hooves accentuated the increasingly dismal day.
A soft whisper in his ear made Ralph sit up straight in his saddle. It sounded like “I'm going to kill you.”
“What'd you say?” Xavier, too, heard the whisper.
“Nothing,” Sybil replied, soaked and cold.
Ralph, the fence line to his right, now heard, “I know it was you.” He couldn't quite recognize the voice. A knife edge of fear ripped at his stomach.
Ron turned in his saddle. “Where the hell is the gate?”
Xavier grumbled, “I don't know.”
Ken called, “Keep up.”
“We're behind you,” Ron called back. “Just moving slower.”
“Gate, please.” Ken uttered the traditional foxhunting command that directed the last person to close the gate.
Ralph thought he was between Ron and Xavier, but he could no longer see them.
Ron reached the opened gate, passing through. “Sybil, gate please,” he bellowed.
“Okay,” she responded, her voice fading away.
The voice whispered in Ralph's ear again. “Time to join Hotspur.”
Ralph pressed with his right leg, and his horse swerved left. He didn't pass through the gate, but instead he tore off through the cornfield.
Ron heard him take off. “What the shit is going on?”
Xavier clucked to his horse and caught up to Ron. “What's going on?”
“That's just what I said.” Ron frowned. “Ralph!” No response. “Sybil.”
“Here I am.” She appeared out of the silver.
“What's going on?” Ron again asked.
“I don't know.” Sybil shrugged.
“Well, Ralph's not here.” Ron yelled, “Ken!”
“Yo,” Ken called back, from an indeterminate distance.
Xavier leaned forward. “Look, we're going to get lost out here. Let's trot. The sooner we get back the better.”
“Yeah, but where's Ralph?” Ron, truly worried now, pointed his crop at Xavier.
“I don't know.” Xavier knocked his crop away with his own crop. “What are you so worried about? For all we know, he's ahead of us. Maybe he's ahead of Ken.”
“We can't leave him.”
“You two go back. I know this country. I'll look for him,” Sybil calmly replied.
“Sybil, we can't leave a lady out here. I'm telling you, there's a storm coming up,” Ron said sternly.
“Don't think of me as a lady. Think of me as a whipper-in and there's a lost hound. I'd be out then. Just tell Ken when you see him that I'll be late getting in and not to worry. If the weather turns nasty I'll put my horse up at Sister's.” She disappeared into the fog.
“Sybil! Sybil!” Ron shouted.
Then they both heard a light rap on the coop.
“She's going the wrong way,” Xavier exhaled, thoroughly tired of the whole thing. “Come on, Ron.”
“Something is really wrong. I don't think we should leave them.”
“Leave Ralph? We don't know where he is, and Sybil's right, she does know the territory even if she is heading in the wrong direction,” Xavier said.
Ron's eyes narrowed. “How do you know it was Sybil who just took that jump?”
“Look, old buddy, I'll grant you that things have been really crazy. But maybe Ralph got sick of crawling through the mist. Maybe he spurred on and he's halfway back to the trailers by now.”
“He turned in the opposite direction. I heard him hit the corn.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron shook his helmet as a raindrop hit the velvet top. “I heard the stalks, the leaves, you know, the long leaves. I heard them hitting him.”
Xavier sat silent, then spoke. “Hear anything else?”
“Just that rub on the fence when Sybil jumped in. She should have headed back toward Sister's.”
“We have to go in. We do. We can't do anything to help. It's going to rain. It's already raining.” Xavier peered up into the deepening gray as the drizzle slicked his face. “If they aren't there, then we can worry. Come on.”
With reluctance, Ron passed through the gate, waited for Xavier to walk through, then he leaned over from atop his kind, patient horse and closed the gate, dropping the metal kiwi latch, shaped like a comma, through the steel circle.
Ralph galloped through the corn. His face wet, broad flat corn leaves were hitting him. He thought he heard hoofbeats behind him. He reached the farm road as the first raindrop splattered. If he had been in better command of himself he would have prudently turned left, jumped into the orchard, and ridden to Sister's barn, perhaps a fifteen-minute trot. But panic had overtaken him, and he turned his horse right, pushing toward Hangman's Ridge.
Inky heard him pass as she snuggled in her den. Five minutes later she heard a second set of hoofbeats, only this horse wasn't running. This horse moved at a deliberate trot. As the weather was filthy, her curiosity was dimmed. She wasn't going out to see what was going on.
Ralph, breathing heavily, eyes wide, transmitted his terror to his horse as he urged the animal up to the right. They reached the flat plateau of Hangman's Ridge.