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The Fox Hunt

The Fox Hunt Lisa Alther Appalachian Heritage, Volume 32, Number 1, Winter 2004, pp. 13-22 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2004.0052 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/434526/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 19:28 GMT from JHU Libraries FEATURED AUTHOR—FICTION Lisa Alther THE JEEP SHUDDERED ALONG THE DIRT ROAD, its hood bobbing like a duck decoy on rough waters. Sunlight danced through the rust and mustard foliage. Palmer felt like a kid laying out of school. Even if he did own the company. But he was, after all, out here on business. Julius was an expensive dog. His ancestors had been lead hounds for the best hunts in Virginia, right back to the beginning of the nineteenth century. But Lucas had implied on the phone this morning that Julius might not make it. He and Lucas rode away from the clearing, Julius hanging across Lucas's saddle, his neck ripped open and oozing black blood. "We'll take him to the vet in Beulah," said Palmer, who had raised Julius from a puppy and helped Lucas train him. Lucas shrugged. "Ain't no use." Palmer sighed. Lucas always turned as fatalistic as a European peasant in the face of http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Lisa Alther Appalachian Heritage, Volume 32, Number 1, Winter 2004, pp. 13-22 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2004.0052 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/434526/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 19:28 GMT from JHU Libraries FEATURED AUTHOR—FICTION Lisa Alther THE JEEP SHUDDERED ALONG THE DIRT ROAD, its hood bobbing like a duck decoy on rough waters. Sunlight danced through the rust and mustard foliage. Palmer felt like a kid laying out of school. Even if he did own the company. But he was, after all, out here on business. Julius was an expensive dog. His ancestors had been lead hounds for the best hunts in Virginia, right back to the beginning of the nineteenth century. But Lucas had implied on the phone this morning that Julius might not make it. He and Lucas rode away from the clearing, Julius hanging across Lucas's saddle, his neck ripped open and oozing black blood. "We'll take him to the vet in Beulah," said Palmer, who had raised Julius from a puppy and helped Lucas train him. Lucas shrugged. "Ain't no use." Palmer sighed. Lucas always turned as fatalistic as a European peasant in the face of

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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