“Come on!” she cried. “I’ll help you. Just pile your hair up anyhow—it doesn’t matter—this hat’ll cover it. I think these breeches will fit you—we are just about the same size; but I don’t know about the boots—they may be a little large. I didn’t bring any spurs—papa won’t let any one wear spurs until they ride fairly well. You’ll have to win your spurs, you see! It’s a beautiful morning—just spiffy! Run in and wash up a bit. I’ll arrange everything, and you’ll be in ’em in a jiffy.”
She seized Shannon around the waist and danced off toward the bathroom.
“Don’t be long,” she admonished, as she returned to the dressing room, from where she laid down a barrage of conversation before the bathroom.
Shannon washed quickly. She was excited at the prospect of the ride. That and the laughing, talking girl in the adjoining room gave her no time to think. Her mind was fully occupied and her nerves were stimulated. For the moment she forgot about morphine, and then it was too late, for Eva had her by the hand and she was being led, almost at a run, down the stairs, through the patio, and out over the edge of the hill down toward the stable.
At first the full-foliaged umbrella trees through which the walk wound concealed the stable and corrals at the foot of the hill, but presently they broke upon her view, and she saw the horses saddled and waiting, and the other members of the family. The colonel and Mrs. Pennington were already mounted. Custer and a stableman held two horses, while the fifth was tied to a ring in the stable wall. It was a pretty picture—the pawing horses, with arched necks, eager to be away; the happy, laughing people in their picturesque and unconventional riding clothes; the new day upon the nearer hills; the haze upon the farther mountains.
“Fine!” cried the colonel, as he saw her coming. “Really never thought you’d do it! I’ll wager this is the earliest you have been up in many a day. ‘Barbarous hour’—that’s what you’re saying. Why, when my cousin was on here from New York, he was really shocked—said it wasn’t decent. Come along—we’re late this morning. You’ll ride Baldy—Custer’ll help you up.”
She stepped to the mounting block as the young man led the dancing Baldy close beside it.
“Ever ridden much?” he asked.
“Never in my life.”
“Take the reins in your left hand—so. Like this—left-hand rein coming in under your little finger, the other between your first and second fingers, and the bight out between your first finger and thumb— there, that’s it. Face your horse, put your left hand on the horn, and your right hand on the cantle—this is the cantle back here. That’s the ticket. Now put your left foot in the stirrup and stand erect—no, don’t lean forward over the saddle—good! swing your right leg, knee bent, over the cantle, at the same time lifting your right hand. When you come down, ease yourself into the saddle by closing on the horse with your knees—that takes the jar off both of you. Ride with a light rein. If you want him to slow down or stop, pull him in—don’t jerk.”