Cat on the Scent

            Miranda, slower but hurrying, motioned for Dr. Larry Johnson to join her. The gray-haired Confederate dumped his weapon and ran. Reverend Jones solicited a four-wheel drive to take him to the victim.

            Vane-Tempest, in shock, stared upward with glassy eyes. His lips moved.

            Larry tore open his tunic. The bullet holes, neat, could have been drawn on his chest except that blood oozed out of them.

            Susan Tucker jumped into a farm truck parked on the side out of view of the battle. She pressed hard on the horn, making her way through the crowd, looking for Sarah. Sarah, returning with her husband’s canteen, was slowed by the distance, the heat, and now the retreating crowd. Susan caught sight of her at the hunter barn, standing at the open door, shielding her eyes against the sun.

            Finally reaching Sarah, she shouted, “Get in.”

            “Oh, God, he’s really mad at me, isn’t he? I had to catch my breath for a minute. It’s sweltering in this dress.”

            Susan didn’t answer Sarah. She was trying to return to the battlefield as fast as she could, given the crowd, which slowly got out of her way as she laid on the horn.

            She pulled up close to where Larry was working on Vane-Tempest. Sarah, at first, didn’t realize it was her husband lying on the ground, the focus of grim activity. Susan nudged her out of the farm truck.

            Sarah stood by the truck door for a second, then ran for the prostrate figure. She tore away her hoop skirt to run faster.

            “Harry, keep people away,” Larry ordered, then barked at Miranda, “See to Sarah.”

            Sarah, mute, fought Miranda. BoomBoom ran up to help the older woman. Together they pulled Sarah a short distance from her husband so Larry could work unmolested.

            “Hold his head still. You might have to clear his mouth out.” Larry spoke low, and calmly.

            Harry, on her knees, placed a hand on either side of Vane-Tempest’s florid face as Larry crossed one hand over the other and pumped on the wounded man’s chest with all his weight.

            The two cats watched, as did Tucker. She put her nose to the ground but knew it was hopeless; too many feet had trod the earth, too many guns had been fired.

            “Shot in the back for sure,” Mrs. Murphy softly said.

            “What a terrible accident.” Tucker hung her head.

            “No accident,” Mrs. Murphy crisply remarked. “Three bullets in the back is no accident.”

            Pewter stared at the tiger.

            Archie knelt on the other side of the gasping man. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

            Vane-Tempest blinked. His eyes cleared for a moment and he seemed to recognize everyone. But his left lung was filling with blood.

            In the distance an ambulance squealed.

            Harry watched Larry work. She’d known him all her life as a family doctor but this was the first time she had seen him dealing with an emergency. She admired his cool proficiency and his physical strength. In his middle seventies, Larry acted like a man in his fifties.

            The ambulance rolled out onto the field. Within seconds the crew, headed by Diana Robb, had Vane-Tempest on a stretcher and inside the vehicle. Larry hopped in behind, and the door slammed.

            “Waynesboro,” Diana called to Harry and Miranda. “It’s the closest hospital.”

            Miranda and BoomBoom guided Sarah back to the farm truck. They squeezed in, heading to Waynesboro, a good twenty-five miles away and up over treacherous Afton Gap.

            As the humans continued to mill around in disbelief, Mrs. Murphy suggested, “Fan five feet apart, and move toward the tree.”

            “What are we looking for?” Tucker inquired.

            “Spent bullets. The holes in his chest were made by clean exits.”

            Archie, shaking, walked toward the main house, a vacant look on his face. Harry caught up to him.

            She called over her shoulder, “Come on, kids.”

            “In a minute,” Tucker barked.

            “Hurry. It won’t take long for one of these fools to grind the bullets into the earth,” the tiger urged.

            “Found one.” Pewter stopped.

            The other two ran over. Sure enough it was a lead bullet, fattish, with three concentric rings on the bottom and a squashed nose lying in the grass.

            “Can’t call her back.” The tiger thought out loud. “Tucker, carry it in your mouth.”

            The corgi happily pinched the bullet between her teeth.

            “Don’t swallow,” Pewter teased.

            They trotted after Harry, who eased Archie toward the hunter barn.

            “I need to get back to my tent.”

            “Arch, there will be questions. You’re better off here.”

            “I didn’t shoot him.” Archie was beginning to comprehend the full impact of this dolorous event.

            “Of course you didn’t. However, why subject yourself to strangers or even friends asking questions you may not be emotionally prepared to answer? Come on in here. I’ll find Cynthia Cooper. I know she’s around.”