Crispie rode up and swung off his horse. He bent over the den’s entrance, blew the quivering notes of “Gone to Ground,” and praised his hounds for their excellent work.
Janey lowered her camera and stood frozen, wide-eyed. Each note of the horn and plaintive whine of a hound sent another electric pulse through her body.
Thumper arrived with the first field, Mildred soon thereafter with the second. They formed a semicircle around the den, congratulated Crispie on the fine work of his pack, and withdrew their flasks for some much-needed refreshment.
Thumper had gotten so caught up in the pleasures of the chase that he’d completely forgotten his nefarious objectives for that morning. It was only when he tilted his head back to take a long swig from an offered flask that he caught the sight
