Nardell trotted off to get the bridle, a piece of tack used on one of Fergus’s horses. The question of what to do with the pair of big chestnut draft crosses, Clyde and his partner Dale, had not yet been addressed.
“We can wait a few minutes, can’t we, Crispie?”
“Aye, Master. Wouldn’t want Mister Peterson to miss out on this marnin’s sport, after all his efforts to be here this early.”
“Thank you, Master,” Les said. “I appreciate that. Um…you think he’ll be okay in a snaffle? I’ve never ridden him in something that light. He can get a little strong, especially in the hunt field.”
Ryman again turned his attention to the horse. The animal jerked his head up, pricked his ears forward, and fixed his large, bright eyes on Ryman. Man and animal remained motionless, looking at each other. Eve
