"I can think of a lot of cases where that wouldn't be very handy."

Cynthie laughed.

"You can rein her like any other horse, too, except she's pretty old and won't run, no matter what. Victor found her for Greg and had the boy riding her before he learned to walk."

Inside the barn Peter was saddling the old mare and Greg was playing with

Sorry. When he saw them come in, he brought Sorry over to Winn."Does that dog ever go outside?" Winn asked, scratching the furry head thatleaned against his leg.

"She's not exactly a watchdog, is she?" Cynthie agreed."Peter says not all dogs got to be watchdogs," Greg said."Some dogs is just friends.""Are friends," Winn said, and Greg dutifully repeated it. Winn had noticed some time ago that he was always hearing about things Peter said but hardlyever heard Peter say anything himself.

"Ready."

He heard Peter going by, leading the horse. He felt her warmth and smelled

the distinctive scent that was horse. With Greg's hand in his, he followedthe horse outside.He was really going to ride again. He felt both excited and frightened. At the same time, he wanted to pretend it didn't matter.

It was a way of protecting himself, just in case he couldn't do it.

He took a few minutes to get to know the horse who was supposed to teach him

how to ride again. She didn't seem as old as Cynthie had indicated. He had expected some poor old nag with her head hanging to the ground.

They had put his own saddle on her. The stirrups shouldn't need adjusting.

He had a habit of tightening the cinch just before he mounted, but he was afraid if he did it now, it would look as if he didn't trust Peter.

Or that he was procrastinating which he probably was.

He grabbed the saddle horn, grateful no one had offered to help him up.

After two tries, he used his left hand to guide his foot into the stirrup.

Finally he swung into the saddle--and almost off the other side! Peter

caught him before he fell, but he couldn't quite gain his balance.

Having his right foot guided into the other stirrup didn't help as much as hethought it would."Stand up in the stirrups," Cynthie instructed.She had to be kidding. He'd feel even less secure if he tried that."Stand up in the stirrups," she repeated. She was close to the horse, her hand on his thigh.

"When you

sit back down, you'll have your directions straight again."

Directions he took to mean up and down. He followed her instructions and felt better when he was seated again. He gave himself a couple seconds toget used to the feeling.

"I think I'm all right now," he said, trying to relax.

"Here goes," he mumbled.

"Oh, come along boys and listen to my tale; I'll tell you of my troubles onthe Old Chisholm trail.

Come a ti-yi-yippy, yippy, youI Yippy youI Come a ti-yi-yippy, yippy youI"The mare had started walking as soon as he had started singing, just asCynthie had predicted. He was afraid to stop singing even to catch hisbreath, for fear she would stop and go back.

"I woke up one mornin' on the 01' Chisholm Trail A rope in my hand and a cowby the tail."

He thought he heard someone call out. He had a feeling Greg had decided torun along behind.

"Oh, it's bacon and beans most" -- Something seemed to grab at his face.

He raised his arms to fend it off.

Tree branches! The old gal had decided to get rid of him! He had stoppedsinging, but she was still walking slowly. He kicked his boots free of the stirrups and took the fall.

Greg ran up, out of breath, moments after he hit the ground. Winn rolled over and came to a sit ting position. ' "Peter says, when you fall off, you got to get right back on again." "Shut up, Greg." It had been an instinctive reaction. "Sorry," he mumbled, coming to his feet. Cynthie was beside them in a moment.

"Are you hurt?" A finger touched a scratch on his face and he pulled away. "No, I'm all right, I guess." He dusted away dirt he couldn't see and ranhis fingers through his hair. "I bet that's the only tree in two hundredmiles of prairie and that horse just had to walk under it."

Cynthie laughed then covered her mouth.

He heard the sound as she m.u.f.fled it and tried to picture how she looked.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Cynthie saw a hint of a smile in his dimples and let herself laugh with

relief."Well, you're supposed to hear the tree.""Hear the tree?" he asked, incredulously."What do trees say?"Cynthie laughed even harder. Greg's small fists punched at her legs but she hardly noticed.

"If you didn't sing so loud, you'd know." The dimples deepened in earnest,and she wanted to throw her arms around his neck, she was so glad to see them.Peter led the mare up to the little group under the tree."Wanna ride her back?" he asked."Shut up, Peter," Greg said."Greg..." Cynthie scolded, but Winn stopped her.

"No, that's my fault," he said.

"And Peter's right. I'll ride her back."

Mounting was just as difficult the second time, except he got his bearingsfaster using Cynthie's trick of standing in the stirrups.

The trouble this time was he wouldn't know when to stop her and she mightjust walk right past the house and yard. He tried to make her start with the usual heel in the ribs but she stood patiently, waiting for him to sing. He gave in to her wishes and sang two more verses of "The Old Chisholm Trail."This time he sang softer, and when he heard a shout behind him he stopped andwaited for the others to catch up.

After he had dismounted, Greg wanted a ride. Peter lifted him up and wentback to the barn. Winn stood with Cynthie as she watched her little boy onthe back of the big horse. He was singing his own version of Winn's song, making up any words that he couldn't remember.

"I should put something on those scratches," she said softly.

"No hurry. Mostly, I bruised my, uh, dignity."

Cynthie laughed again and covered her mouth too late.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's just that..." She covered her mouth to stifle another giggle.

"It's just that I looked really funny. Did you know all along that wouldhappen?"

He was smiling again, and it made her heart race. She had been so frightenedwhen she had seen him fall that she had laughed in relief when she knew hewasn't hurt. She turned away to watch her little boy.

He had stopped singing for a moment and now he and the mare were on their way back. When she turned toward Winn she was serious.

"I know it isn't quite like the riding you're used to. But it's a first step. It's got to be better than no thing."

Winn was quiet. Cynthie decided he wasn't going to answer and she turned towatch Greg again. Unwilling to end his ride so soon, Greg turned the horseaway and started singing again.

"It may be better than no thing," Winn said finally. "But it reminds me of what I can't do."

"But don't you think about it anyway?"

That was certainly true. Trying to forget hadn't worked at all. He intended to remain silent, to let her think she was helping him, but the frustrationboiled over inside.

"What do you expect me to do, tell you all the things I want to do and letyou teach me how to do them halfway?"

What would she think if he told her that what he wanted most was her?

Would she let him love her halfway? Could she love half a man?

The bitterness in his voice frightened Cynthie. She had no answer to his question; she had no answers at all. She stood silently and watched her sonride around the yard until he tired of the game. Winn stood just as silentlybeside her, following the movement of the boy and horse by the child's song.

When Greg was safely on the ground again, she took the mare to the barn andunsaddled her and rubbed her down. She had to keep busy, too. She was feeling as lost and bitter as Winn. There was no thing else she could do forhim. She had tried everything she could think of. It was time to tell him about the letter and leave the decision up to him.

Cynthie tapped on Winn's door. "I want to talk to you," she said. It had taken longer than usual to getGreg washed and settled into bed and this was her first chance to be alonewith Winn. She had heard him moving around while she tucked Greg in so sheknew he hadn't been in bed very long.

After what seemed like a long hesitation he answered, "All right."

Cynthie carried a lamp into the room, knowing it would be dark. Once inside,

she closed the door and turned to look at him. He was stretched across thebed on his back, his hands tucked under his head.He had removed his shirt and washed. Drops of water on his chest glistened in the lamplight, and the ends of his hair were damp."I got the letter," she began. He didn't move. It was like he hadn't heard."From the doctor in New York."After a long moment of silence he prompted,"And?"Cynthie sighed."And he's sorry."She crossed the room and set the lamp on the table. She resisted the temptation to pace."He mentions a school." She watched for a reaction."In Boston. We could send you there."He seemed to be staring at the ceiling. She came to stand near the bed."Would you go, Winn?"He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke his voice was very soft, almost too low to hear.

"I'll do anything you want, Cynthie."

She sat down on the bed next to him and he turned his face toward her.

"I.

can't help you any more," she said.

"I just don't know what else to do."

Her fingers reached out and stroked his face. He caught them quickly with

his own.

"You've done a lot, Cynthie. Whatever happens, I want you to remember that.You've done more than most people would have."Cynthie swallowed back the lump in her throat. "I'll write to the school tomorrow if you want me to."Winn nodded."I don't know how I'll pay for it.""Don't worry about it." Cynthie sat for a moment and watched him."I'll write to your family for you, too, if you want me to. Isn't there someone?"

He turned his face away from her.

"Not that can afford a school like that."

"That's not what I meant, Winn. Isn't there someone who'd like to know where

you are?"He still held her fingers in his hand. He squeezed them a little tighter.After a moment he shook his head.Reluctantly, Cynthie pulled her hand away and stood."Good night," she said. She retrieved the lamp and left the room.Winn lay for several minutes after Cynthie had gone, his fingers beating out a nervous rhythm on the bed. He rolled to a sit ting position and ran hishands through his hair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he held his head,trying not to think about what Cynthie had just said or what he was about todo.

Finally he got up and took the three steps to the corner where his bags were.

He felt under the larger

knapsack for the saddlebags and brought them tothe bed.

He tested the weight of each bag and chose one. He unbuckled the fastener,dumped the contents onto the bed and felt among the articles there,searching. Picket pins. They were what had fooled him. It must be on the other side.