Gib and the Gray Ghost Read online

  But now ... Gib shrugged. It was easy to see the man cared a lot about cattle ranching—and about horses too. Gib looked across the corridor at Silky and thought that anybody who got a fire in his belly from looking at Black Silk couldn’t be all bad.

  Chapter 21

  RIGHT AT FIRST WHEN Gib asked Missus Julia if he could ride Silky and lead Ghost back to the Circle Bar Ranch, she didn’t seem to like the idea very much. But after he’d explained how the gray hated Morrison’s buckskin but was pretty friendly with Silky, she decided it would be all right. It was later that night when he and Livy were playing dominoes before he found out it definitely wasn’t all right with Livy. He should have known. Everything about Mr. Morrison was all wrong with Livy. For one thing, she wasn’t at all sure that it had been a mysterious bronco-buster named Dettner who had beaten Ghost. “How do you know Morrison didn’t just make Dettner up so he wouldn’t have to take the blame?” she wanted to know.

  Gib shook his head. “No, that couldn’t be it,” he said. “Remember, Hy knew all about Dettner, about how he had a mean streak as wide as the Mississippi?”

  Livy leaned forward and shook her finger in Gib’s face. “Well, maybe so. But what I think is that anybody who’d steal someone’s ranch would probably beat horses too.”

  Gib played another domino before he said, “You know, you never have explained that to me. At least not so as I got it straight. How did Mr. Morrison manage to do all that land stealing?”

  The only answer he got was a squinty-eyed stare and a big sigh. They went on with their game, though, for a while longer. It wasn’t until Gib mentioned that he was going to help Morrison get Ghost back to his ranch the next day that Livy really got her back up.

  “Tomo ... ,” she started to squeal, and then she glanced over to where her mother and Miss Hooper were playing cards. “Tomorrow?” Her whisper was still pretty fierce. “You can’t ride all the way to the Circle Bar tomorrow. We were supposed to have a long riding lesson. It’s my last chance to have one before school starts.”

  After Livy got up and flounced out of the room Missus Julia called Gib over to where she and Miss Hooper were playing cards. Her smile was sympathetic as she asked, “What’s the matter now, Gib?”

  Gib shook his head. “It’s about Mr. Morrison,” he said, and before he could say any more both of the ladies raised their eyebrows and nodded. But they didn’t say anything else right then. It wasn’t until later when Missus Julia had gone to bed that Miss Hooper tried to explain why Livy hated Mr. Morrison.

  “It started when Mr. Thornton began urging Julia to sell off most of the acreage,” Miss Hooper told Gib.

  “Why would he do that?” Gib asked.

  “Why indeed? After her father’s death Julia had been running the ranch quite well, until the accident. But then, with Julia an invalid, Henry decided they ought to sell. He had no interest in ranching, and he needed the money for an investment his bank was making. Julia didn’t agree, but there wasn’t much she could do. As it turned out it was quite a spell before Mr. Thornton had any luck finding a buyer. But then along comes Mr. Clark Morrison, fresh from the big city and crazy as a loon about everything concerning cattle ranching and the Wild West.”

  Miss Hooper’s frown was halfway amused as she went on, “Green as grass he was. Everybody said there was no way he was going to make a success out of running a cattle ranch. But he had lots of enthusiasm and a great deal of money.”

  “But why does Livy hate him so?” Gib asked. “Doesn’t sound to me like he really stole anything.”

  Miss Hooper shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Except she felt that the sale of the land was the reason her parents were so unhappy. Seemed like she had to find someone to blame besides her mother and father.”

  Gib nodded slowly, remembering how Livy had hated him for the same reason because, way back before he was sent to the orphanage, the Thorntons had quarreled over whether to adopt him. Missus Julia had lost then, and it looked like she’d lost again about selling her land. Miss Hooper was still talking while Gib was thinking, but when he started listening again she was saying something about Morrison losing a lot of his start-up herd through mismanagement.

  “That’s what I was wondering about,” Gib said. “It’s like Hy says, I guess.”

  “What’s that?” Miss Hooper asked.

  “That Mr. Morrison’s got more money than sense,” Gib told her.

  Gib didn’t get much sleep that night. It seemed like there were a whole lot of things he had to deal with, and most of them were worrisome. First off there was the fact that he and Livy probably weren’t speaking again, which meant that riding to school together was going to be a pretty uncomfortable experience, if not downright embarrassing.

  And then there was school itself. Over the holidays, what with all the other things occupying his mind, he’d hardly given a thought to Longford School. Things like Hy’s influenza and Livy’s riding lessons and, most of all, Ghost himself had shoved punier worries like Rodney and Alvin to the back of his mind. But now here it was the new year and school would be starting the day after tomorrow.

  But out in front of the day after tomorrow came tomorrow itself, when he’d be riding Silky and leading Ghost back to the Morrison spread. There were mixed feelings there too. Riding Silky, not in the corral or barnyard but out on the open road, would be fine. Real good to think about, actually. But having to say good-bye to Ghost once they got there was something else again.

  To say good-bye to Ghost. Gib shook his head, rolling it back and forth on the pillow, reminding himself again that he’d known from the very beginning that Ghost would have to go sooner or later. But that kind of remembering didn’t help much. Not when he thought about how wild and frightened and angry the gray had been when he first showed up, and how, little by little, he’d learned to trust. To trust Gib and maybe even to like him a little.

  Lying there in the cold room under a lot of warm quilts and blankets, Gib smiled a little, remembering. “All right,” he told himself. “What he liked most probably was the carrots, but he was really beginning to like me too.” But that wasn’t a thought that helped a great deal, not when he was trying to feel all right about losing Ghost tomorrow.

  Just as he’d said he would, Mr. Morrison showed up at the Rocking M early the next day. Gib had just finished the morning chores and was heading for the kitchen with a pail of steaming milk, when Morrison rode into the yard and on over to the hitching rack outside of the barn. He left Bucky at the rack and came on into the house, stomping the snow off his boots in the storm porch but not even stopping to take off his heavy jacket.

  Mrs. Thornton and Miss Hooper were still at the table and Mr. Morrison made his usual fuss over them, bowing over their hands and saying flowery things about how they were looking and how good it was to see them again. When Mrs. Perry asked him to have a cup of hot coffee before he started the long ride home he sat down for a minute, warming his hands on the cup and chatting with everyone. Or at least with everyone except Livy. Livy hadn’t been speaking to Gib all morning, and when Morrison showed up it didn’t take long for her to make it clear she wasn’t speaking to him either.

  Before they left, Missus Julia told Gib to be careful and to start back in plenty of time to get home before dark. Gib promised he would.

  Out in the barn, while Gib was saddling Silky, Mr. Morrison stood around talking, mostly about Ghost. And he called him Ghost too, instead of Famous Fox. When Gib asked, “Ghost?” Morrison shrugged and answered, “I’ve been thinking about a stable name for him ever since I got him. Famous Fox never did seem like something you could call a cow pony, not even a hot-blooded one.” He grinned. “Oh, I thought up a few names for him when he threw me off, but nothing I’d want to repeat around women or children.”

  They both laughed. “So now, Ghost it is. All right?” Gib said he liked the idea just fine.

  When Gib led Silky out to the hitching rack, Morrison was already up on Bucky and halfway acro
ss the yard. Hurrying back to the tack room, Gib grabbed a heavy halter and lead rope, and stashed a couple of carrots in his jacket pockets, before he headed for Ghost’s stall.

  The big gray came to meet him at the stall door, nickering and nudging and looking to find where the carrots were hidden. As soon as he’d chomped them up he accepted the halter without any fuss at all. While he buckled the cheek strap, Gib told Ghost what a good fellow he was, shoving the words out past a tightness that had grabbed his throat when he thought about it being the last time they’d play that find-the-carrot game together.

  Morrison was still waiting halfway across the yard when Gib led Ghost out of the barn. He went on watching while Ghost and Silky greeted each other with friendly snorts and Gib mounted and snubbed Ghost’s lead rope around his saddle horn.

  Ghost and Silky both pranced around some going down the drive but not like they were out to cause any trouble. Just kind of showing off for each other. And once they were out on the main road they both settled down in good order. No trouble at all except once or twice when Morrison got too close, and Ghost squealed and tried to start something with Bucky.

  The ride to the Morrison ranch took almost two hours. The snow had frozen into sharp ridges so the footing was pretty tricky. What with watching for ruts and ridges, and having to keep Ghost and Bucky out of biting range, it took some concentration to keep things going smoothly. The pale, sickly-looking sun was straight overhead before they turned off the main road onto the narrow, rutted lane that led to Morrison’s Circle Bar Ranch.

  The ranch buildings were in a dip in the prairie where, a long way off to the west, you could see some rugged foothills rising up against the sky. The main house was strong and solid-looking, with lots of open veranda space. There were several outbuildings too, all of them well made and sturdy but with that raw-around-the-edges, newly built look. One was a long, low building that appeared to be a bunkhouse, and beyond that there was a huge barn. Next came a stable, and farther out some very large corrals. Everything had that stiff, new look about it. But someday, Gib thought, when time had settled things down a little and the spindly little trees around the house had grown up, it might look almost as good as the Rocking M.

  Up ahead Mr. Morrison pulled Bucky to a stop and called, “Well, there it is, Gibson. What do you think of my spread?”

  Gib shouted back that it looked just fine. He was trying to think what else to say when Mr. Morrison shouted just what Gib was thinking. “Won’t be too bad once the trees get up.” He went on shouting then, telling Gib to follow him to the stable, and then they’d go in for a bite to eat.

  Morrison galloped on ahead and Gib followed as best he could, but it turned out not to be easy. Ghost, who had been following along nicely out on the open road, suddenly began to fight the lead, prancing and plunging and throwing his head. He fought harder as they passed the barn, almost jerking the smaller mare off her feet. Just beyond the barn Gib pulled up and jumped down. While Silky backed away, holding the lead rope tight, Gib walked along it to the snorting, quivering gray. “Hush, now. Take it easy,” he kept saying, and after a minute or two the big horse began to listen. Cocking his ears in Gib’s direction, he had begun to quiet when someone yelled, “Stay back, kid. Let me handle this.” And then suddenly everything fell apart.

  Three men had come out of the bunkhouse and two of them were running toward Gib and Ghost. From the other direction Morrison was running too. And Ghost was going crazy. Snorting, plunging, and rearing, he fought the rope, tugging Gib and Silky after him. One of the men reached Gib and was trying to pull him away when Ghost attacked, squealing and trying to bite. The man retreated quickly and Gib took over again. Then Morrison started yelling, and all three of the strangers began backing off. “Get back. Leave the boy alone,” Morrison was yelling. “He knows what he’s doing.” The three men backed off, and a few minutes later, Gib led Silky and the still-quivering gray into the stable, with Morrison bringing up the rear.

  The stable was a fancy one with brick-paved corridors and wrought-iron decorations over the stall doors. While Morrison took care of Silky, Gib led Ghost on down to a large, roomy stall where the words Famous Fox were burnt into a wooden plate.

  Ghost was still nervous and spooky. As Gib led him into the stall his eyes were rolling wildly, and his ears were flicking in every direction. Gib kept telling him it was going to be all right. “He’s gone, boy,” he said, soft and easy. “That miserable horse beater is gone for good. You’re going to be just fine here.”

  Outside the stall door, Gib stopped for a last look at the beautiful dapple gray. He looked long and hard at the well-shaped head, the rounded crest with its heavy mane, the dappled flanks and long, straight legs. Then, fighting against burning eyes and a tightening throat, he said again, this time mainly to himself, “He’s going to be just fine here.”

  When Gib finally turned away he saw that Morrison was there behind him, just outside the stall, along with the three other men. Dressed in denim and leather and wearing riding boots, they looked to be cowhands, employees of the Circle Bar.

  “Gibson,” Mr. Morrison was saying, “these are some of the Circle Bar hands. Len Barker here, and this is ... He went on with the introductions but Gib wasn’t listening too well. Still struggling with a tight throat and eyes that threatened to overflow, he could only nod and pretend to smile as each of the cowhands grabbed his hand and said things about his handling of the gray.

  “Nice going, kid,” one of the men said, and someone else added, “What’d you say to that gray devil? Really settled him down in good order, you did.” Gib just went on trying to smile until Mr. Morrison led him away.

  Gib had never seen anything like the interior of Mr. Morrison’s house. The main room had an enormous stone fireplace and was paneled with thick slabs of shiny wood. The huge, chunky furniture was covered in leather or cowhide, and the chandelier was a wagon wheel, or at least was supposed to look like one. The kitchen was pretty impressive too, long and wide with table space for maybe eighteen or twenty people.

  Right at first there didn’t seem to be anyone around except for a short roundish man named Rafe and a woman who seemed to be his wife. But then some others began to straggle in. The three cowhands that Gib had already met and then two or three others. Rough-looking men, for the most part, with sun-weathered skin and harsh voices. They all sat in a bunch at the far end of the table and, without saying anything to Morrison or Rafe, proceeded to stuff themselves with potatoes and roast beef and thick chunks of corn bread.

  Gib liked Rafe right off. While they were eating he talked a lot about horses, particularly about what a fine-looking mare Silky was and how good it was to have the dapple gray back home again, and in such good shape. “Never thought to see him again,” Rafe said. “Not after him disappearing in the middle of that big blizzard.” Except for Rafe, nobody talked about the gray at all.

  Gib left the Circle Bar feeling worried about Ghost. About how he’d started fretting the moment they reached Morrison’s spread, as if he was remembering what had happened to him there. Remembering the whipping, of course, but maybe some other things too. Gib hoped it had only been one person who’d mistreated Ghost, and that he’d be fine once he realized that man was gone for good. It wasn’t until he and Silky were alone on the open road that Gib forgot to go on worrying.

  Riding Silky out there on the open prairie, everything else just faded away. In places where the sun had melted the ice he let her out a little. Let her stretch her legs and burn up some of that cooped-up, hot-blooded energy. And when the going was slower he talked to her, telling her how fast and strong and purely elegant she was. He went on talking to Silky most of the way home.

  Chapter 22

  GIB HAD GUESSED RIGHT about one thing: Livy still wasn’t speaking to him. At supper that night Missus Julia and Miss Hooper had a lot of questions about the Circle Bar. Missus Julia, especially, was very curious about what Morrison was doing on the land that had once bel
onged to her family. And when Gib told them about the grand new ranch house and all the other buildings and corrals they were very impressed. “I guess it’s true what people are saying,” Missus Julia said. “Morrison has spent a fortune building himself a ranching empire, but ... Miss Hooper finished the sentence for her. “But he doesn’t know the first thing about managing it.”

  Gib could tell that Livy was interested too, particularly when he told about Morrison’s fancy new stables, but she didn’t ask any questions. Even though she and Gib would be heading for Longford School on horseback the very next day, she had no questions about that either.

  At breakfast the next morning everyone else was talking about the ride to school, even Hy, who’d insisted on coming downstairs to see them off. Mrs. Perry wanted them both to eat extra big breakfasts, and Hy had lots of advice about how they ought to handle snowdrifts and icy patches and what to tell Ernie, the stablehand at Appleton’s.

  Gib wasn’t worried about the ride. After all, it was farther to the Circle Bar and he and Silky had handled that just fine. But there were some other things he did wonder about. Like what Rodney and Alvin might be up to these days, not to mention how long it would be before Livy started speaking to him again.

  Gib was cinching up Lightning’s saddle when Livy came into the barn. Dressed in her new divided skirt and bundled up against the cold, she was carrying a big armload of stuff that included her lunch pail, books, presents for her friends, and the dressy skirt she would change into once she got to school. But her lips were still squeezed shut so Gib kept his shut too.

  He finished the saddling without saying anything, but then he looked at Livy’s armload again and went back to the tack room for a bigger saddlebag. Livy watched him while he fastened it on behind Lightning’s saddle and when he reached for her belongings she handed them over without saying a word. Not a word, at least, until he got to her new pleated skirt. All she said then was, “Don’t wrinkle it.” Those few words turned out to be a kind of hole in the dike, judging by what happened later.