Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch Read Online Free PDF Page B

wranglers will lead a short ride into the lower hills, ease you into it. Those with more experience will go higher up. Let me get some video of you.” He produced an elaborate camcorder and panned the table, explaining that he’d be videotaping us all week, the finished movie to be shown after dinner the following Saturday.
    We went directly to the corral after breakfast, where the wranglers awaited our arrival, along with the two ranch dogs, Socks, with his usual stick in his mouth, and Holly, a caramel-and-white mixed breed, only slightly more docile than her frenetic brother. Their paws were covered with mud, as our shoes and boots would soon be.
    The only female wrangler, Crystal Kildare, stood holding the reins of a fine-looking chestnut mare. Despite having dressed in what I thought was authentic western gear, I felt very much the city slicker in the company of the wranglers, who looked as though they were born in their jeans and shirts, boots and broad-brimmed hats.
    “Good morning,” Crystal said. “Everybody well fed and ready to ride?”
    Evelyn Morrison, her older son, Craig, and Craig’s son, Godfrey, stood apart from the group, boredom written all over their faces. Next to me was Craig’s daughter, Pauline, who was intensely interested in what Crystal was about to say. Willy Morrison stood a few feet behind us. He’d discarded his suit jacket and tie, but wore a white shirt, suit pants, and high-top white sneakers. One of the wranglers told him that riding in sneakers wasn’t a good idea, and found him a pair of boots from the ranch’s sizable collection.
    As we waited for Crystal to begin her instructions, my attention was drawn to Robert Morrison, Evelyn’s brother. It was as though he’d been absent at dinner and breakfast, despite having been there physically. I judged him to be about ten years younger than his sister. He shared Evelyn’s intensity, particularly in the eyes. Their faces, sharp and angular, further testified to their common parentage. But what bound them together as a family—all except Pauline—was a look of anger and suspicion, disdain and sourness.
    “This is Daisy,” Crystal said. “She’s my horse while I’m at Powderhorn. There are a few basic things you should know about horses. First, they don’t see straight ahead. They only have peripheral vision, so always approach them from the side, not from the front. And there’s a proper way to mount. Let me demonstrate.”
    She placed her left foot in the stirrup, reached up, grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane, and pulled herself up and over. Once in the saddle, she said, “Notice how I used the mane, not the saddle horn? If you use the saddle horn, you’re shifting the saddle, which you don’t want to do. Using the mane doesn’t hurt the horse and gives you a better grip when mounting. Now, let me show you a few ways to get your horse to go where you want it to go.”
    I smiled as she put Daisy through its paces. Crystal was a tall, attractive young woman who was supremely confident in the saddle as she turned her horse left and right, then made a complete circle using the reins and gentle pressure from her knees. She explained verbally what she was doing while performing the exercise. Jim Cook videotaped us, and Pauline Morrison took pictures with a small point-and-shoot camera.
    Crystal brought Daisy to where we stood and said, “Take all the pictures you want while we’re on our ride, but don’t use the last shot on the roll. Most cameras have an automatic rewind once the final picture has been taken. That noise tends to spook horses.”
    “Interesting,” Seth said.
    “I’m excited,” I said.
    The other wranglers brought our horses from the stables. Mine was a lovely midsized black steed named Samantha. Seth’s horse, Blazer, was the biggest horse on the ranch. I glanced at Seth. His eyes were wide, his forehead furrowed.
    “He’s a big one,” I said.
    “Ayuh. Long way to fall.”
    “But you