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seem familiar, but he'd seen enough people on horseback yesterday,
while he'd waited for the doctor, to have an idea what was expected of
him. He took the reins and held the horse steady as Mackenzie adjusted
the stirrup leathers.
"You sit well," she said. "Maybe you have done this before" She
stepped back and cocked her head. "How does that feel?"
He didn't know how it was supposed to feel. But he could tell that the
horse accepted him on her back. She was resigned to this ordeal,
weary, even, of teaching. riders the fundamentals. But she was
willing, particularly if he didn't make any unreasonable demands. He
leaned over her neck and tried to croon to her in the language of his
dreams. AI though the words that emerged were frustratingly incorrect
, she seemed to appreciate the effort. Her ears flipped forward as if
in thanks.
He sat up straight again. "We're ready." He met Mackenzie 's eyes;
they were wary.
"Lean over a horse's neck like that and you're just asking to be
thrown. She doesn't know what you're doing. She just feels your
weight shifting: " "She understood." -"Are you going to let me teach
you, or are you going to try to teach me? "
"Why don't we just see how I do? Then we'll know who should teach
who."
She would have been incensed if the words had come from anyone but
Patrick. But there had been no attempt to put her in her place; he had
been perfectly serious. She muttered under her breath as she went to
get her mount. From behind her she heard Patrick crooning to Gimme
again, but she resisted the impulse to look over her shoulder. Patrick
would have to learn by himself, and if he ended up on the ground
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because of it, then so be it.
Sunfisher was a black gelding the boss bad about decided to sell south
for pet food. His thoroughbred ancestry had never been in question.
What was in question was his ability to accept his place. In stock men
slang, a sun fisher was a bucking horse who could leave the ground in
one direction and land heading the opposite way. That nasty habit was
the least of Sunfisher's problems. He was high-spirited and contrary,
determined not to earn his keep. There was no spot for a horse like
him on a station that had to get not only a good day's work but a day
and a half from every living occupant, just to survive.
Mackenzie had been the only thing to stand between Clint Conroy and
Sunfisher's trip south. She had fallen for him on sight and worked
with Dilly Dan from that day forward to make him into a useful mount.
But neither she nor Dilly Dan, one of the best horse breakers in the
Territory, had made the necessary adjustments in Sunfisher's
behavior.
She saddled him now with a wary eye. He was known for docility until
the instant he knew his rider's attention had wavered. Then he was
hell on the hoof, a bucking, twisting demon who could send the best
riders on the stat: on soaring through the air in a matter of seconds.
She had taken her own spills off his back, and once, while she had been
saddling him, he had dropped to the ground and tried to roll on her.
Today he stood still, plotting, she supposed, what mischief he would
work when she was settled on his back. For just a moment she
considered taking out a different horse, but Sunfisher's days were
numbered unless his behavior improved. It was up to her to see that
that happened, and quickly.
In the saddle, she turned him toward Gimme. Patrick still sat
comfortably on her back, and the mare looked perfectly content.
Mackenzie coached Sunfisher closer, but not too close. "We'll have to
stay a distance apart," she warned Patrick. "Sunfisher's known for his
bad manners. It would be just like him to kick Gimme or nip her if he
gets the chance."
"I can see that: '
"Then you're a horseman for certain." She fought Sunfisher for control
of the reins and won, but the battle lines had been drawn. "Shall we
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move on?"
"I'm looking forward to it."
Mackenzie started off. Patrick rode beside her, but not close enough
to provoke Sunfisher.
"I don't even know what to tell you," she said. "Maybe you're a
station owner or a station owner's son yourself."
"With an American accent?"
"Maybe you're from Texas."
"Well, start with the differences between here and Texas."
"Everything we have here is bigger than your ranches. Much bigger.
Only the profit's smaller."
"
" That doesn't sound fair: '
"Waluwara's nearly as big as your Rhode Island." Mackenzie gestured to
the buildings beside the homestead. "And there are towns in Australia
that are smaller than the homestead. We have to provide everything for
ourselves. Can't jump in the car and go for milk or bread. That's the
store." She pointed to a small unpretentious building.
"There's a little of everything in there. Too little. Edwina and I go
to Brisbane once a year and buy all our supplies."
"What's that structure between the store and the homestead ? "
"The cool house. That's spinifex packed between the walls. We keep it
wet, and as the water evaporates, it cools the inside so it's fifteen,
maybe even twenty degrees cooler inside than out. That's all the first
settlers had to keep meat cool with. So that's why salted beef was so
popular. Every stockman had his own recipe for brine."
She continued the tour as they ambled on. Patrick listened to the
information, but he heard more, much more. She was fiercely proud of
the station and the life her ancestors had carved from nothing. But [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]