I returned home to the States once again, and after waiting a year and a half for an opportunity, I was finally able to go to my great uncle’s to ride Smudge. By then, Smudge was a little less wild, though he still had a lot of flight in him. I made sure he knew what I was doing before I threw my leg over the saddle, and pressed down on my white cattleman’s hat. I had hunted a turkey for Thanksgiving, and replaced the bright peacock tail feather tip I had in my hatband, with a small iridescent feather from my turkey.

That day, I rode Smudge hard in his round-pen. He had been very antsy before, and needed to be ridden. He fought the reins a little bit, and sometimes spooked, but I never fell off. I kept my boots firmly planted in the stirrups, one hand on the reins, and a free hand to keep my balance. By the time we were done, he was panting heavily and was ready to rest. I fed him plenty of grain, loaded him up into the horse trailer with Apache, and turned him out with Apache in the summer pasture. That was the last time I saw Smudge.