the far side,” the man said, completely ignoring Glendon’s objections, “and herd the spotted one over in this direction.” He turned to Molly. “You stay by the truck and make sure she doesn’t run past it and get down the path.”
Molly stood where he pointed and tried to think how they might escape. She wished she and Glendon could talk to each other alone.
Maybe we can stall, Molly thought. Maybe we should deliberately not catch the spotted llama. If it takes too long to catch the animals, Uncle Phil will come back home and discover we’re missing and come looking for us. If the spotted llama came toward her, maybe she should let it go past.
Then she remembered the gun. The man had tucked it into the top of his jeans, with the handle sticking out. If she purposely let one of the llamas get past her, there was no telling what the man would do.
Mom had told her once that if she ever was faced by someone who was armed, to do what they said and not take a chance on getting killed.
Glendon skirted the llamas and disappeared from her sight.
Molly walked closer to the truck and looked inside. The keys dangled from the ignition. Too bad I’m not the one who knows how to drive, she thought. The man was on the far side of the pasture now, almost to the fence and the clump of trees that stretched upward into the deeper snow. Molly could easily jump into the truck and take off. But what about Glendon? No matter how much she disliked her cousin, she couldn’t leave him behind.
Besides, she didn’t know the first thing about driving a truck. Trying to do so would be foolish, no matter how tempted she was.
Molly untied her sweater and put it back on. The sunwas lower in the sky and now that she wasn’t climbing, she was cold. They had better get the llamas loaded soon or it would be getting dark and she certainly didn’t want to try to maneuver her way down the mountain trail in the dark.
She watched as the man approached one of the llamas. The animal looked at him suspiciously, moving a few steps backward each time the man was almost close enough to touch it. The man’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were hard; he didn’t try to talk to the llama or coax it to come to him.
Molly remembered how Uncle Phil had crooned to Merrylegs and how Merrylegs hummed in return. Uncle Phil even touched noses with Merrylegs when he first entered her pen and he’d explained to Molly that llamas greet each other that way. “It’s an honor if a llama wants to touch noses with you,” he said.
She was quite sure this man would not feel honored if one of the llamas tried to touch noses with him. For someone who apparently had once owned llamas, he didn’t seem to know anything about handling the animals. Molly didn’t think he liked animals much and she suspected that the llamas could sense his feelings. Maybe that’s why they were so skittish with him. If he would be gentle and talk softly to them instead of trying to lasso them like a herd of wild horses, they might respond better.
The book Uncle Phil gave her said when llamas are attacked, they sometimes spit a vile-smelling green cud at their attacker. It sounded stinky and gooey. This man had better be careful or he’d have cud in his face.
She looked again at the keys to the truck. With the man on the far side of the pasture, and his attention on the spotted llama, she was certain she could get them. If she had the truck keys, then all she would need was an opportunity to slip them to Glendon.
Before the man could drive away, he would have to remove the wooden ramp that led from the ground to the bed of the truck. Maybe while he detached the ramp, she and Glendon could hop in the truck and drive off, leaving the thief behind.
It wasn’t the best plan in the world, but it was the only one Molly could think of.
She edged closer to the truck, keeping one eye on the man. She stood beside the cab, on the driver’s side, and slowly opened the door.
The man wasn’t
Molly stood where he pointed and tried to think how they might escape. She wished she and Glendon could talk to each other alone.
Maybe we can stall, Molly thought. Maybe we should deliberately not catch the spotted llama. If it takes too long to catch the animals, Uncle Phil will come back home and discover we’re missing and come looking for us. If the spotted llama came toward her, maybe she should let it go past.
Then she remembered the gun. The man had tucked it into the top of his jeans, with the handle sticking out. If she purposely let one of the llamas get past her, there was no telling what the man would do.
Mom had told her once that if she ever was faced by someone who was armed, to do what they said and not take a chance on getting killed.
Glendon skirted the llamas and disappeared from her sight.
Molly walked closer to the truck and looked inside. The keys dangled from the ignition. Too bad I’m not the one who knows how to drive, she thought. The man was on the far side of the pasture now, almost to the fence and the clump of trees that stretched upward into the deeper snow. Molly could easily jump into the truck and take off. But what about Glendon? No matter how much she disliked her cousin, she couldn’t leave him behind.
Besides, she didn’t know the first thing about driving a truck. Trying to do so would be foolish, no matter how tempted she was.
Molly untied her sweater and put it back on. The sunwas lower in the sky and now that she wasn’t climbing, she was cold. They had better get the llamas loaded soon or it would be getting dark and she certainly didn’t want to try to maneuver her way down the mountain trail in the dark.
She watched as the man approached one of the llamas. The animal looked at him suspiciously, moving a few steps backward each time the man was almost close enough to touch it. The man’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were hard; he didn’t try to talk to the llama or coax it to come to him.
Molly remembered how Uncle Phil had crooned to Merrylegs and how Merrylegs hummed in return. Uncle Phil even touched noses with Merrylegs when he first entered her pen and he’d explained to Molly that llamas greet each other that way. “It’s an honor if a llama wants to touch noses with you,” he said.
She was quite sure this man would not feel honored if one of the llamas tried to touch noses with him. For someone who apparently had once owned llamas, he didn’t seem to know anything about handling the animals. Molly didn’t think he liked animals much and she suspected that the llamas could sense his feelings. Maybe that’s why they were so skittish with him. If he would be gentle and talk softly to them instead of trying to lasso them like a herd of wild horses, they might respond better.
The book Uncle Phil gave her said when llamas are attacked, they sometimes spit a vile-smelling green cud at their attacker. It sounded stinky and gooey. This man had better be careful or he’d have cud in his face.
She looked again at the keys to the truck. With the man on the far side of the pasture, and his attention on the spotted llama, she was certain she could get them. If she had the truck keys, then all she would need was an opportunity to slip them to Glendon.
Before the man could drive away, he would have to remove the wooden ramp that led from the ground to the bed of the truck. Maybe while he detached the ramp, she and Glendon could hop in the truck and drive off, leaving the thief behind.
It wasn’t the best plan in the world, but it was the only one Molly could think of.
She edged closer to the truck, keeping one eye on the man. She stood beside the cab, on the driver’s side, and slowly opened the door.
The man wasn’t
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