While Henry Makepeace was eating curry with the traveling nurse, Officer Carlisle was starting balefully at a large, brown horse and a small, chipper blonde woman who was holding out a bright pink riding helmet with a broad smile.

“This is Tuxedo,” she said, patting the horse on the shoulder. “He’s very friendly. Just pop your helmet on and we’ll get started!”

The glare of the lights in the indoor ring wasn’t particularly flattering to Officer Carlisle, or the horse, for that matter, who stared back beadily as he absently shuffled a hoof through the dirt and whiffled softly. A soft breeze caused the vines around the open door of the barn to wave gently. The blonde held the helmet out again, and Officer Carlisle wearily snapped it on and waited for directions.

“Now then,” she said. “You’ve ridden before, right?”

“Ah, no,” Officer Carlisle said, adjusting the strap of the helmet in a vain attempt to get it to stop gouging his chin.

“Oh,” she said. “Well then, we’d better use a mounting block today.”

She led the horse over to a set of wooden stairs and waited expectantly for Officer Carlisle to follow, which he did, reluctantly.

“Now, just step up, and climb into the saddle,” she said. “We’ll adjust the stirrups once you’re up.”

To Officer Carlisle’s jaundiced eye, the saddle resembled a postage stamp, not at all like the very large, chair-like saddles he saw during the town’s annual parades, when the rodeo queen and a team of demonstration riders trotted down Main Street. Nevertheless, he boldly stepped up, hauling himself awkwardly into the saddle from the mounting block.

The stirrups, it turned out, were short, and the blonde fluttered around adjusting them, telling him to “keep a light grip on the reins” while the horse continued to shuffle his hoof. Eventually she had things adjusted to satisfaction, and she snapped a lead-line to Tuxedo’s halter and led him out into the middle of the ring, causing Officer Carlisle to lurch uneasily in the saddle, feeling as though he was perched on a precipice. While the horse hadn’t seemed very large from the ground, Officer Carlisle suddenly felt very high up.

“Since you haven’t ridden before and it’s late,” she said, “I’ll just walk you around the ring a bit, to let you get the hang of things, ok? You can just drop the reins for now, on his neck there. Let yourself settle in and feel your connection with Tuxedo, alright?”

Officer Carlisle nodded curtly back as Tuxedo plodded through the coarse sand, and an uneasy silence settled over the three of them. The air was filled with a distinct tangy scent, and a rich, almost dusty aroma, with notes of leather. Officer Carlisle found himself wondering what the barn did with its manure, as that sort of thing was supposed to be very good for the garden, and just as he did so, the woman abruptly broke into a strange sort of jogging, and the horse promptly sped up into a jolting, extremely uncomfortable gait which caused Officer Carlisle to wonder about his future chances of having children.

“Ahhhh,” he said. “Err.”

“This is a trot,” the blonde said, slowing the horse. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“Er,” Officer Carlisle responded.

“Phhbut,” said Tuxedo.

“So, Kevin,” she said brightly. “What made you decide to start riding?”

What made Officer Carlisle start riding?

It’s a good question, and it is perhaps best answered by explaining that Officer Carlisle was typically the last person into staff meetings, due to circumstances which were somewhat beyond his control. While he had every intention of arriving at meetings on time, for some reason, he never seemed to be able to manage it. On this particular week, the culprit had been his squad car, which had decided not to start when he was leaving the house, forcing him to borrow Henry Makepeace’s bicycle, which Henry had generously mentioned that Officer Carlisle could use in his absence.

“Get out of the car a bit,” were Henry’s words. “Maybe you’ll like it enough to get your own. We could ride together sometime.”

By the time Officer Carlisle arrived at the police station, sweaty and attempting to remember the license plates of the three drivers who had nearly killed him along the way, he was the last person in the door for the meeting, which had already started, and so he was unprepared for what happened next.

“Ah, Officer Carlisle,” the Police Chief said. “You like horses, don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t object to them. Sir.”

“Excellent,” said the Police Chief. “Then you’ll be delighted to know that we’re sending you off for mounted officer training.”

“What? Sir?”

“Well,” the Police Chief explained, “the Mayor thought it might be nice to have a mounted policeman about town, and I thought it might be a good idea too. You can be in parades, you know. Carry the flag, that sort of thing. And, er, a mounted policeman just seems sort of useful, you know? All sorts of things you can do with a horse.”

“Well, I could be a bicycle policeman, sir” Officer Carlisle suggested. “That’s like being a mounted policeman, only with less mess? Where would we keep a horse? Don’t mounted police usually work in squads?”

“Nonsense,” replied the police chief, and it was settled.

Only it wasn’t settled, it turned out, because in order to go to mounted police school, you needed to know how to ride. In fact, the enrollment documents sent from the State suggested that “experienced riders” would be the most suitable for the course, and Officer Carlisle protested that surely someone on the police force had at least been on a horse before, given that many of the officers were local, and it was the sort of community where people had horses. Also, Keven Carlisle didn’t much fancy going to more police school, especially if it was in the Capitol again, because he hated the Capitol with a passion. Entirely too hot for one city, in Officer Carlisle’s opinion.

“Nonsense,” said the Police Chief again. “We’ll give you some riding lessons and then pop you off to school. It’s in the mountains, anyhow, nice and cool. And the basic training is only a month, so if we send you off soon, we’ll have you back in time for the Fourth of July parade! Won’t that be exciting?”

“Yes, sir,” said Officer Carlisle.

“Excellent. I’ll arrange some lessons, and I’ll talk with the school about a mount. Apparently you need to bring your own, but the horse has to have some sort of special training. Something about training it to find bombs or something? Or maybe it’s bomb-proof armor or something. At any rate, I’ll straighten it out.”

“My…own, sir? Bombs?” For once, Officer Carlisle was at a loss for words.

“Well of course the department will provide it, Officer Carlisle. But I want to make sure we get a nice horse for you. A nice, pretty horse. Maybe one with a wavy tail, so it will look especially nice on parade. My sister’s fond of horses, I’m sure she can help pick one out once the school tells us what we need.”

“I’m training to become a mounted police officer,” Officer Carlisle said to the blonde. “But before I go to school, I need to learn how to ride.”

“Oh,” said the blonde. “Well then, that’s enough for today.”

She led Officer Carlisle back to the mounting block, and he stiffly dismounted.

“If you come with me,” she said, “I’ll show you how to untack and groom him.”

She started to lead Tuxedo away, and then hesitated.

“When are you going for your training? I’m just wondering how much time we have to work together?”

“Well, the Police Chief wants me back by the beginning of July. And the training is a month, so I suppose we have until June,” Officer Carlisle said.

“Oh,” she said again. “Well, why don’t you lead Tuxedo over to the cross-ties, then? We’d better start getting you comfortable with him.” She thrust the lead-line into Officer Carlisle’s hand. “Now, don’t wrap it around your hand,” she said. “Just keep a nice, firm grip, and walk him over to the cross-ties, just at the end of the row there. I’ll walk with you.”

Tuxedo studied Officer Carlisle carefully as he started to walk down the row, keeping the required firm grip, but the horse decided that now was not the time for rebellion, and he went along quietly. When they reached the cross-ties, the blonde patiently showed Officer Carlisle how to tie the lead-line, and directed him as he began to take off Tuxedo’s tack, draping it on a saddle rack.

“Excellent,” she said. “Now I’ll show you how to pick his hooves.”

As Officer Carlisle awkwardly held Tuxedo’s front hoof in his left hand while attempting to figure out what to do with the hoof pick, he finally got the nerve to ask the question which had been percolating in his mind for some time.

“Why is he called Tuxedo? It seems like an odd name for a brown horse.”

“Oh,” said the blonde, with a strange smile. “You’ll find out.”