“Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion. It seizes a person whole and once it has done so, he will have to accept that his life will be radically changed.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Speechless surprise.
The accurate prediction proved, once again, Scott was a good guesser. It hadn’t been a sure bet though, considering there were very few situations in life which left his little cousin speechless. However, he’d felt confident the gift of a rare brindle horse from a man Kinsey locked horns with almost daily would leave the young lady momentarily slack-jawed - what Winnie called a Fly Catcher.
Ye heard me right, ScottyGarrett. Yer buyin’ Mrs. MacFarland’s dog a large soup bone with that buried pirate’s treasure and offerin’ the poor beast an apology fer bein’ wrongly accused of diggin’ up me garden. So, bring along those coppers and close yer fly catcher.
Kinsey, quickly recovering from her loss of words, had slung her arms around the gift-giver's neck and bestowed a kiss on his cheek, which no doubt permitted Johnny to be a good guesser with his hopeful prediction.
Lacing fingers, Scott rested his forearms on the fence’s upper rail and quietly observed the shared attribute gradually surfacing over the last days between animal and owner.
Curiosity.
The brindle, like most horses, displayed innate inquisitiveness as it hesitantly circled Scott’s little cousin standing in the middle of the corral. Likewise, Kinsey adopted her own slow circular movement to encourage the horse to step toward her. The young lady’s expression of awe couldn’t be denied as her outstretched palm holding several grains of feed prompted the desire for trust from her new friend. It appeared curiosity was allowing trust to grow each time the brindle would take a step closer to Kinsey, and then, with a toss of its head, resume its encircling path.
A third figure inside the corral snagged Scott’s attention. Johnny leaned against the fence, displaying his list of relaxed contentment:
One belt-hooked thumb.
One rail-resting beetle-crusher.
One cock-a-hoop grin.
The only betrayal suggesting his younger brother’s stifled impatience were twitching fingers holding a coiled training rope.
Opinionated rib-poking began the first day of breaking-in the brindle. Kinsey insisted on measured contact and purposeful steps to earn the horse’s trust, a method she’d witnessed at the stables in Melbourne. This gentler approach immediately raised the skeptical eyebrows of more than one crusty ranch hand. Leading the pack of smirking nay-sayers -
“Well, ain’t this a sight that’d make a grown man sit in a dark room ‘n cry in his beer.”
Scott’s pained side-glance acknowledged the profound statement’s orator. “Jellifer.”
“Oh, would ya look at thaaaaat.” The whiskered curmudgeon’s exasperation extended the vowel beyond its rightful place in a word. “Your cousin hasn’t one dang clue about what she’s doin’ out there.”
“Is that a fact.” Scott’s annoyance omitted the question mark.
“Why, every snuff-chewin’ wrangler worth his wage knows the trick to breakin’ in a horse is after you get bucked off, keep gettin’ back on ’til it gets bored.”
Squinting at the young lady, Scott pushed the brim of his hat up higher on his brow and pondered the situation. “Come to think of it, I’ve yet to see the girl spit out a wad of tobacco.”
“Ha! Have yer fun.”
“Jelly, I apologize and agree. That all-important talk with Kinsey is long overdue. I’ll sit her down tonight.”
“About time.” Suspicious eyes cocked upward. “Whadda you plan on sayin’?”
“I thought I’d first delicately explain the birds and bees” - A tomahawk hand sliced forward through the air - “And then head straight into proper snuff-chewin’.”
“Well, I guess when you’re ignorant of the bunkhouse talk goin’ on concern’ Johnny, crackin’ jokes comes easy.”
Actually, Scott had become acutely aware of the bunkhouse talk by overhearing a blowhard named Gus. His comment of it looks like that fine piece of Aussie calico castrated young Lancer before the stallion required a meeting behind the stables with Murdoch Lancer’s oldest son. Their discussion had been brief, to the point and extremely effective. To the best of Scott’s knowledge, the only talkin’ still taking place was coming out of the mouth of the little man standing beside him. “Johnny’s a big boy, Jelly.”
“And he’s lookin’ out for the brindle. That little girl wanted the poor animal gelded. Johnny talked her out of it.”
Scott dipped his chin with a smile. Last night, Kinsey chose her detailed thoughts on gelding a stallion for lively supper conversation. As all three Lancer men offered alternate suggestions while squirming in their seats and crossing legs, the young lady eventually agreed to breed the horse instead. Afterwards, father and sons toasted the brindle for holding on to its manhood.
“Now, if your cousin would only let Johnny show her the proper way to break a wild horse maybe -”
“Jelly.” Scott’s patience needed a dark room and a beer to cry in. “I hear Gus is working on some fence line along the north pasture. That swollen eye he’s sporting could conceivably hamper his distance-judging with a hammer. Why don’t you ride out there and hold a few nails for him.”
“Guess I could.” The hired hand rubbed his wiry chin hair. “Gus might appreciate the help. He’s a damn fool though banging’ up his face like that while openin’ an outhouse door.”
Scott nodded. Damn fool indeed.
The brindle and young lady continued their circular dance, which had evolved from an awkward two-step of strangers into a graceful waltz of familiarity. Stopping within a few feet of Kinsey, the stallion stretched out its muscular neck and finally sampled the offered feed. Scott resisted a shoutout of victory but instead bounced a congratulatory smile off his little cousin which landed on his brother’s face.
All right Johnny. Time to get the training rope on this fella.
“Standing here giving advice?” Taking Jelly’s vacated spot, Murdoch mirrored Scott’s stance at the corral fence. “Johnny!” The patriarch’s finger pointed out his youngest. “Let's have the brindle try on a training rope today.”
“No, sir.” A throat cleared. “Giving advice never once entered my mind.”
A grunt questioned the response’s sincerity. “Then maybe you’d like to share your thoughts on Gus Chenowith acquiring a black eye.”
“Well,” Scott paused to gather words which appropriately expressed his view. “I feel it’s a private matter between Gus and... the outhouse.”
A snort judged in favor of the opinion.
Loosening the coiled rope in his hands to gain some slack, Johnny ambled toward Kinsey. “All right, Half-pint, let’s get this back on the fella and maybe have him fitted up with a breakaway -”
Abruptly interrupted in thought and travel, Johnny came to a halt several yards from Kinsey due to an unexpected barrier.
The brindle. It had stopped circling and stood in Johnny’s path to the young lady.
“Did you see that?” Needing confirmation of the message his eyes just sent to his brain, Scott posed the query more to himself than to his father.
The stallion paused, tossed its head and then trotted off. However, the moment Johnny stepped forward, it doubled back and reclaimed its blocking position.
Staring down his adversary, advice was offered while side-stepping a wide berth around the front of the brindle barricade. “You best behave yourself, partner. I’ve known this little girl a lot longer than you have.” With a snort, Kinsey’s four-legged gift resumed its trot around the corral.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Murdoch’s tone reflected amusement. “Jealousy?”
“Are you referring to the horse or to your youngest son?”
“Let’s start with the horse.”
Scott smiled. “Not jealousy. Loyalty.” The brindle was indeed a Morgan.
“See, darlin’?” Johnny held out his arms as he approached the little cousin. “Sometimes you have to show a fella who’s boss.”
The brindle begged to differ. Tightening its circular travel, the stallion’s lowered head swung in and caught Johnny’s shoulder, catching the boss off-guard and landing him in the dirt.
An eyebrow raised in rethinking the developing situation. “Correction, sir. Loyalty with a touch of jealousy.”