Two days after Matt had killed the two would-be rustlers, William Teasdale arrived at Frewen Castle, driving a carriage to which was tied a horse.
“What is this?” Frewen asked, coming down off the porch to meet him.
“It’s a horse for the boy,” Teasdale said. “You can’t have a boy out here without a horse.”
“You didn’t have to do that, William,” Frewen said.
“I know I didn’t have to,” Teasdale said. “But it is something I wanted to do. He can ride it as long as he is here. When he goes back to England, I’ll send someone over for the horse.”
“Yes, but you heard his mother. She doesn’t want him riding.”
“Moreton, the boy needs a mediator and advocate. I am sure that if Lord Randolph were here, he would be on the boy’s side. You are just going to have to be his surrogate father while he is here. Be strong. Stand up to Lady Churchill.”
“By damn you are right,” Frewen agreed. “And what a wonderful thing for you to do, William, to bring a horse for Winnie to ride. Just a minute, I’ll get him out here.”
A few minutes later, Winnie, with a broad smile spreading across his face, was standing on the front porch looking at the bay Arabian horse.
“That has to be the most magnificent horse in the entire world,” Winnie said.
“Well, young man, he is yours for as long as you are here.”
“Can I ride him right now?”
“Of course you can ride him. That’s why I brought him to you,” Teasdale said.
Winnie walked out to the horse, then, seeing how high the stirrup was from the ground, was a bit confused as how best to mount him.
“Lead the horse over to the steps,” Frewen suggested. “That will be the easiest way to get on, until you learn how.”
Winnie led the horse over the steps, then using the steps, climbed into the saddle. Frewen handed him the reins.
“Winnie! What are you doing?” Jennie asked, coming out onto the front porch at that moment.
“I am going horseback riding,” Winnie replied.
“To what end?”
“Just to be riding.”
“What a waste of time.”
“Mama, no hour of life spent in a saddle is a waste of time,” Winnie said.
“You say that as if you have hours in the saddle.”
“I admit that this will be my first hour, but some day I will have many hours on the back of a horse. And, years from now, when I am old and gray, I can look back on this and say, ‘This was my finest hour.’ ”
“No, I don’t think you should go riding. Please, get down now,” Jennie said.
“Jennie, let the boy ride. I promise you, there is not one American boy in the entire West who is Winnie’s age who is not riding with proficiency,” Frewen said.
“Proficiency,” Jennie said. “You have just made my point, Moreton. How can Winnie ride with knowledge and skill when he has no experience?”
“And how does one gain experience, Jennie? One gains experience by involving themselves in an activity that leads to proficiency. Let the boy ride, I beg of you,” Frewen pleaded.
“Please, Mama?” Churchill added.
The expression on Jennie’s face indicated clearly that this was not something she favored, but her objections were overcome by the combined efforts of Winnie and Frewen.
“All right,” she said reluctantly, finally giving in.
“Thank you, Mama!” Winnie said. “Thank you so much!”
“Please, Winston, do be careful,” Jennie said. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Don’t worry, Lady Churchill,” Teasdale said. “I had my foreman pick out the most gentle horse in our stable.”
“That was very nice of you, Sir William,” Jennie said, though the tone of her voice and the expression on her face indicated that she wished he had not made a horse available for her son.
“Mr. Morrison, suppose you ride out with him this first time,” Frewen suggested.
“All right,” Morrison said. “Tell you what, young man, come along with me and watch me saddle my horse. If you are going to ride, that’s something you’ll need to know.”
Winnie followed Morrison into the stable, where the foreman picked up a saddle and took it over to the stall where he kept his own horse. He put the saddle over the wall of the stall, then picked up a brush and stepped up to the horse and began brushing its back.
“The first thing you want to do is brush your horse’s back and make sure you remove any dirt or grit that might be under the saddle. Also you want to be certain that all the hair is flat. If you don’t, it could cause the horse to chafe under the saddle. And always check for sores or wounds before you put the saddle on. You got that?”
“Yes, sir,” Winnie replied.
“Good. Now, you’ll start with the saddle blanket. You want to put the blanket forward, over the withers, then pull it back into place. That keeps the hair flat beneath the saddle. Oh, and make sure the blanket is even on both sides.”
Morrison demonstrated by putting the saddle blanket on the horse.
“Now, before you put on the saddle, hook the stirrups over the horn. That way, they won’t hit the horse as you put the saddle on him. And when you put the saddle on, lift it high enough that it doesn’t hit the horse or push the saddle blanket out of position. Put it slightly forward, then move it back in to position, and put it on gently.”
Again Morrison showed what he was talking about by actually doing it.
“Now all you have to do is tighten the cinch. You want it tight enough, but not too tight, otherwise the horse will be uncomfortable. Leave enough room that you can get your fingers between the cinch and the horse.”
All the time he was talking, Morrison was demonstrating and now his horse was saddled and ready to go.
With his horse saddled, Morrison walked over to Winnie’s horse and removed the saddle and blanket.
“Now, you do it,” he said.
“I didn’t ask Sir William what this horse was named,” Winnie said as he went about saddling the animal, repeating step by step the procedure Morrison had showed him.
“I doubt that he has a name,” Morrison said. “I’m sure he just came from the remuda.”
“Then I intend to name him,” Winnie said.
“I’m sure he will like that. What are you going to name him?”
“He is such a noble-looking horse that he needs a noble name,” Winnie said. “I think I shall call him Tudor Monarch.”
Morrison laughed. “That’s quite a name,” he said.
When the horse was saddled, Winnie gave the animal a pat on the withers.
“Get mounted, and we’ll take a ride,” Morrison said.
Winnie started to lead the horse back to the porch.
“Where are you going?”
“Over to the step so I can get on the horse.”
“What if you had to dismount while you were out on the trail? How would you get back on then?” Morrison asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Let me show you.”
Morrison pulled the left stirrup down far enough for Winnie to put his foot in it. Putting his left foot in the stirrup, then throwing his right leg over the horse, he was able to get into the saddle.
“Now, reach down and pull up on this adjustment strap until the left stirrup is even with the other one,” Morrison suggested.
Winnie did so, then a huge smile came across his face. “Oh, what a wonderful thing. I am a cowboy,” he said. “I am truly a cowboy.”
Chapter Twenty
Carlos Silva had the perfect spot for his ambush. He was on top of a two-hundred-foot-high butte with a perfect view of the big log house called Frewen Castle. Anyone leaving the house or either one of the bunkhouses to go out onto the range where Frewen’s cattle were would have to pass right under this butte. He had come here before dawn, and now as the rising sun turned the Powder River into a gleaming stream of gold, he was able to observe the activity at the ranch. He saw the cook step out of the cook shack and toss out a pan of water. He watched cowboys going to and coming from the four outhouses that were lined up behind the two bunkhouses. He observed for nearly an hour as the ranch hands went into the cookhouse for their breakfast, then came out and started about their daily duties.