As they all came together, Henry extended his hand to Tom, and Tom, looking past Henry at the old saddle on the colt’s back, shook it.

“Hello, Mr. Essex,” Henry said with a smile. “Here’s your horse.”

Tom walked to the side of the colt, and with eyes big as saucers, reached out to touch the saddle, then stopped himself, knowing about the cowboy etiquette that prohibited such behavior. “Where did you get this saddle?” He glanced at the saddle’s cantle, and on the back he found a nearly indistinguishable stamp in the leather. It read, JB Wexler, Saddle Maker, Texas. “My God! It’s a Wexler! I’ve been looking for one of these for years!”

“It’s been in the family,” Henry said bluntly, somewhat put out that the man was more interested in his saddle than the horse.

“I don’t know if Jessie told you, but I’m a collector. What would you have to have for it?”

“It’s not for sale.”

“Everything’s for sale,” Tom smiled. “I’ll pay top dollar for it. Just name your price.”

“You’re right, sir,” Henry said. “Everything is for sale. In fact, I’ll sell you anything else I own, including my hat, boots and long handles. I just won’t sell that saddle and that’s my final word on the matter.”

It was clear by the tone in his voice that Henry meant what he said, and as much as he wanted to make a deal on the saddle, Tom knew better than to push a cowboy who sounded as serious as Henry. He decided to drop the subject for the time being, but hoped he would be able to get back to it at some point before the day was over. “Well, if you should change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“Fair enough,” Tom nodded. “Well then,” he said, still having a hard time taking his eyes off the saddle. “Why don’t you show me how Tico here works.”

“Yes, sir.” And for one last time, Henry mounted the colt, and together, the two of them breezed effortlessly through everything they had been working on over the past several months. They moved as one through their transitions from one gait to the next. The colt’s natural athletic ability shined through in his effortless stops, spins and roll backs, and Henry showed the colt’s calmness by swinging a rope over his head and dragging everything from logs to fifty-five gallon drums behind him, and finished by opening and closing the gate of the arena.

“We haven’t had him around cattle,” Henry said as he brought the colt to a stop near Tom and Jessie, “but I doubt he’ll have any trouble workin’ a chute or bein’ in the brandin’ pen. I’ve made plenty of big circles with him, and he seems to really like bein’ out by himself. He’s fine around other horses, too. I’ve even ponied other horses off him and he’s done real well with that. He’s good with his feet, and he loads.” Henry stopped and petted the colt on his neck. “To be honest, I can’t find a hole in him.” He paused. “I think you’ll be real happy with him. I know I sure have been.”