before he remembered that Miss Hooper had strapped the earflaps down under his chin, Gib settled for a wave. “Howdy, mister,” he called. “Did you want to see Mrs. Thornton?”
The man touched his spurs to the buckskin’s flanks and came on into the barnyard. Close up his bony, thin-lipped face did look a mite familiar. “You looking to see Mrs. Thornton?” Gib repeated. But instead of answering Gib’s question the stranger only went on staring at Silky.
“So that’s the Thornton Thoroughbred, is it?” he asked. “The one who caused Mrs. Thornton’s injury?”
Surprised, Gib gulped a little before he said, “Yes, sir. Yes, she did, but it wasn’t her—”
“Who’s been handling her?” the man interrupted.
“Handling her?” Gib asked.
“Yes. Who’s been settling her down?” The man sounded impatient. “I’ve heard she used to be a real fireball. Who’s been taking the mischief out of her?”
Before Gib could decide how to answer, another voice said, “Gib’s been training her.” And there Livy was again, standing just a few feet away.
The stranger turned and tipped his Stetson. “Well, hello there, little neighbor lady,” he said. “Perhaps you don’t remember me, but I remember you. Met you more than once a few years back when ...
“I know you, Mr. Morrison,” Livy said politely. Too politely, Gib thought anxiously. “I remember you quite well.”
Gib glanced quickly from Livy to the stranger and back again. He had a feeling that something was going on that wasn’t being put into words, but he had an even stronger feeling that it might be said real soon. And, judging by the look on Livy’s face, he couldn’t help wondering how neighborly those words were going to be.
He was still wondering when the man swung down off the buckskin. “Well, I’m glad to hear that you remember me, Miss Thornton,” he said. And then, to Gib, “I’ll leave the buckskin at the rack for the moment, but I’d like you to put him in the barn as soon as you finish with the mare. I won’t be long, so you needn’t unsaddle him. Just put him in out of the wind.”
As the man called Morrison headed for the hitching rack, both Gib and Livy watched him go in silence. It was a tense, edgy silence that lasted for a minute or so before Gib asked, “Morrison?” He knew he’d heard the name before. “You say his name is Morrison? Isn’t he the one who ... ?”
Livy’s face looked dangerous. Not sugarcoated, sneaky dangerous this time. More like out-and-out ready to bite and kick. “Yes,” she said between her teeth. “The Mr. Morrison who stole my mother’s ranch.”
Chapter 7
M ORRISON. GIB REMEMBERED NOW. It had been Hy who’d told him that when Mr. Thornton sold off most of the Rocking M’s land the buyer had been a man named Clark Morrison. A man who, according to Hy, had more money than sense. But Hy hadn’t said anything about stealing, at least not as far as Gib could recollect.
Jumping down off Silky, Gib asked Livy what she meant about stealing. But there was no answer. After a moment he asked again. And then, “Livy? Livy?” Still no answer. Instead she just went on staring toward the house through narrowed eyes. It wasn’t until he whispered, “Did you say he stole your mother’s ranch?” that she finally answered.
“Yes, stole. Come on. Let’s go see what he wants now.” But when Gib pointed out that, first off, he had to take care of Silky, and then the buckskin as well, she sighed impatiently. “Well, go ahead then. But I’m going in now. I’ve got to find out why he’s here.”
Even though Gib was hurrying all he could, it was nearly half an hour before the two horses were taken care of and he was free to head for the house. Leaving his coat and boots in the storm porch, he went down the hall in his stocking feet. The house seemed quiet and deserted. He was tiptoeing, halfway to the staircase, when something hit him. A hard and sharp whack, it was, right on