Gib found himself explaining that yes, she knew he was there, all right. “But she doesn’t know where he came from or who he belongs to. Nobody does. Mrs. Thornton tried to call the livery stable to ask if they knew where he came from, but our phone line was down. We asked Doc Whelan too, when he came to see to Hy, but he hadn’t heard of anybody losing a dapple gray.”
Mr. Morrison seemed to calm down a little then, and when Gib started explaining how the gray had appeared outside the barn in the middle of the snowstorm, he finally began to really listen. “He was in bad shape.” The sharp edge of anger was back in Gib’s voice, and probably in his eyes too, as he repeated, “Real bad shape.”
“Bad shape?” Morrison’s eyes narrowed suddenly and he reached out and took hold of Gib’s shoulder. “How do you mean, bad shape?”
Gib pulled away. He tried to swallow the anger down but it was still there in his voice as he said, “Well, he was ganted up pretty bad, ribs showing and all.” He turned his back then and, gathering up the tack, headed down the corridor, trying to get away and calm down long enough to decide how much else to say, and how to say it. To decide whether to tell the man who’d probably done it about the bloody welts that crisscrossed Ghost’s barrel and flanks. But Morrison followed him and went right on asking questions all the way to the tack room door.
One of the questions he asked was what the date had been when the gray appeared at the Rocking M. Gib wasn’t sure of the day exactly, but he did remember it was on the second day of the big snowstorm.
“The day after the storm started.” Mr. Morrison was nodding slowly. “That means—that means—”
Gib interrupted. “Don’t you know when he ran away?”
Morrison shrugged impatiently. “No. No I don’t. Not exactly. I was in Chicago for almost a month. Just got back a few days ago.”
Gib stared in surprise and disbelief and then, as he began to understand, with a feeling of relief so strong that it almost made him smile. Relief that maybe it hadn’t been Morrison after all who had beaten Ghost. It hadn’t been the man who owned him and would surely take him back and own him again. As he turned away to lift his saddle up on the rack Gib must have sighed out loud. “What is it, boy?” Morrison asked sharply. “What aren’t you telling me?”
It came pouring out then like a river breaking over a dam. “He’d been beaten, real bad,” Gib said. “With a bullwhip or something that cut right through the hide. There were big welts all over him. Bloody ones.” He motioned toward the gray’s stall. “They’re better now. The scabs are all off, but you can still feel some scars there under the hair when you run your fingers over his flanks.”
“Beaten? With a bullwhip?” Morrison was staring at Gib. Staring and shaking his head and still muttering under his breath as he started up the corridor toward the gray’s stall. When Gib caught up with him Morrison was standing at the stall door, staring at Ghost with a kind of twitching around his eyes and mouth that almost looked like he was fixing to yell, or else to cry.
“See there on his flank,” Gib said. “You can still see one of the worst places, and you can still feel a lot of them.”
“Yes, yes, I see it.” Morrison’s voice quavered a little. “Rafe said he thought that miserable charlatan beat him, but I had no idea he used a bullwhip.”
“Charlatan?” Gib said.
“A fake, and a liar. Named Dettner. Lou Dettner.” The name came with a sizzle as if Morrison had squeezed it out between his teeth. “Claimed he was one of the best horse wranglers in the Midwest. I left him in charge of the riding stock when I went away, and when I came back the gray was missing and so was Dettner. Rafe said Dettner whipped the horse until he broke free and ran. Ran right over him, Rafe said. Knocked him down and maybe broke his arm. Then Dettner packed up and left the ranch.” Morrison looked at Gib sharply. “You heard of a trainer named Dettner?” he asked.
Gib shook his head. “Don’t know of anyone by that name. But Hy might. Hy knows just about every wrangler and broncobuster in the country. I’ve heard him say so lots of times.”
“Hmm,” Morrison said. “I’ll bet he does.” He nodded once or twice more before he went on. “I surely would like to talk to your Mr. Carter, that is if he’s up to it What do you think, boy? Is Hy well enough to have a visitor for a few minutes?”
So Gib said he thought Hy might be well enough, but that he’d have to ask Miss Hooper. “Up till yesterday,” Gib said, “she wouldn’t let me tell him anything that might start him to fretting. Hy knows about the gray being here, but I didn’t tell him about the whip marks or about how ... Gib stopped to consider how to put it. “Or even about how wild-acting he was, at least right at first. I didn’t tell Hy anything about that. He’s a lot better now, but you better ask first.”
Mr. Morrison said he understood about Hy’s illness, and that he wouldn’t even go near Hy until he’d talked to Miss Hooper. “I’ve met your Miss Hooper,” he said, “and I quite agree that one would do well to get her permission first. So ... He put his hand on Gib’s shoulder. “That’s what we’ll do, Gibson, if you’ll lead the way. We’ll get permission from Miss Hooper and then we’ll see what Mr. Hyram Carter can tell us.”
As they started for the barn door Morrison stopped at Silky’s stall, so Gib did too. And of course Silky came to see him, nickering and nudging Gib with her soft nose. Watching Silky, Morrison shook his head regretfully. “There’s the beautiful lady who got me into this whole mess,” he said. And when Gib stared at him in confusion he went on to explain. “Lit a fire in my belly, she did. A feeling I just had to own something even halfway that magnificent.” As Morrison reached out to pat Silky’s nose she flicked her ears back and pulled away, but she didn’t try to bite.
“After I saw her that day,” Morrison went on, “I just couldn’t get her out of my mind. But I found out soon enough that Mrs. Thornton wasn’t at all interested in selling. Then just a day or two later while I was still all fired up about owning a Thoroughbred, I heard from a friend of mine who was about to leave for Kentucky on a horse-buying trip.”
They left the barn then and, as they crossed the barnyard, Morrison went on with his story. “I asked this friend who was supposedly an authority on hot-blooded horses to pick one out for me. Not necessarily with a great track record, I told him. I didn’t care about that. But I wanted something from a good bloodline. Didn’t even care if it was a mare or gelding, as long as it was good-looking and well trained. That’s what I especially asked for,” he said in a sarcastic tone of voice. “Well trained.” He rolled his eyes and nodded back toward the barn. “And he came back with that dapple gray devil.”
Gib shook his head, wanting to say that Ghost was no devil. Just a poor scared-to-death critter who thought he was fighting for his life. But Morrison was still talking. “Right at first, the day I saw him coming down out of that boxcar, I thought I’d gotten my money’s worth and then some. Beautiful thing to look at, isn’t he?”
Gib agreed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, sir. Mighty good-looking.”
Morrison shook his head as he went on, “Good to look at, all right. But I’m afraid old Famous Fox isn’t good for much else. Been nothing but trouble for me from the moment he got here.”
“Famous Fox?” Gib asked.
Morrison nodded. “Pedigree name. Comes from a great bloodline, he does.” He sighed. “But as far as I’m concerned he’s been a real nightmare.” He grinned ruefully. “Threw me off the first time I rode him. Broke three ribs and nearly broke my wrist.”
“He bucked?” Gib was asking as he led the way into the storm porch. “He’s never bucked with—”
But just at that moment the door that led to the kitchen flew open. Flew open and slammed back against the wall, and there Livy stood with her hands on her hips, blocking the entrance to the kitchen.
“Gib,” she started to say, “what on earth ... ?” She stopped then, staring at Mr. Morrison. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Ch
apter 20
MORRISON LOOKED STARTLED. “WELL, hello there, young lady,” he said. “I was just dropping by to see how you folks were getting along, but I can see that I should have been here a whole lot sooner. Seems you folks have been putting up with my rascal of a runaway horse.” He stopped then, smiling at Livy uneasily. Gib didn’t wonder. The look on Livy’s face was enough to make anyone feel uneasy.
“Your horse?” she asked, and then, “Oooh. You mean Ghost? You mean Ghost is yours?”
“Ghost?”
“That’s what we’ve been calling him,” Gib explained.
“Gray Ghost, or just plain Ghost.”
“Oh, I see,” Mr. Morrison said. “Yes, he’s mine, all right. But he’s been missing for almost a month. Couldn’t believe my eyes when I rode in here and saw him out there in the corral.” He turned to hang up his coat. Turned his back on where Livy was staring at him with her eyes getting flatter and meaner every second.
Watching her, Gib saw that her whole face—tight lips, angry cat eyes, and jutting chin—was warning that some kind of an explosion was about to happen. And from past experience he was pretty sure that everyone would be better off if he could pull the fuse. Grabbing her arm, Gib whispered in her ear, “He couldn’t have done it, Livy. He was in Chicago. It was somebody else who whipped Ghost.”
It took a minute for Gib’s message to sink in. When it did, Livy’s storm-cloud face cleared a little. Not all the way, but enough to make Gib think she might be willing to hear a little more before she started screeching. But she obviously wasn’t entirely convinced.
“All right,” she whispered to Gib. “Then who did it? And what are you going to do about it?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Gib told her. “Soon as you get out of the way and let us in the house.”
Reluctantly Livy backed up, and when Gib asked she said her mother wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t be bothered, but that Miss Hooper might be around somewhere. Gib found Miss Hooper easily enough, writing in an account book at the library desk. But when he told her what the situation was and asked her if Mr. Morrison could talk to Hy she shook her head. And went on shaking it while Gib told her that the dapple gray runaway belonged to Morrison.
“So he was the one who turned him into an outlaw. Somehow I’m not surprised to hear that,” she said.
So Gib hurried to explain again about how Mr. Morrison had been in Chicago and a wrangler he’d hired had been the one who mistreated Ghost and made him run away. By the time Gib got to the part about Dettner, Miss Hooper was still shaking her head, but a little more slowly. And when he said, “He just wants to find out if Hy knows anything about a man named Dettner. That’s all,” she finally gave a reluctant nod.
She got to her feet then and said she wanted to have a word with Mr. Morrison before she decided what ought to be done. They found Mr. Morrison and Livy still in the kitchen, standing on different sides of the room and watching each other nervously out of the corners of their eyes.
“Ah, Miss Hooper,” Morrison said, looking mighty relieved. Gib couldn’t help sympathizing, knowing from firsthand experience what that glare of Livy’s could do to a body’s peace of mind.
“If s so good to see you again,” Morrison went on, bowing over Miss Hooper’s hand. He looked pretty phony, Gib thought, and judging by her suspicious expression, Miss Hooper seemed to be feeling the same way. When Morrison said, “I’d really like to talk to Mr. Carter for a few minutes if you think he’s up to it. Just want to ask a couple of questions about—” she nodded sharply.
“I know, I know,” she interrupted impatiently. “Gib told me what it’s about. Mr. Carter’s health has improved, but just to be on the safe side I’d like to be present at this interview. To make sure my patient doesn’t get too worked up.” She looked at Gib then and her frown didn’t disappear except a little around her eyes. “Hy gets worked up easily where horseflesh is concerned. Isn’t that right, Gibson?”
As Gib was agreeing, Miss Hooper told him, “You come along too. Hy’s been asking to see you.” As the three of them started for the stairs, a fourth party was suddenly right behind them. “I’m coming too,” Livy said, and she did.
At Hy’s room Miss Hooper knocked, went in, and in a moment came back for the rest of them. Hy was sitting up in bed wearing a striped nightshirt and a surprised expression. But outside of the widening eyes and arched eyebrows, he looked pretty much like his old self. “Well, well,” he said. “Would you look at that? What’s this about?” The wrinkle gullies rearranged themselves into a grin as he went on, “Hope you folks aren’t here to pay your last repects, ’cause I’m not fixing to kick the bucket anytime soon.”
Everyone laughed, Morrison hardest of all. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Carter,” he said. “Right pleased to hear that you’re planning to be around for a while longer, because I really need your help. Need to ask for some information on a very important matter.”
“Is that a fact?” Hy said. “Well, I never set myself up to be no fountain of wisdom, but I’d be right glad to be of help if I’m able.”
So then Morrison started in telling how his old wrangler, Jim Peters, had gone off to Arizona when winter set in, and he’d had a hard time finding someone to take his place. “Then around the first of November, I met a fellow who claimed to be a first-class trainer and broncobuster. So I put him on the payroll right away because I had a long trip to Chicago coming up and I needed to have the edge taken off some raw broncs I’d just bought.” He paused and grinned shamefacedly as he went on, “Not to mention a Thoroughbred I’d been fool enough to buy.” He looked over at Gib as he went on, “A dapple gray that I take it you’ve been hearing something about, from Gibson here.”
“Yeah.” Hy’s nod was slow and thoughtful. “ ’Spect you’re right about that. Gib’s been telling me about a fancy gray that showed up here durin’ the big snow.” He paused, scratching his head. “So I take it it was this new hand of yours who let the gray get away?” And when Morrison opened his mouth to answer, Hy went on, “And what might this wrangler feller’s name be?”
“Called himself Dettner,” Morrison said. “Lou Dettner.”
Hy let out a long whistle. “Dettner,” he said. “I sure as the world thought that two-legged rattlesnake would have got himself lynched by now.”
Hy went on then to tell one of his long-winded stories about this cowhand name of Dettner who had been kicked off nearly every ranch in four states because he had, as Hy put it, a mean streak wider than the Mississippi. “Not a bad hand in some ways,” Hy said. “Could ride and rope with the best of them, but he didn’t like to be crossed by man nor beast. Came near to killing a young cowhand he took a dislikin’ to, not to mention what he did to a whole lot of livestock.”
Hy’s eyes suddenly lost their storytelling cloudiness and fastened on Morrison. “So what’s Dettner up to now? Got anything to do with that dapple gray Gib’s been riding herd on?”
Morrison took a breath and opened his mouth wide to start answering, before he glanced over at Miss Hooper and shut it again. After he’d thought for a moment he said carefully, “Well, he let the gray get away from him, for one thing, just as the blizzard was blowing in. That must have been when the horse showed up here.”
But when Hy started to ask some more questions Miss Hooper said visiting time was over and shooed everyone out of the room. Back in the kitchen, Morrison looked out the window to where the icy mist was darkening toward twilight and said he had to be leaving. He was still saying his good-byes when Gib swallowed a lump in his throat and asked, “You going to be taking Ghost with you?” He swallowed again. “Tonight?” Mr. Morrison looked out the window again before he shook his head.
“Don’t think I want to start out with him this late in the day,” he said. Gib’s lump went down some. He was being foolish and he knew it. He’d known all along that Ghost would be claimed as soon as the phone lines were back in. And now, at least he didn’t have to see him retur
ned to the same person who had beaten him. But even so, it surely was going to be hard to see him go.
“I’ll be back for the horse tomorrow,” Morrison was saying, “that is, if that would be all right with Mrs. Thornton.” Miss Hooper said she was sure it would be. In the storm porch Morrison told Gib not to bother to go to the barn with him, but Gib said he hadn’t groomed the gray yet, so he’d just tag along.
Back in the barn Gib started the currying while Morrison tightened the cinch on the buckskin. But then instead of riding right off, he came over to watch. He went on watching while Ghost nudged Gib’s pockets, looking for carrots, and nodded appreciatively when the comb hit an itchy place on his back. But when the buckskin stuck his Roman-nosed head over the stall door Ghost squealed and threatened to bite. A few minutes after that Morrison said, “How would you like to help out tomorrow, Gibson? Help me get your friend there back to the Circle Bar?”
“Help?” Gib asked. “You mean ride him over there?”
Morrison nodded and then shook his head. “Ride one of yours and lead him, I imagine.” His grin looked embarrassed. “I’ve never had much luck with him, riding or leading, and as he just demonstrated, he and old Bucky here don’t get along well at all. If he started something with Bucky while we’re out on the road I’m afraid he might get away from me and be on the loose again.”
So Gib said he’d be glad to help if Mrs. Thornton didn’t mind. Morrison said he didn’t think that would be a problem, and then he left. Gib watched him sauntering out of the barn, tugging up his fancy chaps, before he swung up onto the buckskin. Partway across the barnyard he turned in the saddle, lifted his big Stetson, and waved it at Gib. Gib waved back. As he went back to finish the grooming he couldn’t help grinning a little as he thought about all the switching around his feelings had done lately concerning the owner of the Circle Bar.
Gib had never exactly hated Morrison the way Livy said she did, but he guessed he’d been influenced some by the things she said about him. And then there had been those few minutes when he’d found out who Ghost belonged to, before he heard about Dettner. For those few minutes he’d hated Morrison worse than poison.
Gib and the Gray Ghost Page 11
