"Whatever you wish, of course, Se¤or Cletus," Antonio said.
As they walked across the garden to the stables, Enrico asked, "Se¤or Clete, what is a 'Texas Aggie'?"
"A despoiler of virgins, Enrico. A drinker of hard whiskey, and above all, a superb horseman."
Enrico nodded.
Twenty or more saddles were in the tack room, neatly straddling leather padded sawhorses. There were two sidesaddles and a half-dozen hornless sad-dles, apparently for polo. The rest were recados, hornless, long-stirruped sad-dles that were used with a thick sheepskin pad under the rider.
Clete impulsively chose one of the latter, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and went into the stable. There was room for forty animals, each in an individual stall. Nearly all the stalls held horses. Clete noticed that Enrico was no longer with him.
"Where the hell are you when I need you?" he asked aloud. "One of these animals is a vicious sonofabitch who would toss Gene Autry on his ass, and that's the one I'll pick."
Enrico appeared a moment later, followed by Rudolpho, who had a recado over his shoulder. Enrico carried a short-barreled bolt-action Mauser rifle in his hand.
"What do I ride, Enrico?"
"Your father was fond of Julius Caesar, Se¤or Clete," Enrico said, pointing to an obviously high-spirited black stallion that had put its head out of its stall and was looking at them curiously.
"Fine," Clete said, and started for the stall.
Rudolpho's eyebrows rose, and Enrico picked up on it.
"Se¤or Cletus is a fine horseman," he said. "He is a Texas Aggie."
That being said, I'll get on him, and he will toss me before we get out of the yard.
"I will saddle him for you," Enrico said.
"No, you won't," Clete said.
As he saddled Julius Caesar, the horse tried to bite him. And when he led him out of the stables into the yard and tried to mount him, Julius Caesar not only shied but tried to bite him again. A few moments later, he swung into the saddle and moved across the yard to establish who was in charge. When Clete jerked on his bit, Julius Caesar reared.
Clete kept his seat, but Uncle Jim's Stetson came off.
Julius Caesar put his front feet back on the ground, took two or three deli-cate steps, and then reared again.
"Goddamn you! If you stepped on that hat, you sonofabitch, you're cat food!" Clete told him, as he jerked hard on the bit and kicked him hard in the ribs.
Julius Caesar came down from his rear again-then, as if he had decided that Clete was a horseman worthy to ride him, suddenly gentled down.
Enrico picked up the Stetson and handed it to Clete, who saw approval and amusement in the old soldier's eyes.
"Cat food, Se¤or Clete?"
Jesus, if Enrico understood that, I must have cussed him out in Spanish!
Rudolpho, on a wiry roan, moved beside him. He held the Mauser easily, vertically, its butt on his leg.
They rode out of the yard, through the garden, and started down the road. They passed a dozen workers, each of whom took off his hat when he saw Clete and stood waiting for him to pass.
I feel like Don Pancho Spaniard, father of the dark-eyed beauty Gene Autry's got the hots for, on his hacienda down Mexico way in the movie of the same name, accepting the humble salute of his people.
I should feel embarrassed, the way I was in the car. But now I don't. How come ?
He nodded at each man and smiled.
Five hundred yards down the road, Rudolpho turned off it and onto the pampas. Clete nudged Julius Caesar with his heels and the animal broke into a canter. Just to see what the horse would do, Clete applied the pressure of his left knee and made as faint a tug on the reins as he could manage. Julius Caesar im-mediately turned to the left. And a moment later, when Clete applied right-knee pressure-no reins-the horse turned in the other direction.