GIBSON AND HIS carpentry crew heard a large number of riders headed toward town on Monday morning. At first they thought it was an Indian raid, but then Mr. Phipps shouted from atop the roof, “It's Big Al Thornton!” A smile wreathed Mr. Gibson's face, because the Bar T was the source of considerable business. Money was rolling in everywhere, and he could barely believe it. He'd struggled for years, opening stores across the frontier, losing his shirt every time, but now at last he'd landed in the right place at the right time. He wiped his hands on his apron and headed toward the middle of the street, to see the great man. The storekeeper fairly drooled in anticipation of the big order he expected to receive. Big Al rode his white gelding down the main street, followed by his men and the clatter of hoofbeats. He wore a big silverbelly hat with a wide flaring brim, and a cigar stuck out the corner of his mouth. “Howdy, Mr. Gibson,”
