Outfoxed Read Online Free PDF Page A

yards and then nothing, but we must try. A good hound always tries.”
    Diana put her sensitive nose down, moving away from the rotted log.
    As they moved slowly, their tails, called sterns, were held upright.
    Douglas, a bit ahead, peered down over the western side of Whiskey Ridge to the creek below, swollen with rain, high and swiftly rolling. Crossing it would be difficult.
    Jennifer, inexperienced, impatient, pushed the hounds up too much from the rear.
    Sister and Cody rode up to her. Cody was on Motorboat, happy to be out.
    â€œJennifer, let them work. They aren’t strung out.” Sister pointed to the pack carefully making good the ground, working well together.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œHoney, that’s how we learn.” Sister stopped and waited as Jennifer moved on at a walk. She listened intently, hearing only the patter of raindrops on leaves beginning to turn colors. She heard Lafayette’s and Motorboat’s breathing.
    Cody, a fine rider, sat the thoroughbred–quarter horse cross with that grace so peculiar to her. She knew better than to talk when hounds were cast.
    Sister turned to her and smiled as if to say, “That kind of day and I’m glad you’re here.”
    Sister especially enjoyed the people who turned out regardless of conditions. Over the years they’d become her family, since her blood relations and her two Raymonds had died.
    Archie, deeper in the woods, conferred with Cora:
“Distinguishable but . . . ?”
    â€œIt’s all we’ve got and most likely all we’re going to get. You do the honors.”
Cora confirmed his thoughts.
    Archie lifted his head, wiggled his tail a bit.
“Come along.”
    â€œOld line,”
Cora added in her distinctive contralto.
    The other hounds called out in turn and then together, loping along behind Cora and Archie, who moved forward. If scent had been hot, Archie would have taken his usual position a bit like a safety in football, a defensive position. A hot scent even a puppy can find and make good but a scent such as this, fading fast yet distinguishable on the moss and underbrush, demanded a professional.
    Archie and Cora worked side by side, running a few steps, then slowing to check and double-check. It would never do to overrun such a pathetic little trail.
    Dragon, bored with the pace, decided he could do better off on the right. Besides, maybe he’d pick up something more potent. He had no sooner shot off about two hundred yards than a loud crack pierced the beating rain.
    â€œLeave it!” Betty commanded, flicking her whip out one more time for effect. The crack worked like magic. It usually wasn’t necessary to touch the hound.
    He scooted back to the pack.
    â€œSettle, boy, because if you don’t, you’re going to get yourself in trouble and some of us, too,”
Cora growled at him.
    Dragon said nothing but ran alongside Dasher, his litter mate, who showed promise but could be easily influenced by his brother.
    â€œDragon, come up with me.”
Archie curled his lip slightly.
    A cowed Dragon did as he was told. The work was difficult and patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but Archie had grabbed him by the neck, throwing him down hard in the kennels after Tuesday’s hunt. He feared Archie, as would any hound with a grain of sense.
    Sister and Cody trotted through the woods, the hounds in sight but well in front of them. Sister picked up the pace and soon was right behind Jennifer, who was right behind the hounds.
    The hounds swung out in a big circle. Moving back to the tobacco barn and then picking up speed, they shot across Soldier Road and onto the low, broad, and long meadow between the two ridges. The great tree, enshrouded as though in a silver winding sheet, commanded Hangman’s Ridge.
    They popped over a coop in the fence line and then headed toward the coop that Sister and Shaker had repaired—Fontaine’s coop, as they now