"If I don't, you can butcher me." The Northerner told me the price of the ride, took it as I handed it over, gave me the reins. "I like my meat rare. Your hide's too charred for me." I heard him calling out the stakes as I turned my attention to the stud. The bay horse was staring back at me in plain, pointed challenge. He had just spent part of the day dumping men off his back, and that the next one was me appeared to make no difference to him. He knew what was expected of him and intended to deliver. Del's warning rang true in my ears. If all the bettors did tumble to the truth about my relationship with the stud, they'd be in their rights to beat the hoolies out of me. So it was important that I not treat the stud any differently, or try to suborn him into complaisance. Therefore, all I had to do was make him do his best to throw me, then manage to stay on. "Hoolies," I muttered, "I wish this were a sword-dance." The stud flickered an ear. I sucked in a deep breath, caught a handful of reins and mane, swung myself aboard without benefit of the stirrup.
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