Sylvie's Cowboy: Cinderella In Reverse

CHAPTER 7: THE SNAKE

Walt boosted her into the saddle. He gestured to her helmet. "What's that for?" He swung into his saddle and brought his horse close alongside hers.

"So I won't crack my skull if I fall," she said.

"You fall a lot?"

"Never!"

Walt removed Silvie's helmet over her squeal of protest and tossed it into the tack shed a few feet away. He sidled his horse close to the shed door, took an old straw cowboy hat from a nail on the shed wall, then leaned over and squashed it onto her head.

"Reckon you're more likely to get sunstroke than a concussion. And when it rains, this'll keep the water outta yer collar, too." He led the way. They walked their horses out of the ranch yard and onto a narrow trail through trees and brush.

Walt turned in his saddle. "Next time we get to town, we'll do somethin' about them boots, too. Hold your reins in one hand."

"I'm used to riding English," Silvie protested.

"Fine for you, but this ain't an English horse. This here's a Florida Cracker horse, and he knows his bidniss. He don't need you to confuse him."

Silvie complied, moving her reins to one hand with elaborate gestures.

Walt increased their pace from a walk to a trot. Recalling a steep dip in the trail ahead, he though it chivalrous to warn Silvie. If she kept bouncing loosely in her saddle, she'd part company with her horse when he did a quick-step into the six-foot ditch and back up again. Walt shouted over his shoulder, "Ride yer stirrups!"

"What?" she said.

The earth dropped away, Silvie's horse bounced down into the ditch, and Silvie tumbled arse-over-teakettle into the grass.

She was standing up, rubbing her backside, when Walt rode back to her, leading her horse.

"Thought you said you never fall off," he deadpanned.

"And I thought if you didn't want to ride English, you'd at least try to speak it," she said.

Walt dismounted and gave her a leg up onto her horse. "All I said was, 'ride yer stirrups.' You apparently took that to mean somethin' acrobatic."

Silvie looked daggers at him as he mounted his own horse. "Why don't I go first for a while?" she suggested.

"Suit yerself. Just stay on the trail, right on through there."

Silvie started off. The trail wound through pines, vines, spiky palmetto, and moss-draped live oaks. She pushed a low-hanging, limber branch forward and let it go as she passed it. She smiled at the resulting thump and "Oof!" behind her.

Half a day later, Silvie, the horses, and the dogs rested beside a lazy creek while Walt prepared lunch with his all-purpose knife.

"So, how do you like your ranch so far, City Mouse?" he asked.

"It's bigger than I thought," she said. "And smaller, in a way. I expected more ... I don't know ... corn as high as an elephant's eye, amber waves of grain, I don't know."

"This ain't Kansas, Dorothy."

Silvie gave him a look. He concentrated on his lunch preparations.

Silvie said, "I haven't seen many cows."

Walt chuckled. "Beef ain't the money maker it once was. All your friends in the hoi polloi are eatin' raw fish instead of steak nowadays. We got a few head in partnership at a dairy up at Okeechobee, but I'm doing better with horses. Been marketin' to rodeos, polo clubs, Ocala breeders--"

"Polo clubs!" Silvie interrupted. "How far is it from here to Palm Beach? Wouldn't it boost our profits if I could get us some buyers?"

Walt tossed her an old coffee can from his saddle bags. "Boost lunch if you could get us some water from the creek. To answer your first question, it's 'bout 80 miles from here to Palm Beach. Take you a good hour to get there if you had a fast car, which you don't." He continued with his lunch chores.

Silvie rose, holding the disgusting coffee can at arm's length, and walked toward the creek. "We'd split the profits fifty-fifty if I sold some horses, right?" she asked.

Walt stood as Silvie neared the creek bank, and as he came up from the ground he palmed his pistol from his boot. He leveled it in Silvie's direction as she leaned over the water. "I'll regret this," he muttered, "but I did promise Harry I'd take care of you."

"What?" said Silvie.

Ka-boom! Walt fired.

Silvie jerked around, stunned, deafened, and terrified. She stared at him as he walked toward her, still holding the smoking pistol. Two feet away, Walt stooped and lifted from the grass the headless, writhing body of a deadly copperhead. Silvie gaped at the snake. Then she fainted.

Walt was cooking over a campfire when Silvie awoke and found herself laid out on saddle blankets. Maude licked Silvie's face. Silvie looked around, orienting herself, then spoke to Walt. "You killed it?"

"Deader'n dirt. He would've done the same for you, I reckon," he said, stirring his culinary creation.

Vaguely, Silvie murmured, "I don't approve of killing."

"Maybe I shoulda hung back and let y'all discuss it." He dished up a bowl of chili from the pot over the fire. He brought it to her. "Here. Help ya get yer feet back under ya."

He went back to the fireside, served himself, and dug into his chili. Silvie stared at him, food untouched in her hand. She said, "Did you ever ... have you ever killed a person ... a human being?"

He looked at her and at the chili in her bowl. "Not with my cookin'," he said.

He went back to eating.

Silvie collected herself and took a bite. She survived. She took another.