Read Online Gib Rides Home by Zilpha Keatley Snyder - Free Book Online
Authors: Zilpha Keatley Snyder
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Bobby up a whole lot. He went right on groaning and sighing as they finished the cow barn, pushed the final wheelbarrow load out of the milking stall, and started to scatter the fresh straw.
Interrupting a particularly mournful sigh, Gib said, “Look here, Bobby. I’ll dump the last load.” Actually it wasn’t his turn, and Bobby knew it. “You go ahead and finish spreading the straw, then take the lantern and shovels over to Juno’s stall. I’ll be along soon as I dump this one.” Grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow, he headed out across the frozen field to the manure heap.
It had been bad enough in the cow barn, but outside it was worse. A lot worse. The wind-driven sleet beat against Gib’s face and seemed to cut directly to the center of his bones. But even with his eyes squinted half shut against the wind, and with a lot of slipping and sliding on the ice-crusted snow, he covered the distance to the manure heap in record time.
Actually he was hurrying for two reasons. Not only to escape from the wind, but also because Juno and her box stall came next, and he liked being around the old chestnut mare. Liked listening to her soft, eager nicker as he fetched her hay and oats, and the smell of her horsey warmth as he brushed her mane and tail and, standing on a grooming stool so he could reach, ran the currycomb down her strong, wide back. He liked the currying and he could tell that Juno did too. And he also liked knowing that for once he wouldn’t have to argue with Bobby to get the best job, because Bobby was sure that Juno, like everything else big and powerful, was out to get him.
“She’s getting ready to bite me,” he’d told Gib at least half a dozen times. “I can tell.” Just thinking about Bobby being so scared of gentle old Juno that he’d do all the shoveling while Gib did the fun part made Gib smile, even though stretching his lips made painful prickles across his half-frozen face.
Back inside, out of the storm, Gib was struggling to shove the barn door shut against the push of the wind when Bobby suddenly appeared beside him. A bulgy-eyed Bobby, whose arms flailed wildly in pointless gestures and whose mouth gasped and flapped and made senseless sounds. A threatening shiver started up Gib’s back, and something hard and heavy seemed to fall from a great distance and crash into the pit of his stomach.
“What is it?” he asked. “Bobby? What’s the matter? You seen a ghost or something?”
Bobby gulped again, grabbed Gib’s arm, and turned back to point in the direction of Juno’s stall. “Somebody’s in there,” he gasped. “In the stall. I think it’s ... He stared at Gib with wide, unbelieving eyes. “It might be—it might be Georgie and ... His voice rose to a wail. “... and I think he’s dead.”
It was Georgie Olson all right, or all that was left of him, lying in a filthy, ragged heap in a corner of Juno’s stall, where it looked like he’d tried to make a bed for himself of straw and gunnysacks and the torn scraps of an old horse blanket. Had made himself a bed, curled up in it, and was now asleep. Or dead?
“Did Juno kill him?” Bobby was whimpering from outside the stall door. “Look, she’s looking at him.”
Juno, who was standing quietly on the other side of the stall, was indeed looking at Georgie curiously, her ears pricked forward.
Gib shook his head. “No, ’course not,” he said, and, dropping to his knees, he grabbed Georgie’s shoulder and shook him. “Georgie,” he said, and then more loudly, “come on, Georgie, wake up.”
Georgie wasn’t dead after all. At least not quite. Suddenly awake, he cowered away from Gib, covering his head and face with his arms and making a strange squeaking noise like an injured animal.
“Hush. Stop that,” Gib whispered. “Be still, Georgie. It’s just us. Gib and Bobby. We won’t hurt you.”
The squeaking stopped. Georgie’s arms, heavily bandaged like his hands, came down slowly, away from
Interrupting a particularly mournful sigh, Gib said, “Look here, Bobby. I’ll dump the last load.” Actually it wasn’t his turn, and Bobby knew it. “You go ahead and finish spreading the straw, then take the lantern and shovels over to Juno’s stall. I’ll be along soon as I dump this one.” Grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow, he headed out across the frozen field to the manure heap.
It had been bad enough in the cow barn, but outside it was worse. A lot worse. The wind-driven sleet beat against Gib’s face and seemed to cut directly to the center of his bones. But even with his eyes squinted half shut against the wind, and with a lot of slipping and sliding on the ice-crusted snow, he covered the distance to the manure heap in record time.
Actually he was hurrying for two reasons. Not only to escape from the wind, but also because Juno and her box stall came next, and he liked being around the old chestnut mare. Liked listening to her soft, eager nicker as he fetched her hay and oats, and the smell of her horsey warmth as he brushed her mane and tail and, standing on a grooming stool so he could reach, ran the currycomb down her strong, wide back. He liked the currying and he could tell that Juno did too. And he also liked knowing that for once he wouldn’t have to argue with Bobby to get the best job, because Bobby was sure that Juno, like everything else big and powerful, was out to get him.
“She’s getting ready to bite me,” he’d told Gib at least half a dozen times. “I can tell.” Just thinking about Bobby being so scared of gentle old Juno that he’d do all the shoveling while Gib did the fun part made Gib smile, even though stretching his lips made painful prickles across his half-frozen face.
Back inside, out of the storm, Gib was struggling to shove the barn door shut against the push of the wind when Bobby suddenly appeared beside him. A bulgy-eyed Bobby, whose arms flailed wildly in pointless gestures and whose mouth gasped and flapped and made senseless sounds. A threatening shiver started up Gib’s back, and something hard and heavy seemed to fall from a great distance and crash into the pit of his stomach.
“What is it?” he asked. “Bobby? What’s the matter? You seen a ghost or something?”
Bobby gulped again, grabbed Gib’s arm, and turned back to point in the direction of Juno’s stall. “Somebody’s in there,” he gasped. “In the stall. I think it’s ... He stared at Gib with wide, unbelieving eyes. “It might be—it might be Georgie and ... His voice rose to a wail. “... and I think he’s dead.”
It was Georgie Olson all right, or all that was left of him, lying in a filthy, ragged heap in a corner of Juno’s stall, where it looked like he’d tried to make a bed for himself of straw and gunnysacks and the torn scraps of an old horse blanket. Had made himself a bed, curled up in it, and was now asleep. Or dead?
“Did Juno kill him?” Bobby was whimpering from outside the stall door. “Look, she’s looking at him.”
Juno, who was standing quietly on the other side of the stall, was indeed looking at Georgie curiously, her ears pricked forward.
Gib shook his head. “No, ’course not,” he said, and, dropping to his knees, he grabbed Georgie’s shoulder and shook him. “Georgie,” he said, and then more loudly, “come on, Georgie, wake up.”
Georgie wasn’t dead after all. At least not quite. Suddenly awake, he cowered away from Gib, covering his head and face with his arms and making a strange squeaking noise like an injured animal.
“Hush. Stop that,” Gib whispered. “Be still, Georgie. It’s just us. Gib and Bobby. We won’t hurt you.”
The squeaking stopped. Georgie’s arms, heavily bandaged like his hands, came down slowly, away from
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