Read Online Outfoxed by Rita Mae Brown - Free Book Online Page B

Few sounds were as lovely to a red’s ears as the sound of a human breaking bones.
    If the hounds picked up a gray fox, the reds generally ignored the chase, concentrating on sunning themselves or going into their den and sleeping.
    The grays could take care of themselves. They ran in smaller circles than the reds, some of whom might run straight for miles. Grays also perfected a figure eight, a maneuver incorporating sharp turns and practiced dives into other creatures’ dens. This confused the hounds and infuriated the animal receiving the unexpected caller. However, there was little choice but to entertain the gray until the hounds were called off by the huntsman and cast in another direction. Since the grays were smaller than the red fox, they could squeeze into all manner of hiding places. They also climbed trees, a trick the reds thought much too catlike. Reds intensely disliked cats, who competed for the same game but who also sassed them.
    The grays weren’t overfond of cats but a feline insult was shrugged off. The reds, proud of their position, felt most animals owed them obeisance.
    Inky learned these things from her parents and from experience. She looked overhead as Athena, the large owl, silently glided by. Athena, a deadly hunter, would swoop down, talons outstretched, before her prey knew what hit them.
    Inky didn’t fear Athena. The owl was civil. Since the fox, red and gray, has no natural enemies, they didn’t need to worry about anyone wishing to eat them. Only the small kits were game, and that was usually for hawks or vultures. In droughts or hard times the vultures became aggressive, even attacking newborn calves.
    Athena’s nemesis was St. Just, the king of the crows. They rarely saw one another, since the crow was a daytime creature, but if he caught sight of Athena, St. Just would harass her even though she was four times his size.
    The person St. Just hated above all others was Target. The big red had killed St. Just’s mate, eating her with a flourish.
    Inky sat there, the moist earth filled with enticing messages. October kept all creatures busy. The bears would soon hibernate, so they were eating everything they could. The squirrels gathered more and more nuts, often forgetting where they stashed them. Everyone prepared for winter. Even the humans cut firewood, put up storm windows, and changed the antifreeze in their cars.
    Although it was early, Inky considered going home to sleep. However, she thought an apple might be nice for dessert even though she was full. She nosed out of the corn, sniffed the wind, then headed at a ground-eating trot up to the top of Hangman’s Ridge. From this spot she could see most of the valley. Even Whiskey Ridge, running parallel to the north, was a bit lower. The criminals hanged from the oak tree could have been seen from below. This must have proved a potent warning. The last hanging occurred in 1875, when Gilliam Norris was strung up. He’d killed his entire family—mother, father, two sisters, and a brother—with a service revolver. When the sheriff came to arrest him, Gilliam shot him, too. Took fifteen men, including the sheriff from the next county, to bring Gilliam in. People said he’d lost his mind in the war.
    Inky heard that story, passed from generation to generation. The first victim of the tree was Lawrence Pollard in 1702. An intrepid man, an explorer and founder of towns, Lawrence indulged in land speculation, as did many colonists. He was selling acreage in the Shenandoah Valley, the deal went bust, and Lawrence’s investors strung him up without judge or jury.
    From her vantage point Inky could see the Arnold farm, the barn and kennels and the understated two-story brick house painted white with Charleston-green shutters surrounded by oaks and maples of enormous size. At the edge of the expansive lawn was a small apple orchard. Peach and pear trees were around the house for decoration as much