Ten Little Bloodhounds by Virginia Lanier

lead, nose held high, and his loose wrinkles on his high narrow head quivering in intense concentration. He changed from dancing clown to a dedicated trailer in less than fifteen seconds.
    I wasn’t positive, however, about the object of his search. His head should be down near the ground. I gave him plenty of room to maneuver by feeding out slack on the long lead and letting him pull me for a change. He picked up his speed and was clearly excited. I wasn’t.
    Amelia would stand about a foot tall. To trail her, his nose should be active near the ground, his long ears funneling the smell from below to his nose. His huge ears were flopping with each step, but they didn’t looklike they were doing much scooping. If he was trailing a mother coon carrying supper back to her brood in a large nest high in a cypress tree, I was going to inform him he was now permanently in full retirement. Damn, it could also be a wildcat or bobcat. If he ran one of those guys to ground, he could get scratched eyes and a lacerated muzzle. It also could easily be a black bear on the prowl for honey. If this was what he was chasing, I hoped the bear was in good shape and could outrun him. ’Course, they usually sleep during the day and hunt at night.
    We were traveling through waist-high grass, briar-berry bushes, and cattails, already turning a deep brown. Plenty of titi and palmetto shrubs. Small yellow leaves were clinging to my gloves where we had brushed against vines that slowed our progress.
    “Hey, big guy, halt! Halt!” Ivanhoe finally slowed, turning back to me looking impatient. “Just give me thirty seconds to catch my breath. Jeez!” My rescue suit was breezeproof. Air couldn’t circulate inside and I was sweating buckets. I could feel it trickling down my torso and running down my legs. I’d be soaking wet when I pulled off my suit. I was also wheezing like an asthmatic. The seven months I had refrained from smoking still hadn’t cleared my lungs.
    I looked back to see how far we had come from the house. I could see a sliver of roof and the top of a double chimney. The grade of the land was beginning to slope upward. It would make it harder for me to run and breathe at the same time. My head snapped around when I heard a large animal crashing through dry brush. It was about five, or maybe a tad later. Our scenton the air had probably spooked a couple of deer. I took another deep breath as Ivanhoe and I stared toward the east, where the cracking foliage had been trampled in a wild flight to avoid us. They were more frightened of us than we were of them.
    My breath slowed and I reluctantly let Ivanhoe start the search, and labored on another fifty feet of ground that continued to present a steeper climb. I let Ivanhoe half-pull me to the top of the small cliff. The ground was turning white in spots, and I thought I saw small patches of sea oats on the next dune, which was slightly higher than ours was. We were a good two miles from the water.
    Perhaps a small inlet had been formed by erosion and drifting sand. The house was less than a mile away, I had seen it just a short time ago, and I remembered it was located almost exactly in the center of the island. I should have waited for Rand to fetch his map, but my anger made me impetuous and drove me to leave prematurely. I had no fear of getting lost. Ivanhoe could lead me back to the house in minutes. I wondered what four-legged creature he was trailing. I knew for certain that he wasn’t mantrailing: He had never accomplished a successful find.
    As we walked closer to the open area, I noticed that the leaves and small vines had been swept neatly against the trees and shrubs, leaving an almost circular area clear of debris. The air currents must rotate up here more fiercely than in the lower areas.
    Ivanhoe had his head up, testing the light breeze. Since his head was already tilted upward, I had no warning when his huge jaws opened and he let forth aloud joyous bay of success. My