Outfoxed Read Free Page B

by the time we cast hounds.”
    A long sigh, then, “Six-thirty. Whiskey Ridge.”
    â€œIs Bobby going to make it?”
    â€œNo, he’s got to deliver the brochure today. I worked all night Tuesday so it was his turn last night. Looks good.”
    â€œJennifer?”
    â€œShe’ll be there.”
    Jennifer Franklin, their younger daughter, a senior in high school given to surprising mood swings, received science credits for foxhunting. Each week she had to write a three-page paper on what she learned about the environment. She’d written about the great variety of oak trees, the life cycle of the fox, and this week she was concentrating on amphibians preparing for hibernation. Three pages sounded like not much work but it turned out to be time-consuming due to research, although Jennifer discovered that she enjoyed it.
    As Sister hung up the phone she checked to see if the lights were on in the stable and the kennel. They were.
    â€œGood men,” she thought to herself, for Douglas Kinser and Shaker Crown were already at work.
    As professional first whipper-in, meaning Doug was paid, his responsibility was to condition and prepare the master’s horses and the huntsman’s horses for the hunting season. He also walked out hounds, assisted in their training, and rode forward of the huntsman so he could turn hounds back if need be. It helped if the first whipper-in was intelligent. Douglas was. He could intuit what Shaker was doing even if he was one mile away from the huntsman.
    Golliwog reposed on the marble counter, her luxurious tail swaying a bit. Her calico coat, brilliant and gleaming, was a source of no small vanity to the feline. She’d eaten her breakfast and was considering dozing off.
    Raleigh, also full, wanted to accompany Sister. He parked by the kitchen door, ears up, alert.
    â€œCatch cold on a day like this,”
Golly laconically said.
    â€œLazy.”
    â€œSensible.”
Golly rolled over, showing Raleigh her back. She disliked being contradicted.
    Sister allowed her members great latitude in dress during cubbing, but she herself remained impeccably turned out. She wore mustard-colored breeches, brown field boots with a ribbed rubber sole, useful on a day like this, a shirt and man’s tie, an old but beautifully cut tweed jacket, and a brown cap, tails down. She opened the door and Raleigh dashed out with her.
    Golly lifted her head, watching them trot to the barn.
“Silly. Neither one has sense enough to come in from the rain and Sister wastes time hunting foxes. I wouldn’t give you a nickel for the whole race of foxes. Liars and thieves, every single one of them.”
Having expressed her opinion, she closed her eyes in contentment.
    Sister ducked under the stable overhang and shook off the water, as did Raleigh. She walked into the center aisle of the barn, the soft light from the incandescent bulbs casting a glow over the horses and Douglas, too.
    Raleigh joyfully raced up and down the center aisle, informing the horses of his presence. They weren’t impressed. They liked Raleigh, but this morning he was just too bouncy.
    â€œMa’am. You might wear your long Barbour today. Don’t want you getting the shivers before opening hunt.”
    â€œDouglas, you’ll make someone a wonderful mother someday.” She laughed at him but went into the tack room and grabbed her coat along with a pair of string gloves. She loved Douglas. Teasing him made them both happy. He’d grown from a skinny kid with green eyes, beat up just about every day at school, into a broad-shouldered, curly-haired, beautiful young man with bronze skin. Douglas’s mother was white and his father black. He took the best from both.
    Sister’s son, Raymond, died in a freak harvesting accident in 1974. He was fourteen years old and there wasn’t a day when she didn’t hear his voice, remember his infectious smile, and wish he was with