Free Outfoxed by Rita Mae Brown Page B

fool.”
Archie turned, flat out now, belly low to the ground, tail stretched out behind him as he streaked for Cora.
    Without hesitation the other hounds, including Diana on her first flaming run, followed Archie. He cut across the hay field, crawled under the old wire cow fence, catapulting over the sunken farm road worn down by three hundred years of use. With one bound he was over the loose stone wall, heading, flying, flashing down to The Rocks.
    Moving in the opposite direction, Dragon touched the earth with his nose, bawled for all he was worth, and charged into a smaller pasture. Hay rolled in large round bales dotted the verdant expanse.
    â€œMoron!”
a taunting voice called.
    Dragon jerked his head up. Sitting on top of the hay round were Target and Reynard, magnificent, shining, as red as the scarlet sunrise.
    â€œI’ll tear you to shreds!”
Dragon bared his fangs, bouncing toward father and son.
    â€œYou fierce beast.”
Target, falsetto-voiced, mocked him, while Reynard watched the older, wiser fox sucker in the hound.
    When Dragon was two strides from the hay round, Target casually jumped down, darting into a burrow in the bale. Reynard followed. His tail flicked into this makeshift den just as Target skidded around the bale.
    Growling, saliva dripping, Dragon bumped into the bale as his hind end gave out under him from the force of his sharp turn. His head nearly hit the ground, his two front legs splayed out. He was eyeball to eyeball with a mature copperhead still drowsy and not amused.
    Like lightning the snake struck, sinking her fangs, almost as large as Dragon’s, into his left cheek. He shook his head but she didn’t let go until she’d released her venom to the last drop.
    â€œOh, God, it hurts,”
Dragon screamed as the snake finally let go.
    â€œMoron.”
Target laughed as Dragon, weeping, tried to outrun the pain. At least he had sense enough to go for the sound of the hounds, maybe a mile off by now.
    Hounds, horses, huntsman were stymied at The Rocks, water spilling down over the sides in a gentle waterfall.
    Aunt Netty, on a ledge behind the waterfall, cleaned her claws embedded with mud. She’d run over the rocks leading up to the small waterfall. Her scent would last for only a few moments on the rock but the morning was damp, the mists were low, and the hounds were close. To be safe she ducked behind the water. She didn’t mind getting a little wet. She knew her scent had been wiped out by the waterfall.
    Cora, a trifle overweight, panted.
“Aunt Netty works her magic act.”
    In the distance they could hear Bobby Franklin, who’d fallen far behind, talk to his horse, Oreo. “Not so fast. Not so fast. I hate running on rock!”
    â€œStop worrying, you fat pig,”
the horse replied.
“My sense of balance is better than yours.”
    â€œEveryone in one piece?” Sister laughingly asked.
    â€œIs it always like this?” one of the visitors asked.
    â€œSure,” Fontaine lied, winking.
    A rustling noise coming through the woods captured their attention. Dragon joined them in a few moments. He shook his head, he cried, he rolled over.
    Shaker dismounted as Sister held his reins. “Snakebite,” he tersely informed her.
    â€œHis head will blow up like a pumpkin,” Cody said.
    â€œKilled my Jack Russell. Remember Darth Vader?” Fontaine said that, which, under the circumstances, was not a helpful recollection.
    Crawford, hoping for brownie points, dismounted from Czapaka. He walked over to Shaker, who didn’t look up but kept his gaze on Dragon.
    â€œI can throw the hound over my saddle.”
    â€œNo need,” Shaker replied evenly.
    â€œHe’s better off walking back.” Douglas Kinser had ridden in from his outpost.
    â€œSister, do you mind if I have Doug walk Dragon back?”
    â€œNo. Betty’s out on your left. Can you get by with one