Janey stopped writing in her notebook and stood agape, her eyes huge behind her glasses.
“Don’t write none a that down!” Rhetta commanded. “The boy’s stark raving mad. Best we not blab that about, let him come to his senses first.”
“That isn’t a regular part of foxhunting?” Janey asked.
“That lunacy? Hell, no. More likely him and the huntsman would be sharing some dirty joke, or talking about how much they drank the night before. At least, that’s how it was in my day.”
“Now,” Ryman said, “just before we move off to enjoy the bounty Saint Hubert has laid before us, I’d like to share a thought from ‘The Foxhunter’s Faith.’” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an index card.
“A-hem!” Thumper interjected, a scowl on his face and a finger jabbing at his watch.
“Won’t take but a
