Although in truth his yelps for help were also a bit of a giveaway. Oh, he’d put on a good show, there was no doubt about that. It was so good that Harold didn’t pay much attention to his skill level the first day. Sam had been late and so Harold had saddled the mare for him. He’d talked about a strained shoulder muscle and backache from the previous day’s work in the machinery shed, and sure enough he looked a bit stiff in the saddle. He followed rather than rode abreast and seemed a bit unsure. Preoccupied with scheming to ensure his nephew ended up with a paying job, Harold had ignored him. Who’d watch a learner when you could ride with a natural – and Kendal White was a born horseman. Where he got it from, with city slickers for parents and professionals for siblings, was anyone’s guess. The kid had a good seat, kept his heels in and the reins firm, and rode with the nonchalance of an old hand despite his intermittent stints in the saddle. A week ago they’d mustered a 1500-acre paddock, moving a mob of wethers westward into country the boss had been fallowing for six months.
