Mississippi Raider (2 page)

At a signal from their host, Vincent Charles
Boyd—owner of the Baton Royale Manor plantation, within the bounds
of which he maintained the less productive area as a place offering
sport for his friends and neighbors—the party drew rein about two
hundred yards from where the pack was busy attempting to get the
track of their quarry lined out. Seeing where they were, the more
knowledgeable followers informed the others that they would be in
contention against Ole Silver Lightning, a dog-gray fox with a
reputation for giving a good chase before contriving by some means
to escape.

Showing their inherited great keenness and
dedication to the task, every member of the pack was assiduously
working a hammock offering thick cover. Cabbage palms, water oaks,
a mixture of several scrub hardwoods, and a variety of vines made
it hard for the pack to get the wily creature moving in a straight
line. The scent was fresh and the anxious hounds, especially those
younger and less experienced, tore through the heavy cover like mad
things. For almost two minutes there was considerable confusion as
members of the pack dashed here and there without achieving
anything except raising a clamor with their eager voices.

Then, just as Lassiter was about to try to
enforce some kind of order, the unmistakable bugle bawl of Speed
sounded like a clarion to the north of the hammock. Instantly,
recognizing the baying of their acknowledged leader, and being all
too aware of what was portended by it, the rest of the pack almost
literally tore holes through the vines inside the mound as they
went rushing to join Speed. In a few seconds, more and more of them
began to add to the clamor as they set off along the line the
bluetick had discovered.

Having started to move as soon
as they heard Speed
’s voice, the hunters cut around the side of the
hammock.

No sooner had they arrived at the north side
than the pack led by Speed jumped the fox as it was trying to sneak
away undetected, and the chase was on in deadly earnest.

Judging by the response that came, the muck
ponies, frequently used for such a purpose, seemed to enjoy the
prospect of the chase and the wild music of the pack as much as did
their riders.

Serving respectively as the master of hounds
and chief whipper-in, Boyd and Lassiter were politely accorded the
privilege of being the first off the mark. However, as at the camp,
the slender figure with the black hat was next into motion by a
slight amount. The speed with which the dun gelding took off, on
receiving the signal to do so from the heels of boots that had no
spurs as an added inducement, would have stood a good chance of
dislodging a less competent rider. This did not occur, and, also
contriving to remain mounted despite the display of energy with
which the other close-to-frantically-eager muck ponies also
responded to the sounds they knew so well, the rest of the party
instinctively scattered to the right and left out in the wake of
their three leaders and not one of them was more than a few yards
to the rear.

“
View
halloo!” a young man making his first appearance at Boyd’s
plantation yelled incorrectly, as the fox was nowhere to be seen.
The man was evidently seeking to prove he had ridden with more
formally carried-out hunts that followed the lead of their English
counterparts. “Tally ho! Yoicks!”

None of the other followers offered to raise
any outcry or correct their companion. Instead, they—and he, to
give him credit—concentrated upon what they were doing. There was
plenty of open space in the terrain now being traversed, so the
riders all allowed the enthusiastic animals to have their head. The
ride to the hammock had been sufficient to warm up the horses, and
they could run without the danger of pulling a tendon. However,
swiftly as they were moving, there was no danger of their running
in too close to the pack, which had been close to a quarter of a
mile away when the chase commenced. A horse such as the muck pony
could travel at a faster clip than any hound for a mile or so, but
after that the positions were reversed and the pack slowly began to
draw ahead.

For about an hour, although the real reason
was that keeping to the fairly open switch-grass terrain was a
benefit to its own running, Ole Silver Lightning seemed almost as
if wanting to give its pursuers a chase to remember. However, with
the hounds pressing, once again giving the impression of possessing
tactical skill rather than merely acting upon instinct, it began to
seek out much less easy ground through which to travel.

Because of the changed tactics, the dog-gray
fox had succeeded in increasing the distance between itself and its
human pursuers—although the hounds were less affected—when the hunt
was approaching a narrow strip of scrub palmetto. Being aware of
the danger, Boyd, Lassiter, and the rider in the black hat caused
their mounts to slow to half speed before reaching the treacherous
footing and so were able to cross it without mishap. Not so the
rider to the left of the rough arrowhead formation they had
adopted. He had either failed to see or underestimated the danger
posed by the palmettos, so his horse hit it at top speed.

Down went the animal as its feet slid from
under it, its tail pointed skyward. Showing great skill and
presence of mind, the young rider quit the saddle and sailed
spread-eagled through the air for about fifteen feet to land
facedown and skid onward a short distance in front of the upturned
horse. Expecting him and his mount to be seriously injured, the
latter having turned a forward somersault and descended with its
head bent back beneath it, the rest of the party began to halt
their horses. Much to the relief of the other followers, both made
their feet after a few seconds. Except that they had collected
plenty of mud and, knuckling the sticky black goo and water from
his eyes, the man looked as if he had lain belly first in a hog
wallow, neither gave any indication of having been hurt.

“
Are
you all right, Jubal?” Boyd inquired solicitously.

“
I’ve
felt better, Uncle Vincent,” the young man replied with a wry grin
as he worked his limbs tentatively, then looked to where Lassiter
was restraining his mount’s eagerness to resume the chase. “But
nothing’s broken. I’d better take my horse back to the house, even
though he won’t be pleased about that.”

“
Better luck next time,” the tall, gray-haired, and
distinguished-looking plantation owner commiserated. Cocking his
head, he listened to the fading sound of the hounds’ trail music
for a moment and estimated they were at least a mile ahead by now.
“Let’s go, the rest of you.”

Watching his companions set off
again, the young man who might have counted himself fortunate to
have escaped without serious injury or even being killed gave a
sign of disappoint
ment. Then, adhering to the training in such matters he had
received from boyhood, he started on foot and, leading the horse by
the reins—which had been passed to him by Lassiter prior to
departure—proceeded in the direction of his uncle’s
home.

On resuming the chase, the
remaining members of the hunt restrained their mounts and held the
pace down to a medium canter for around two miles. Then, at
Boyd
’s
signal, they reined to a stop. Dropping from his saddle and
allowing the reins to dangle, knowing his unprepossessing bay
stallion was trained to stand still when this was done, Lassiter
walked sufficiently far to prevent the breathing of the other
horses from interfering with his listening. At first he could hear
nothing of the hounds, but after about a minute he could make out
the deep resonant voice of Speed. With each passing second it grew
louder, and before long he could hear the rest of the
pack.

“
Like
I figured,” the leathery-faced man declared, returning to the rest
of the party and swinging into his saddle. “Ole Silver Lightning’s
done got tired of being pushed that ways and’s coming
back.”

“
Not
straight back, though,” replied the young follower who had misused
the hunting terms earlier. “I’d say he’s headed a considerable way
to our right.”

Grunting noncommittally, although willing to
concede the point—if only to himself—Lassiter started leading the
way to the east. While waiting until the condition of the rider and
mount that had taken the fall was known, the horses had had time to
catch their breath and were now anxious to go. Therefore, they
needed no encouragement to run swiftly in the direction they were
being guided. Then the route took them into a wide and open
grass-covered meadow partly surrounded by scrub palmetto. Having
advanced across it, they stopped just short of the dense cover at
the opposite side. From what they heard, they could tell that the
hounds were no more than a couple of hundred yards to the north and
coming directly their way. Knowing his pack, Lassiter was aware
that Speed was still in the lead and closely followed by a redbone
he called Witch. That figured to him. The bluetick was a born
front-runner, but the bitch always liked to be up there too.

Suddenly there was a silver
flash as the dog fox came out of the palmettos right among the
hunters. Passing under the belly of Boyd
’s roan gelding, it continued across
the clearing without breaking stride. Instantly, there was a jumble
of horses as everyone tried to be the first to take up the pursuit.
Having stopped a few yards behind the rest, the young man and the
rider with the black hat were able to get clear before any of the
others could extricate themselves for the chase, so the rest were
left at the post. Being lighter and marginally the better in the
saddle, the latter was slightly in the lead. In spite of that, such
was the quality of Lassiter’s stallion that it overtook them before
they had passed the halfway mark on the open land.

Just what happened next was impossible to
say. For some reason the stallion tried to shy away, and in doing
so it went down. Unable to halt their rapid progress in time, the
two closely following horses also were brought to the ground.
However, the young man and the rider with the black hat could not
duplicate the way in which Lassiter contrived to alight on his feet
and run until gaining sufficient control to stop. Both of them went
sprawling to the ground, with the latter twisting over and losing
the headgear.

Alighting upon the other dismounted rider,
despite the urgency of the situation, the young man began to get
the impression that something was wrong. Much longer hair than he
would have expected was brought into view by the loss of the hat,
and there was something distinctly unusual about the face he saw
being brought toward his. Of even greater importance, trying to
break his fall and not descend heavily upon the other, his right
hand came down upon the chest and felt something beneath the silk
material of the shirt that most certainly could not have been
present on a man.

“
Well,
I’ll be eternally damned!” the young man croaked as he successfully
prevented himself from completing the descent and rolled aside
without making further contact. He noticed that all the horses,
showing the resilience for which they were famed, were regaining
their feet without showing signs of having sustained any serious
injury. “You’re a
woman!”

“
I
never for a single minute doubted
that,”
replied the figure upon which the hunter
had almost descended, speaking
in a feminine Southern drawl that had the
suggestion of her having had a good upbringing.

By the time the confusion caused by the
accident was over, Ole Silver Lightning had found and ascended the
leaning trunk of a scrub oak, which had too steep an incline for
any of the hounds to follow. On finding their quarry had treed, the
hunters gave him best and made no attempt to dislodge him.

“
I’ll
shoot you, you wily
ole son of a bitch, happen we lock horns again,” Joe Lassiter
threatened, but far from seriously, as was proved by his tossing
down the carcass of a hen he had brought for the purpose. With the
ritual over, he set off after the rest of the party.

“
L
and’s sakes a-mercy, Belle Boyd!” Martha Jonias groaned,
rolling her eyes and gazing toward the ceiling as if in search of
guidance and strength from the heavens. Framed by tightly curled
hair that had become grizzled by the passing of many years, her
normally pleasant and intelligent-looking black face showed a
mixture of annoyance and resignation. Just under six feet in
height, she looked almost as broad and round as she was long, yet
the bulk was not formed by flabby fat. In addition to being firmly
filled, the spotless white frock she was wearing had its sleeves
rolled up to show well-muscled arms. “I surely don’t know what I’m
going to do with you. Almost your eighteenth birthday and still
playing fool games like going a-hunting riding
astride
’n’ dressed as a
man,
for shame. Then
coming home looking like you’d been rolled on by a hoss, which you
nearly was.”

“
I’ve
a full week to go before my birthday gets here, Auntie Mattie,”
replied the girl who had caused so much surprise for the first-time
visitor to her father’s Baton Royale Manor plantation a short while
earlier. As the result of long experience, she showed no surprise
over the extent of the woman’s knowledge of what had taken place
during the hunt. “Anyway, it will probably be the last time I get a
chance to ride to hounds at night. From now on it will be by
daylight
—” The strongly emphasized word was accompanied by a
shudder redolent of distaste. “Sidesaddle, all dainty and proper at
that, but nowhere nearly so much
fun.”