Before going out into the weather that morning Henry had put on several layers of clothes under his slicker. There was the woolen long-sleeve undershirt, and over that he’d slipped a heavy flannel shirt. Then came a light denim jacket, and over that a heavy waterproof canvas jacket. He then pulled on his slicker. As he turned east to head to the other end of the ranch, he realized not only were the seams of his slicker leaking, but the unrelenting rain had caused water to penetrate every layer he was wearing and he was quickly becoming wet all the way to the skin. The situation would have been uncomfortable in a warm rain, but it was near unbearable in the cold rain that was dousing him. Still, he had two horses unaccounted for and a lot of ground to cover before he would feel comfortable about going back. It’s going to be a long morning, he thought to himself.

To say that Henry was making a big circle around the ranch was an accurate description. He had begun the morning by heading due west, away from the barn. Once he found the small band of horses in the grove of trees a few miles away, he turned and rode north. After a couple more miles he came across the horses near the rock cut. There, he turned and headed almost due east. It wasn’t quite nine in the morning yet. He wasn’t expecting to find the two missing horses out in the open, which was why he was a little surprised when, after a couple miles of eastward riding, his horse stopped dead in his tracks and his attention suddenly snapped to the right. The gelding snorted once, then called into the rain and fog. In the distance, two separate and distinct whinnies answered. Henry couldn’t believe his luck. He had no sooner turned Mic in the direction of the calls when, out of the dim trotted the two horses he had been looking for. The pair excitedly circled he and Mic a few times, and after determining they were both fine, Henry pointed his mount to the west and headed for home, thus completing the circle he had started earlier that morning.

The two stray horses followed Henry and the buckskin all the way back to the ranch. After arriving, Henry turned them in with the others in the catch pen. He then pulled his saddle and bridle from the buckskin and turned him in with the others as well, before carrying his tack back to the bunkhouse. Henry knew that after getting as wet as it had, if his saddle dried without being oiled first the one-hundred-and-twenty-five-year-old leather it was made from would dry and immediately start cracking, ruining the saddle. If he could help it he wouldn’t let that happen. Looks like my day isn’t done yet, he thought ruefully. He was going to spend some time that rainy morning getting oil on his old working partner.