Ranch Hands by Bonnie Bryant Page B

the same as rounding up a herd of cattle, but it was certainly something she could do. She also liked the idea of showing the campers how to do it. She truly felt she was being helpful to Eli and Jeannie, once again confirming that she’d made the right decision.

 

    “H ENRY THE S ECOND built the round tower, you know,” Mrs. Atwood said.
    “Imagine that!” Lisa uttered. She was trying to sound excited, but she wasn’t feeling it. Her father didn’t seem particularly excited either and wasn’t even making a pretense of it. He just kept looking around at the shops in the town of Windsor.
    “Isn’t there one of those pubs around here some place?” he asked.
    “Later, dear, later. It’s only ten-thirty now and we have so much to see before lunch.”
    “Everything except the castle,” Lisa said. They’d taken the train from London to Windsor, about an hour’s ride, expecting to be able to have the tour of the castle, but it turned out that the queen was inresidence now, so they couldn’t visit it. Mr. Atwood had remarked to Mrs. Atwood that perhaps she should have checked where the queen was staying before they got onto a train. Mrs. Atwood had said it didn’t matter at all that they couldn’t get into the castle proper. The town of Windsor itself was positively filled with memorable sights.
    “Perhaps we’ll see the queen driving through the town in a limousine,” Mrs. Atwood said cheerfully.
    Mr. Atwood looked at her. “Think that means she might spot us as a nice group of American tourists and invite us in for a cup of tea?” he asked sarcastically.
    Mrs. Atwood stopped talking for a few minutes.
    Lisa sighed. This was frustrating. There were parts of the trip she was enjoying, but at times like these, she couldn’t keep her mind on the quaint cobble-stoned streets of the town. All she could think of was the wide-open spaces of Wyoming and how much she wished she were there with her friends, riding in the Rockies, rounding up cattle, eating stew by a camp fire, singing cowboy songs, enjoying the fresh mountain air, and smelling the wildflowers and the warm, wonderful scent of horses.
    “And if we go along this street for a way, we’ll find the park,” Mrs. Atwood said. “Park” seemed about as close as she was going to get to wide-open spaces. She followed her mother dutifully.
    One thing she’d discovered about the British peoplewas that they had nice parks. London had many really pretty ones, all of which were planted with colorful flower beds. It seemed that in the United States, flower beds in parks had to be protected with concertina wire. Here in England everybody just enjoyed the flowers without picking them. It was terribly civilized, and Lisa did like that. The park in Windsor was no exception. It had gently sloping hills with well-tended grass. Here and there were little flower beds, neatly planted for maximum enjoyment by people strolling by.
    Mrs. Atwood was all for walking along every single inch of footpath in the park. Mr. Atwood was, by then, totally preoccupied with his empty stomach and decided to sit down and think about it. Lisa and her mother sat down with him.
    While her parents discussed the choices they had for eating lunch, Lisa daydreamed about Wyoming. She remembered the great trips she’d had with her friends to the Bar None. She thought about the horses on the ranch. She could almost hear the clip-clop of their hooves on the open prairie land.
    Then she realized that she definitely
could
hear the clip-clop of some horse’s hooves, even if it wasn’t a Bar None horse. The clips and clops were approaching at a very fast pace, and then they stopped. Lisa leapt up from the bench. If there was a horse around, she just had to see it.
    She’d heard the horse stop just over the hilltop nearby, and in a few seconds she could see the horse, a sleek, bay Thoroughbred. What she couldn’t see, however, was the rider. The horse was saddled up and riderless. One of the