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purchased the mare sight unseen. The hostler who had delivered her had done so on foot, sweet-talking the mare the entire time. The man's telltale cooing hadn't prevented Slade from completing the purchase. He'd long ago given up on expecting an easy glide through life. He simply took the mare's skittishness in stride.
    Thorpe was hardly a tenderfoot, but you couldn't tell that by the clumsy way he hurled himself into the saddle. The instant Thorpe's backside hit the leather, the horse tried to dislodge him. The wiry ranch hand was spending more time in the air than in the saddle. Slade ticked off the seconds in his head. On seven, Thorpe went flying straight up, landing with a solid thunk on the packed earth. The triumphant horse was springing around the corral. Its back arched like an angry cat's. Slade winced as he heard the man's ragged intake of breath.
    "Move, boy, 'less you want puddin' for brains," someone shouted.
    With a pitiful groan, Thorpe rolled in the dirt, the horse's hooves missing his head by little more than a hair's breadth. The spectators draped along the fence roared with laughter.
    "Whooee, Thorpe! That mare popped you like she had a belly full of springs," Dix hollered as Thorpe slowly picked himself up and slapped the dust from his chaps.
    "That damn horse makes me feel like a newly minted virgin," Thorpe said as he scrambled over the fence.
    "Don't be so hard on yourself, boy. There ain't no one in all of Colorado that can stay on that buzzard for more than a blink."
    Slade removed his hat and ducked his sweat-soaked head below the pump. He straightened up, and instead of shaking off the icy cold water, he allowed it to drip down and drench his shirt. "Care to make a wager on that, Dix?"
    For the first time, Dix turned in his direction.
    "Dalton, thought you were out countin' heads?"
    "Yeah, well. There ain't that many to count at the moment." Slade glanced over at the horse. It was standing in the far corner looking insulted, its shanks twitching in irritation. "Well, what do you say?"
    "'Bout what, Dalton?"
    "The wager, Dix. I swear you've got the attention span of a horsefly. For a bottle of your imported whiskey, I'll stay on that mare for a straight five minutes."
    "Dalton, you've been out in the heat too long. I ain't saying you're not a fine horseman--hell you're the best I've ever known. You might even be the best horseman this side of the Mississippi, but this animal's got a screw loose." For emphasis, he tapped his temple with his finger.
    "Besides, if I give up my whiskey, what'll I use to sweeten my coffee?"
    "Well, if that horse is as bad as you say, you won't have to worry about it none, will ya?"
    "You're on, Dalton, just don't break your neck."
    Slade raked his wet hair back with his fingers and settled his hat on his head.
    He felt as though the ranch hands were holding their collective breaths as he entered the corral. With a smooth, efficient movement, he gathered up the horse's dangling reins. A sudden sensation of heat at the back of his neck told him Lacey had joined the onlookers. Now feeling anxious about the whole thing, he found himself whispering small pleas to the high-strung animal.
    He walked the wary horse to the paddock gate and opened it with nary a sound.
    "Where the hell ya takin' her?" Dix asked loudly, causing the horse to rear, wrenching Slade's arm. But he held fast.
    "Hush, Dix, you fool. You and your big mouth about lost me my arm," Slade retorted in an angry whisper.
    "Well, the bet was to have you ride her for five minutes. Not take a little stroll with her round the gardens," Dix said, making a feeble attempt at a whisper and accidentally spitting out a shred of tobacco, which narrowly missed Slade's shirt.
    "There was no mention of where I had to ride her. So keep your spittle to yourself and follow me."
    Slade felt a bit ridiculous leading a horse like she was a bottle of nitro-glycerin ready to explode at the slightest disturbance. The fact that, every