Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

by Rita Mae Brown

As Betty stood in the stirrups, reins in her left hand, right hand entwined in Magellan’s mane, she was able to stay over her horse’s center of balance.

  Sybil picked her way to the left of this, finally reaching the base of the ridge where she, too, picked up a narrow trail to circle the base. Given the distance, she had to move as fast as she could.

  Betty finally reached the top of Hangman’s Ridge, the wind blowing as always. Minks scattered about as the hounds flew across the flat plain.

  Shaker now reached the top, stopped for a moment, saw Betty go down the Roughneck side. He followed. Sound echoed around the ridge but it seemed that hounds moved forward and down.

  Sister galloped across the top, the huge centuries-old hangman’s tree to her right.

  Cursing the hounds, horses, and people all the while, minks ran across the top.

  Not one bird sat in the hangman’s tree. They didn’t like it.

  With great effort, Sybil had rounded the base, and now could see the old orchard on the other side of the Roughneck Farm road. To her delight, she also saw Comet. He skimmed the surface of the road as he ran hard, then turned left toward her. He knew who she was and, before he reached her, he zigged right, reached the stone ruins to pop into his den. Sybil remained motionless because she didn’t want to cross the line.

  Within minutes the pack ran right in front of her, Dreamboat, Giorgio, and young Pickens up front closely followed by the entire pack, Betty immediately behind and Shaker perhaps a football field behind her. Normally Betty would have ridden off the road, parallel to it, but there was no way to do that coming down from the ridge. The minute she hit the farm road, she jumped over the old orchard fence to parallel the pack, then jumped out again and into the stone ruins field, holding up at a bit of distance from the den.

  By the time Shaker reached it, hounds dug at the stones, carried on in high excitement.

  “Go ahead. Bloody your paws,” Comet taunted.

  Having been made a fool of once today, Zorro stopped digging at the stones.

  Sister and the field came up as Shaker dismounted, blew “Gone to Ground,” and praised each hound. He caught his breath as did everyone else.

  The distance back to Foxglove Farm was perhaps three miles straight as an arrow and involved climbing, sliding down, rough terrain.

  Sister waited for Shaker to mount up. He stood on the stones and stepped onto Showboat who stood still, as a huntsman’s horse should. Horses get excited by the chase, too, so staff is always grateful when their mount does what he’s supposed to do.

  Sister then rode up. “We’re near the kennels. Let’s put them up and we can drive over to Cindy’s to fetch the hound truck and Betty can drive the trailer back.”

  “Right.”

  She rode back to the field, telling them to return to Foxglove, she and staff would reach Cindy’s place a little later.

  Once at Roughneck, Tootie and Betty took care of the horses. Sybil also dismounted, stripped her tack off, sponged her horse, dried him, then borrowed a blanket. She’d come back later with her trailer.

  Sister and Shaker walked hounds to the kennels.

  “This last month has been so good.” Sister beamed.

  “Really has,” he agreed.

  As extra rations and lots of fresh water were poured into the buckets and hound troughs, Sister wiped her eyes. The fox piss scent was overwhelming. “What are we going to do with the smell?”

  “Don’t pick on me,” Zorro cried. “I didn’t know.”

  Hearing the puppy cry as he stared directly at her, Sister praised him. “You hunted very well today. And foxes are tricky.”

  Shaker and Sister praised each hound, calling every name and then when finished with the treats, calling each hound by name again to go to their special runs and petting everyone.

  Shaker sniffed his hand. “Let’s put these three in the medical run.”

  “Good idea. Zane, Zandy, Zorro, come along. Special motel tonight.” Sister and Shaker walked to one of the doors off the big draw room, opened it, and the three obediently followed.

  Once they were given an extra cookie plus fresh straw for bedding in the warm enclosed recovery room, Shaker advised, “We can wash them tomorrow. I’ll get the straw out first thing.”

  Both Shaker and Sister washed their hands in the deep stainless steel sink.

  “All right. Tootie can help us.” Sister glanced at the wall clock in the special medical room, which even had an operating table. “We’d best get over there. I’ll borrow Gray’s Land Cruiser. We can all squeeze in there.”

  “Sister, I’ll drive my truck. You know how he is about his Land Cruiser.”

  She paused. “You’re right. The girls and I will bounce over in my truck.”

  “I’ll take Tootie,” said Shaker, “then you only have to fit in three.”

  “Thank you. Good thing we’re all slim, isn’t it?”

  In full swing, the breakfast greeted the staff as they walked into the Foxglove dining room, more eighteenth century than twenty-first.

  Alida thanked Sister. “Another wonderful day and Kasmir lent me Mumtaz for Saturdays, Kavita for Tuesdays. And I can use my horse on Thursdays. Such fabulous horses.”

  Sister looked over the crowd to see Kasmir talking to Gray. “He is a generous soul and a good, good man. We’re all lucky to have him in our club.” She prayed to herself that perhaps lightning would strike Alida.

  The beauty glowed. “Yes. Yes, I can see that. I have never met a kinder man.”

  “Nor I.” Sister took a chance. “You know, Alida, as I have aged I have learned just how sexy kindness and ethics are.”

  Alida looked into those bright hazel eyes with her own soft brown ones. “Yes. Yes, Master, how very true.”

  Before more could be said, Mercer charged up. “I have an idea.”

  “God help me,” Sister joked.

  Phil hurried over with Cindy, along with Betty and Ben. “Actually, Sister, it’s a good one. We’ve all been discussing it.”

  “I know you e-mailed your curriculum suggestions to Crawford. Right?” Mercer referred to their Custis Hall board duties.

  “I did,” replied Sister. “Actually, I thought they were creative. At least I hope they are. I suggested we use hunting to teach the girls about the environment. And we don’t always need to ride. We can do walking tours.”

  “Great idea,” Phil said supportively.

  “Well, here’s what we’ve been thinking,” said Mercer. “Next week is our next to last week and Woodford will be here from Kentucky for our Thursday hunt and our Saturday hunt. So why not invite Crawford?” Mercer held his hands together as though suppressing a clap.

  “Putting both packs together?” Sister wondered aloud.

  Mercer immediately saw the problem. “Well—”

  A born mediator, Cindy offered her idea. “Ask him for Thursday to make it a triple meet, even though he’s an outlaw pack. We can say he’s a farmer pack, which in essence he is if he’d just be halfway decent to the MFHA. They are far more reasonable than he is. Crawford brings his pack; his new huntsman and Sam can whip in if he wants. The fixture is Oakside. Not too far for him.”

  Sister wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, let me ask Walter. I’m not opposed, but we have to consider how the MFHA will respond to a triple meet with one club being an outlaw pack. My suggestion is just for us and Crawford to go out together the last hunt of the season. This also gives Shaker time to ride with Skiff. Sorry, but it really is politics.”

  Cindy smiled, realizing Sister wanted to find a middle path, wanted to avoid open conflict with the national organization. “That’s why you’re the Master. You have to consider everything, but I think doubling up for our last meet is a great idea.”

  Desperately needing a drink, Sister trod toward the bar once the discussion wrapped up. She heard Phil say to Mercer, “Do you live to make life difficult?”

  Mercer replied, “No, but I want to know really what’s in my Dixie Do,�
� he said, naming his horse.

  “You know he goes back to Dixieland Band. He’s a foxhunter, Mercer. It’s irrelevant.”

  “I’m on a DNA kick,” Mercer replied defiantly.

  Sister thought that Mercer really couldn’t let things go. She just hoped he wouldn’t blurt out that Ben Sidell had asked them to review pedigrees. “He wouldn’t,” she thought.

  Prudently, she sought out Ben once she had a cup of tea in her hand, and reported what she’d overheard. “Hopefully he’ll stick to Dixie Do.”

  Ben shrugged. “I think he will, but I’ll just give him a reminder.” With that, the sheriff made straight for Mercer, grabbed his elbow, saying to Phil, “Excuse me one minute, Phil.”

  “Of course.” Phil went looking for Sybil, as he wanted to know what the whipper-in thought of the day.

  “Mercer.” Ben fixed his gaze on the man. “Best not to discuss DNA or anything.”

  “I’m not.” Mercer’s eyes opened wide. “But I’m curious about my horse. That’s all.”

  “Well, keep it at that, will you?”

  Sister sidled up to Gray, who inhaled deeply. “Ah, yes, fresh fox.”

  “Honey, is it that bad? I walked the Z’s to the back room. We’ll wash them tomorrow.”

  “I’ve smelled expensive perfumes that weren’t as potent,” he teased her. “Hey, you can never predict what will happen.”

  She put her arm through his. “That’s the truth.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “Those little skulls with the glowing eyes have got to go,” O.J. whispered as she rode up to the Saddlebred barn with Sister Jane.

  “They are creepy,” she agreed.

  Woodford rode out with The Jefferson Hunt on Thursday at Oakside for the first of two joint meets. The field numbered thirty-five people—good for a cold rainy day.

  Vicki Van Mater and Joe Kasputys drove down from Middleburg again to add to the mix. Along with their horses, their two German shepherds, Ben and Gandy Man, rode along. Vicki and Joe would laugh that the dog Ben was smart enough to do police work like the human Ben. While Vicki and Joe were intelligent, neither Ben nor Gandy felt their humans were in the German shepherd league. Much as they loved Vicki and Joe, they felt they needed guidance.

  While the rain wasn’t pounding, it slid inside collars and down the insides of boots if even the tiniest gap occurred. Cold feet were bad. Cold wet feet were even worse.

  The Saddlebred barn emanated fright in the steady rain. The water washed the glowing skulls so the red eyes popped right out at you.

  O.J. stiffened in the saddle as she caught sight of the hanging mannequin. “Dear God.”

  “Startling. I bet those pony clubbers screamed bloody murder when they saw that guy hanging,” Joe teased.

  Vicki gasped when she saw the hanged man.

  Tedi Bancroft chuckled. “It really is awful.”

  Vicki replied, “I foxhunt so I can legally trespass and enjoy countryside I can only see from horseback. I may revise my opinion.”

  Joe laughed. “I’ll mark the day you revise your opinion.” He heard a hound open. “Then again, what’s a barn of horrors if hounds open?”

  The hound was Cora.

  The two Masters shut up and squeezed their horses into a trot.

  Hounds sang out but the pace stayed at a trot. Shaker stayed behind them, rain hitting him in the face.

  Kasmir, Alida, Freddie, Phil, Mercer, Ronnie, Xavier—the stalwarts—filled First Flight, along with the guests. People in this part of the world organized their work schedules so they could hunt at least one day a week—if lucky, two.

  Walter usually kept office hours on Thursdays and Bobby Franklin had an appointment today. He asked Ben Sidell to lead Second Flight, which he happily did.

  The field crossed a meadow, took a log jump into another meadow, then threaded through woods, tree bark turning darker. Hounds continued after their fox at the same pace.

  When they reached the back of this woods, everyone noticed swirling low mist rolling up from the abutting meadow. The swirl turned into a wall, a dense ground fog. The temperature dropped so rapidly everyone felt it. This wasn’t a lower temperature in proximity to water or a dip in the terrain. The mercury headed straight down, the rain continued, but now a pip, pip, pip could be heard hitting helmets.

  Joe tweaked Vicki. “Honey, just remember this was your idea.”

  As the freezing fog enveloped them, hounds opened wide.

  In territory she was learning, Sister stayed on the widest path she could find. Ahead, she could just make out Shaker, thanks to the scarlet coat.

  Hounds turned toward them, then veered into the woods again. Staying on the path, Shaker halted a moment to listen.

  Twist’s voice sounded the closest to Sister, then he, too, moved away. Sister couldn’t see a thing except Rickyroo’s ears and neck. If she stopped, everyone behind her would collide into one another. She thought moving along the outside of the woods, keeping between the trees and the back fence line might work. If nothing else, the fence line was a better guide than being in the middle of the woods in a pogonip.

  Did Woodford drag this curse along with them?

  No point wondering about that. She trotted along, reached the corner of the back fence and turned in what she felt was the direction back to the barn. No way to hunt in this. The problem now was getting everyone back.

  Maria Johnson knew her property but she couldn’t see anything either.

  Hound voices echoed in the fog, near, then far, then near again. Sister heard the horn: two beeps to tell hounds and staff where Shaker was.

  She thought she heard galloping hooves, perhaps a whipper-in, but that faded away.

  “Maria,” Sister called out loudly.

  “Yes,” a voice replied, seemingly from the middle of the riders.

  “Come up here. Can you?”

  “Yes.”

  As Sister waited, she felt O.J.’s horse now beside her. “Can you believe we’re in this freezing pea soup again? I blame it on you.”

  “And how do I know you didn’t bring it to Kentucky?” countered O.J. “Don’t blame me if we’re in this mess again.” Her voice floated toward Sister.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Not well.”

  “So you can’t see me flip you the bird?”

  O.J. laughed. “Sister, I am shocked, deeply shocked.”

  O.J. felt a horse slide by her, then she saw Maria. O.J. fell back.

  Sister minced no words. “How the hell do we get back?”

  “We aren’t far. I’ll ride next to you and when we have to we’ll go single file. I’ll go up front. All right?” offered the blue-eyed Maria.

  Sister kept her sense of humor. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Come on.” Maria asked her dark bay Thoroughbred, Annie, to walk out.

  Ten minutes later they reached another fence corner. Maria turned right, still inside the fence. The freezing rain stung as it turned to sleet, lots of sleet.

  People dropped their faces. Gloves became soaked. Those who did as was proper had white string gloves under their girths and pulled them out. They would become soaked, too, but the reins didn’t slip.

  There was abundant misery for all.

  “We’re almost there.” Maria spoke to Sister.

  The next ten minutes seemed like an eon. First one trailer appeared, then disappeared, then another. But everyone did find their trailers.

  “Thank you,” Sister said to the much younger woman.

  “Do you need help? I can go look for hounds,” Maria volunteered.

  Just then they all heard the horn close by. Giorgio appeared, Sister spied a few tricolor coats next to her. Then Shaker.

  She sighed. “How glad I am to see you.”

  “Damn, this came out of nowhere.” Shaker dismounted, walked his horse toward where he thought the trailer was. Wrong trailer. He looked at this one, getting up close, then remembered where the others had parked.

  Wh
en he finally reached the right trailer, Betty was already there. She held open the door and hounds gratefully hurried inside, snuggling in the straw.

  Shaker blew for Sybil and Tootie. “Betty, go on and see to your horse,” he said. “I’ll wait by the trailer.”

  Hojo, his mount today, usually rode in the trailer with the horses. Shaker had a divider for the horse so hounds wouldn’t get underfoot. The hounds had a second story in the trailer with a rubber-covered walk so everyone could get in and not be crowded. Shaker didn’t want to put Hojo inside until his other whippers-in showed up. He prayed they had the hounds Parker and Pickens with them.

  As he waited, he threw a blanket over Hojo, over the saddle, too. “Hold on, buddy. Let’s hope this doesn’t take long. If it does, I promise I’ll walk you to their barn, if I can find it.”

  A hound wiggled between his legs.

  Sybil appeared. “That’s Pickens. Would you blow again? I think Parker was with me five minutes ago. Lost sight.”

  Shaker blew three long notes.

  As Sybil dismounted, they both waited.

  And waited.

  Shaker was ready to walk Hojo into the stable, wherever it was, when he heard a little yell.

  “Where are you? Where am I?” came Parker’s mournful howl.

  “Parker. Parker. Come along.” Shaker’s voice radiated warmth and within seconds, a sleety hound raced up to him, couldn’t contain himself, stood on his hind feet to see the huntsman.

  “I’m so happy. I was scared!”

  “All right, Parker, in we go.” Shaker opened the door and the youngster scooted in.

  No one wanted to come outside.

  “Sybil, go on to your trailer. We’ve got everyone. I’ll see you in the house.”

  “I think we need a compass,” she joked.

  Curled up in the straw on the trailer, Ben and Gandy rose to greet their masters, Joe on Ali Kat and Vicki on Boo Bear.

  Gandy shook himself. “You all are crazy.”

  “Not me,” the TB/Shire mix replied. “It’s her.” The horse indicated the human.

  Fortunately Vicki understood nothing of this exchange.

  “Joe, hurry up and put me in the trailer,” his TB/Hanoverian begged.

  The two Middleburg Hunt members hurried as fast as they could. Once the horses were up and wiped down, they looked at the dogs.