“I’d like to do something for the Pony Express though,” said Timothy. “I owe the firm a lot. If it’s all right with you Mr. Hernstadt, when I get the time I’d like to use the blacksmith shop to shoe Ticktock.”
“Certainly, any time you like,” agreed Mr. Hernstadt cordially.
“Bring him over in about two weeks,” said Timothy. “By then I’ll know my way around and be able to find the time. He needs reshoeing.”
“Thanks,” replied Jim. “I’ve been wondering where I was going to get him shod.”
“I’ll float his teeth too,” said Timothy. “I was looking at them one day and they could stand it.”
“What does ‘floating his teeth’ mean?” Jim inquired.
“Those back teeth are called grinders,” explained Timothy. “They grind up the grain and after a while they get sharp edges and points. Ticktock’s aren’t so bad, as apparently he hasn’t had too much grain. Anyhow, unless you file away those sharp edges, the horse can’t chew the way he should. When the teeth get really bad a horse gets out of condition and sometimes has colic. Filing down the teeth is called floating.”
“You weren’t wrong when you said he knew horses,” said Mr. Hernstadt to Jim.
As soon as Jim reached home, he told his sister about the happy ending to Timothy’s story. She was very pleased that the trainer was no longer a fugitive from justice, but her pleasure seemed overshadowed by her worry about Timothy’s broken heart.
“Don’t be silly,” said Jim, who couldn’t understand her concern. “Why should he worry about a woman when he’s got twenty-three horses?”
Later that evening Jim sat contentedly in the living room reading a book about the West in the days of the pioneers. He was deeply engrossed in a running battle between a wagon train and the Indians when the clock struck nine.
“Your bedtime, Jim,” said Mr. Meadows.
Jim was feeling too happy and satisfied with the world in general to put up his usual fight against bed. He stood up obediently, and with his nose still buried in the book, started to walk toward the stairs.
“Jim,” said Mr. Meadows, embarrassedly clearing his throat, “there’s something I wanted to say.”
“Yes, Dad,” said Jim looking up in surprise at his father’s rather red face.
“It’s about that horse of yours,” said Mr. Meadows lamely. “I guess I was wrong about Ticktock. He’s a pretty smart horse, the way he led us to where your sister was. I think we can find room and feed enough to keep him permanently.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Jim. “That’s wonderful!”
His world was very full of happiness. Knowing how difficult it was for his father to make such a speech as he had just heard, he was deeply appreciative. Jim, like his father, was unable to act very demonstrative, so having expressed his thanks, he hurried upstairs to bed. They understood each other, he and his father. Although they didn’t say much, each knew how the other felt.
Jim dropped off to sleep with a contented smile on his face. Ticktock was his forever, Timothy was safe now, and the hide-out was still undiscovered. It was a very satisfactory world.
Ticktock also went to sleep that night with a contented grin on his face. As a reward for having carried double for so many miles, and in general celebration of the happy state of affairs, Jim had given him two apples and an extra large portion of oats. It was a moderately cool night with few flies to bother him; so the mustang dozed off while still munching on his last mouthful of oats. He stood swaying dreamily on his feet, while visions of sugar cubes, dew-drenched clover, and whole bins full of oats floated through his brain. In the midst of his dream, the sweet odor of clover slowly changed to a smell that was foreign and unpleasant. The mustang stirred uneasily and shook his head in annoyance but the disturbing odor persisted. Sleepily he opened his eyes and then snorted in sudden alarm. The foreign smell was unmistakably smoke!
Mr. Meadows had completed the building of a new brooder house during the day. The scraps of lumber, together with other refuse, had been dumped in the incinerator and burned. The fire had been inspected just before dark when everything had appeared to be burned with the exception of a few small smoking embers. Unfortunately, the inspection had not been thorough enough for there were a number of pieces of tar paper roofing in the back of the incinerator. They smoldered harmlessly for several hours until the night breeze shifted. Suddenly they burst into flame and burned as only tar paper can burn. A shower of sparks went up into the night.
Straw collects in every barnyard and the Meadows’ yard was no exception. There had been no rain for over a week; so the wisps of straw lying around were ripe for burning. The wind had deposited a small pile of loose straw against a lean-to which was built onto one end of the barn. A spark landed in this pile and in a few minutes the straw was burning merrily while the wind whipped the flames against the dry boards of the lean-to, filling the interior with smoke. Since this shed joined one end of the barn, smoke began to filter through the cracks into Ticktock’s stall. The fire was just catching the shed when the horse had awakened with his start of alarm.
Ticktock had been around many campfires with Jim, but he had always been free to move a respectful distance away and to stand clear of the smoke. This was a different situation, which was not at all to his liking. As the smoke grew thicker he decided something was amiss. He snorted and jerked his head as the acrid fumes began to tickle his nostrils and smart his eyes. By twisting his neck he could see bright tongues of flame through the cracks in the wall and he was inspired with fresh terror. The smoke grew thicker until it interfered with his breathing. He moved around as much as he was able in his confined stall, growing more frightened each minute. He decided it was time to leave.
The pony tried backing out of his stall, but he came to the end of his halter rope in a few feet. He pulled until his neck ached but still the rope held. Then he moved forward until there was a small amount of slack in the tether. He gave a violent toss of his head. There was a painful wrench as the rope snapped taut. This method was no more successful than the first, but there seemed no other course but to try again. The smoke was growing thicker and there was no time to lose. The frightened pony gave several more violent tugs until finally, after one particularly desperate yank, the rope snapped. As he backed from the stall, Ticktock could hear the uneasy stirrings of the other horses and cattle, who although farther from the fire than he, were now awake and becoming frightened too.
Freeing himself from the halter rope was only half the battle, for he still had to get out of the barn. The door which was almost directly back of his stall was the usual double barn door. The stock had been put in the barn because it had looked very much like rain. However, the upper halves of the doors had been left open, so that it wouldn’t become too hot inside. Ticktock stuck his muzzle over the lower half to breathe gratefully the fresh night air. A few deep breaths restored his energy enough and calmed him sufficiently for him to consider the remainder of his problem. There was not room enough to try to jump over the closed part of the door. After surveying the situation appraisingly, the little mustang turned around until his back feet were pointing toward the opening. His motto had always been, “When in doubt—kick.” With no hesitation he went into action. Kicking was one of his major accomplishments; so three hefty blows were enough to break the door open. If a horse can give a sigh of relief, he gave one when he bolted into the open barnyard. Perhaps it was just a huge gulp of fresh air but it sounded like a sigh of relief.
Once outside, Ticktock could see the burning shed clearly. He trotted to the other side of the yard where he was in safety and then turned to look over the situation again. It was only a matter of time until the barn proper was on fire, trapping all the animals in it. He could hear the movements of these animals who were rapidly growing frantic. Although he personally was out of danger, Ticktock knew that something terrible was happening. His own feelings when he had been in the barn were still fresh enough in his mind to make him nervous. He thought the matter over. That blazing shed was wrong. It didn’t fit into the proper scheme of things around the farm. When anything was wrong, Ticktock had only one thought—to go to Jim. Jim could solve everything. The mustang trotted toward the fence separating the barnyard from the grounds around the house. It was a formidably high board fence, higher than any he had ever tried. Doubtfully he trotted back across the yard, knowing the sensible thing to do was to keep away from the fire and forget that high fence. The noise made by the trapped animals grew louder and more panicky. There was a feeling of terrible urgency that told him he should go to Jim. Dismissing his doubts, he started running toward the fence.
Jumping a fence
The little horse made a magnificent leap, but the fence was too high for him. His front legs cleared but his hind legs were a few sickening inches short. His hooves hit the top of the boards with a resounding thud that threw him off balance. He got over the fence but landed wrong. He felt a terrible pain in his right foreleg as it crumpled beneath him. The night was split with the heartbreaking scream of a horse in agony.
Jim sat bolt upright in bed at Ticktock’s first scream, alarmed and confused. When the terrible piercing sound was repeated, he leaped out of bed and tore down the hall, shouting as he went.
“Dad! Mom! The horses! Something’s happened to one of them!” He did not say “Ticktock,” as the idea that the shrieking horse could be his beloved pony was too terrible to admit, even to himself. He was filled with hideous misgivings, though, as he raced down the stairs. When he opened the front door he saw the fire.
“Fire! Fire!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Mr. Meadows did not need the second alarm, as Jim’s first shout had been enough to jerk him out of bed. He had pulled on his trousers and shoes and was starting down the stairs when he heard the word “fire.”
Barefooted and in his pajamas, Jim raced toward the barn. Halfway there he saw Ticktock. The little mustang was lying helplessly on his side, screaming and kicking in terror and pain. Forgetting the fire, Jim raced toward the stricken horse. He felt a sickening sense of calamity as he approached Ticktock. He dreaded going nearer, yet he had to know what was wrong. Then in the wavering light from the fire, he saw his worst fears realized; Ticktock’s leg was hanging limp and useless, broken between the fetlock and the knee.
Few people ever have to face sudden stark tragedy. There is usually some warning or preparation that makes the shock more bearable. Jim was not so fortunate. Out of a happy sleep he had awakened to this. There was no bottom to the depths of his despair. This was a tragedy beyond his most horrible dreams. A terrible numbing agony swept over him, leaving him nauseated, blinded and stricken. There was a huge leaden mass where his heart and stomach had been. He shed no tears but threw himself in a hopeless heap on the ground beside the horse. Not knowing what he was doing, he took Ticktock’s head in his lap and began to stroke the mustang’s forehead. He mumbled softly and unintelligibly to the trembling, terror-stricken horse.
Mrs. Meadows, who had dressed by this time, came out into the yard carrying Jim’s shoes, shirt and trousers. She had turned on the yard light; so she saw the horse and boy immediately. There was no need to ask what was wrong. The crumpled leg was only too evident. Tears of sympathy and grief started to her eyes, both for the little horse and for her son. She glanced hesitantly toward the fire, feeling she should rush to her husband’s aid, but she knew what sickening grief was shaking her son. She had to comfort him, if only for a moment. Saying nothing, she walked over to put her hand on his shoulder. Jim looked up at her dumbly as if struggling for recognition. Slowly he brought his mind out of its numbness.
“Broken,” he said in a hopeless, tired voice. “Broken.”
“I know.”
“The fire,” he said slowly. “I ought to help.”
“No, you stay—” she started to say and then thought better. His help was needed and anything that would take his mind off Ticktock would help. “Yes, Jim, there are other horses that are trapped in the barn. You’d better help.”
“You help carry water,” she warned him as he pulled on his clothes over his pajamas. “Stay out of the barn unless your father tells you that you can go in.”
Jean came out to drop beside Ticktock in sorrow almost as great as Jim’s. While the girl comforted the pony, Jim and his mother rushed off to help Mr. Meadows. With misgivings, Jim’s father permitted him to go into the smoke-filled barn, for help was needed desperately. The terrorized animals were threshing about in their stalls so violently that it was dangerous work to get near them in the smoky interior to untie them. Choking and blinded, Jim led out one cow, only to plunge back in again after another. Mr. Meadows was racing in and out of the barn like a madman, leading out the huge work horses. Mrs. Meadows ran back and forth from the watering tank to the fire carrying water while anxiously trying to keep tabs on both her husband and son to see that neither was gone too long, perhaps lost and overcome by the smoke. Finally all the stock was safely out in the yard and the two, coughing and sputtering, turned to help Mrs. Meadows fight the still growing fire.
They carried water until they were at the point of exhaustion and the big water tank was almost empty. Mr. Meadows was the only one strong enough to throw water onto the roof of the lean-to, which by this time was burning fiercely. He scorched his face and arms while his hair and eyebrows became singed and frizzled. With his face blackened with soot, he continued to fight the fire with the water that Jim and his mother pantingly lugged to the scene. At last they began to make headway and the boards no longer blazed but smoldered. The lean-to was almost destroyed, while one end of the barn was badly scorched and charred. When finally there were no more bright blazes but only embers, Mrs. Meadows turned to her son.
“Go on back to your horse. We’ll finish here.”
Jim returned to his stricken mustang. During the fire, excitement had replaced much of his grief, but now it returned with all its former force. Dejectedly he sat down beside Jean to stroke the horse’s quivering head. He was still dumbly patting Ticktock’s neck when Mr. Meadows came to stand beside him some minutes later. Jim looked up at his blackened, begrimed father.
“He broke his halter rope and kicked down the door,” said the older man. “Why he jumped the fence into the yard we’ll never know. I guess horses can do a lot more thinking than we realize. He may have wanted to warn us. If that was his idea, he succeeded, although he had to break his leg to do it. I suppose it’s small consolation, son, but your pony saved the barn and all the other stock.”
Ticktock had calmed down somewhat now that Jim was stroking his head again. He was still trembling, but he no longer tried to struggle futilely to his feet. The pain, while not the first horrible jabbing agony, was still present. He rolled his eyes in fright and only Jim’s comforting hand kept him from writhing about on the ground. Mr. Meadows knelt down, examining the leg carefully. He straightened up with a grim expression on his face.
“It’s broken, son,” he said. “I suppose you know that. It’s pretty high; so there isn’t a chance. You better go in the house and let me put him out of his pain.”
“No!” cried Jim, coming suddenly out of his stupor. “You can’t shoot him.”
“I don’t want to,” said his father gently. “But it’s the only thing we can do. The only thing that’s fair to Ticktock.”
“Call Dr. Cornby,” said Jim with a faint glimmer of hope in his voice. “Maybe he can fix it.”
“If the break were lower, there might be some possibility of saving him,” said Mr. Meadows. “I hate to disappoint you Jim, but Dr. Cornby won’t be able to do anything.”
“We can see,” said Jim with pleading insistence.
“I’ll go call the veterinarian,” said Mrs. Meadows. She went inside to the telephone.
In a few minutes Jim’s mother was back. “There was no answer at Dr. Cornby’s home, Jim. It’s eleven-thirty; so I suppose he will be home before too long. In the meantime I have no idea where to reach him.”
“What day is it?” asked Jim with apparent irrelevance.
“Thursday, why?”
“He’s at the SpringdaleGazetteoffice as usual,” said Jim whose mind was functioning again with its old sharpness. “Call him there and tell him how important it is.”
Dr. Cornby was very surprised when he was called to the telephone. He listened carefully for a few minutes.
“Where is the leg broken?” he asked after Mrs. Meadows had explained what had happened.
“About four inches below the knee,” replied Jim’s mother.
“That makes it tough,” he said. “Not much chance with the break there.”
“That’s what Carl said, but Dr. Cornby, you have to come out to see the horse,” said Mrs. Meadows desperately. “Jim is absolutely heartbroken. Even if you can’t do a thing, it will make him feel better. That’s really why I want you to come, for Jim as much as the horse. I want him to know that everything possible is being done.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Meadows,” said Cornby. “I’ll be right out. I owe that boy of yours a good turn anyhow. Keep the horse as quiet as possible in the meantime.”
“What’s happened?” asked the editor when Cornby hung up the receiver.
“There was a fire out at the Meadows’ place. That mustang kicked his way out of the barn, jumped a fence, and woke up the family. The trouble is he broke his leg in the process.”
“That kid’ll never get over this,” said Arnold sympathetically. “Any chance of setting the horse’s leg?”
“I don’t know,” said Cornby, shaking his gray head slowly. “Depends on what the break is like. It’s pretty high, which is bad. However, I’ve got to see what I can do.”
The two men went to the veterinarian’s office, where the doctor got his bag. After he had all his instruments carefully stowed, he pulled out a heavy sack from the closet.
“What’s in that?” asked Arnold.
“Quick-setting plaster,” replied Cornby. “I hope we can use it. Otherwise it’s this.” He pulled a forty-five from his desk drawer, examined it, inserted a clip and stuck it in his pocket.
“Look,” said Arnold, “how about that new-fangled splint you used on your dog? Wouldn’t something like that work?”
“Maybe, maybe not. That was a Stader splint, and it has been a godsend for small animals and for men, too, for that matter. On horses, as yet, it’s use is no more certain to effect a cure than a plaster cast.”
“Why not?” asked the editor as they got in the car.
“There’s the same difficulty as with all methods of setting a horse’s leg. There’s simply too much weight for such small legs. There’s experimentation going on all the time at colleges and veterinarian schools. Every now and then you read an article that someone has discovered a new method of repairing broken bones in horses, but the fact remains that in most cases the horse is through. A plaster cast is still the most widely used, and only in isolated cases is it successful. I hope this is one of them.”
Jim was still sitting on the ground beside Ticktock when Dr. Cornby and the editor arrived. The veterinarian wasted no time, but after a short greeting to the family, immediately went to work. Using a flash light, he made a careful examination of the broken leg. Jim watched every move with painful anxiety. Hopefully he looked at Dr. Cornby’s face as the latter stood up from his inspection.
“Can you fix it?” he asked. There was desperate pleading in his voice.
“I don’t know, Jim. It’s a clean break, no jagged edges, so we can try. You can usually set a leg, but whether it will be successful is always a gamble. Ticktock and you will play a much more important part in this than I will. You have a much tougher job ahead of you than I have.”
“I’m willing to do anything,” answered Jim promptly.
The veterinarian looked around appraisingly and then issued instructions. A long lighting cord was found and stretched from the nearest socket to furnish illumination at the pony’s side. The accident had occurred beneath one of the large trees in the yard. Thoughtfully Dr. Cornby looked up at a big limb almost directly overhead.
“If we had equipment, the best thing would be to move him out to his stall in the barn, but we’d need a tow truck or a derrick to do it. However, there is always the possibility of doing still more damage by moving him and, also, the sooner we set the leg the better. We are lucky in that we can raise him right here, but if we do, he’s going to be here a long time. Now can you rig up some sort of padded frame like the side of a stall so Ticktock can lean against it and rest?”
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Meadows. “We can do anything that’s necessary.”
“O.K.,” said the veterinarian. “Mrs. Meadows, you are going to have a horse cluttering up your back yard for some time.” She only smiled to show her lack of concern, so he continued. “First, I need a good strong block and tackle.”
The block and tackle was securely fastened to the limb overhead and then Dr. Cornby produced a wide canvas bellyband to go under Ticktock’s body, a breeching and a breast strap. He worked rapidly with only an occasional comment.
“Got to put him out to keep him quiet,” he said, producing a jug of liquid and a complicated appearing apparatus with a long tube. “This is chloral hydrate which I am going to administer intravenously in the jugular vein. Just as simple as giving plasma to a person.”
Ticktock gave a start of pain and terror as the vein was pierced but in a few minutes his nervous trembling had ceased, his legs relaxed, and his head drooped heavily in Jim’s lap.
“I’ll have to raise him to get at that leg,” said the doctor.
By dint of much pulling, pushing and lifting, the wide bellyband was shoved beneath the mustang’s body and the ends hooked to the block and tackle. Slowly and carefully the limp horse was raised. When the inert body was clear of the ground, they readjusted its position and then secured the breast strap and breech band in place to keep Ticktock from sliding out of the sling. The injured animal was then raised until his feet dangled clear of the ground by a few inches. A final adjustment was made so that his hind feet were slightly lower than his fore feet. With his head hanging limply downward, poor Ticktock certainly presented a forlorn and pitiful sight.
In the meantime, Bill Arnold had been preparing the material for a plaster cast. Dr. Cornby worked rapidly and soon had the leg set and padded ready for it.
“I wish I had a fluoroscope or some means of taking an X ray to see if I have that bone in exact apposition,” he said as he worked. “I have to go by touch entirely, but I think I’ve got it right.”
After the plaster cast had been applied and was hardening, the veterinarian sat down to relax for a few minutes. He lighted his pipe and drew in the smoke gratefully. Jim gave a big sigh of relief and looked hopefully at Dr. Cornby. He had been afraid to utter a sound while the doctor had been working, but now he felt he could talk.
“He’s going to be all right now, isn’t he, Doctor?” he asked anxiously.
“I wish I could say yes definitely, but I can’t, Jim. The battle has only begun. Only the simple part is over. I’m not going to kid you but tell you just what can and does happen in most cases.”
“O.K.,” said Jim grimly.
“A horse has one of the most sensitive nervous systems of all animals, which is the one thing that makes matters so difficult when they have an accident. They are particularly susceptible to any pain, which makes them writhe around, kick and do everything they shouldn’t when they have a broken bone. On the other hand, you can’t keep them quiet by keeping them under dope because their nervous system just won’t stand it for any length of time. That’s why a race horse seldom recovers from a broken leg—he’s such a nervous animal he won’t keep still.”
“Ticktock’s not nervous,” said Jim promptly.
“No, he’s a rather calm little pony, but on the other hand, he’s no placid cow. I’ve seen times when he acted pretty spirited; so it won’t be beer and skittles keeping him quiet. And you’ve got to do it. Now you notice how sloping a horse’s leg is. It’s difficult to keep a plaster cast in place—if the break were above the knee it would be next to impossible. The muscles in the leg are very powerful and if the horse starts moving, the contraction of those muscles is enough to pull the bones out of apposition, by that I mean out of line, and then he’s done for.”
“I’ll keep him quiet,” said Jim with determination. “I’ll stay right here beside Ticktock all the time.”
“It’ll be a long vigil,” said Dr. Cornby smiling sympathetically. “He’s going to be in that sling at least six weeks. Of course, the first two weeks are the most important. After that the bone has begun to knit and won’t pull apart so easily. Now the next thing is to keep him happy and eating. I don’t know how to tell you to do this. You know the horse and will have to figure it out for yourself. I’ve known some horses that would absolutely refuse to eat anything when they were in pain. In one case I tried feeding a horse through a tube to keep him alive. Now Ticktock shouldn’t be in pain after this, but he’ll be nervous being in that sling. You’ve got to keep him calm and happy enough to eat.”
Jim was not discouraged by this ominous warning. He felt confident that he could keep the mustang quiet and contented. Ticktock would eat for him.
“Now there’s one more problem,” said Dr. Cornby. “We’ll lower him in a few minutes so that some of his weight is resting on his feet. I think the way we have him set most of it will be on his hind feet. Each day we’ll put more weight on his feet until finally the sling will just be there to keep him from lying down and for him to use when he wants to rest. Now some horses never lie down to sleep. I’ve had farmers tell me that some of their horses have stood as long as a couple of years without lying down other than to roll when they were in the pasture. Still there’s danger when you force a horse to stand for six weeks in a sling that he might get laminitis, or founder.”
“What’s that?” asked Arnold.
“It’s the same thing that happens when a horse is overworked, allowed to drink all the water he wants and then stand. The blood vessels in the feet are injured. The blood from the arteries passes through tiny blood vessels, called capillaries, into the veins and back to the heart. These little blood vessels are permanently damaged and the coffin joint, inside the hoof, suffers and drops out of position. The sole of the foot also drops. You can help mild cases of founder, but the horse is never up to much except very light work. Even if he recovers he is usually lame until his blood warms up.”
“What can we do to prevent it?” asked Mr. Meadows while Jim listened anxiously.
“Well, building that padded barricade will give him a chance to lean against it and rest. Also, it helps to groom the horse and massage his legs. Don’t touch the broken leg at all for a few days though. Beyond that there isn’t much that can be done but hope for the best.”
The veterinarian waited until Ticktock awoke, and then lowered him until his feet touched the ground lightly. At first the pony was very groggy and dopey, but as his head cleared he started to struggle. He could not understand why he was hanging in the air and was unable to walk.
“There, there, old boy. You’re all right now,” said Jim consolingly, patting the mustang on the head.
There was nothing further that Dr. Cornby could do. As it was after three o’clock in the morning, he and the editor prepared to leave. As Dr. Cornby wearily packed his bag, Jim awkwardly tried to express his thanks. He was so grateful that he could find no words adequate to convey the depth of his feeling.
“I know how you feel, Jim,” said Dr. Cornby. “Just forget about it and save all your energies for the days ahead. You’re going to need all you’ve got.”
Jim firmly refused to leave his pony’s side, insisting that he was going to sit up the remainder of the night beside the injured animal. “He might want some water,” he said, “or he might get scared and start kicking.”
Horse in a sling
“All right,” said Mr. Meadows who had volunteered to spend the night on watch beside Ticktock. “We’ll bring out some blankets and fix up a place where you can lie down if you want to.”
Dawn found Jim leaning back against the tree asleep with a blanket around his shoulders. Ticktock dozed quietly in his sling, apparently comfortable and contented. Mrs. Meadows discovered them still in deep slumber when she came out to call Jim for breakfast. She looked down fondly at her son’s drawn, tired face, hating to awaken him. Reaching down, she shook his shoulder gently.
“Jim, Jim,” she said softly. “Come in and have some breakfast.”
Jim was ravenous. He looked at Ticktock, who still slept peacefully; so he decided to go in to breakfast. However, as he started toward the house the mustang awoke and stirred restively. No amount of persuasion could have made Jim leave then, so his breakfast was served in the yard. He sat under the big tree hungrily devouring bacon and eggs, sleepy and tired, but happy. He then fed Ticktock, lovingly holding a bucket for the horse to eat and drink. He refused to go more than a few feet from the mustang, chasing away every fly and fussing over Ticktock as if he were a tiny baby. Jean brought apples and choice bits of clover to offer. The pony, instead of refusing to eat, accepted everything until Mr. Meadows became alarmed over Ticktock’s large appetite.
“Remember, he’s not going to get any exercise for a long time,” he warned. “You’ll overfeed him if you don’t watch out.” Mr. Meadows sunk two posts near Ticktock and between them nailed boards which were padded to allow the mustang to rest against the structure comfortably.
The news traveled fast through the countryside and all morning there was a string of visitors. Some came out of sympathy for Jim and others out of pure curiosity. A horse with his leg in a plaster cast was quite an attraction, particularly a famous horse like Ticktock. Jean sternly kept all visitors at a respectful distance, afraid they would alarm the pony. Shortly after noon Timothy came riding down the lane astride a huge Percheron.
“Just heard about the accident,” he said to Jim. “It was certainly tough luck. I thought I’d come see if there was anything I could do.”
He examined the injured leg with great interest. “Nice job—sure hope it works.” He wasted no further words on condolence but promptly took charge of the situation.
“While it’s good weather we better get things rigged up for rain,” he said with authority. “We’ll fix him a regular stall right here. Roof to shade him and a manger. It would be just as well not to have too much of the yard in plain view—something might scare him.”
Together Timothy and Jim stretched a big canvas tarpaulin over Ticktock and pegged the sides securely to the ground. They made a small manger out of boxes and placed it where it was convenient for the mustang. Then they spread straw on the ground around his feet and in a short time had him appearing very comfortable in a tentlike stall. Timothy finished matters by giving the little horse a thorough grooming. The trainer’s expert touch and soothing voice kept the pony quiet and contented and for the first time since the accident Jim was able to leave his side without a feeling of alarm.
“I’ll come over about eight and spend the night with him,” said Timothy firmly. “You’ve already had one tough night and need some sleep.”
So Timothy stayed beside the injured horse the second night while Jim slept in his own bed with the soundness that comes of exhaustion.
For two weeks Jim and Timothy alternated nights beside Ticktock. After several days the mustang seemed resigned to remaining in one spot but grew very spoiled. Unless someone were beside him, he wanted to move about. Dr. Cornby came out daily to inspect Ticktock and check on progress. Timothy proved invaluable, for each day he gave the horse a thorough massage and grooming. His long experience with race horses enabled him to keep the mustang’s muscles in trim in spite of his lack of exercise. Each time Timothy finished his daily stint of several hours rubbing and massaging, Jim gave mental thanks that he had made the right decision that first day when he had met Timothy at the hideaway.
Horse in a sling
During the day, Jean often spelled Jim in his vigil beside the pony. School started during Ticktock’s last week in the sling, but the question of whether Jim should go to school was not even raised—he stayed beside his horse. When the day finally arrived to take Ticktock from the sling, there was a large audience. Timothy, of course, was present, having brought Mr. Hernstadt with him. Bill Arnold, the editor, was there to report the big event for the SpringdaleGazette. Dr. Cornby brought two colleagues from neighboring towns who watched with professional interest. Altogether there was a very attentive gallery as the veterinarian removed the cast and gave the signal for Mr. Meadows to lower away slowly.
Ticktock gradually had been allowed to put more weight on his feet for several weeks so at first when the sling was removed he noticed no difference. Jim stood at his head, talking soothingly but watching anxiously. Then he led Ticktock forward for a few tentative steps. The mustang walked somewhat uncertainly, due to his long period of inaction, but he did not seem to be limping or favoring his injured leg.
“I believe we’ve done it,” said Dr. Cornby jubilantly. “He seems to be good as new, Jim!”
Jim threw his arms around his horse’s neck and hugged him in ecstasy. “You’re all right now, Ticktock. You’re all well again.”
“I’d just lead him around for a few minutes a day at first, Jim. Don’t let him run at all for six weeks and aside from when you’re exercising him, keep him in the stall. You should wait at least three months before you ride him.”
Jim led his horse out to the barn where he had his stall prepared. He wanted to be alone with the pony for a few minutes. Tears of happiness were welling up in his eyes—tears that he preferred no one see.
The following week Jim started to school. Ticktock progressed rapidly and six weeks later was grazing contentedly in the orchard. He wondered impatiently why Jim had not ridden him for so long, but otherwise he was content. One day Mr. Meadows had just taken a reassuring look at the mustang and was crossing the yard toward the house when Ticktock raised his head and, looking down the road, whinnied. Mr. Meadows followed the horse’s gaze with idle curiosity at first, and then stared in frank puzzlement. Coming up the road was an odd-looking wagon followed by a long string of horses. Had Jim been home, or Ticktock able to talk they could have told Mr. Meadows that the old man on the driver’s seat was Ned Evarts, the horse trader, but as it was, the farmer had to figure out the mystery by himself. The strange procession came on up the road and turned without hesitation into the lane. Mr. Meadows stared curiously at the sombreroed driver and the odd assortment of horses. Due to the initial resentment at Jim’s having traded the gold watch for Ticktock, the horse trader and his unusual cavalcade had never been discussed much by Jim and his father. It was only as the wagon stopped and the driver climbed down that Mr. Meadows began to suspect the identity of his visitor.
“My name’s Evarts,” said the old man, introducing himself. “Are you Meadows?”
“That’s right,” said Carl Meadows, shaking hands with Evarts.
“Last spring I swapped your son a horse. Still got him?”
“Sure have. He’s over there in the orchard,” replied Jim’s father.
“Yep, that’s him all right,” said the horse trader, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand while he looked at Ticktock. “He’s lookin’ much better than when I saw him last.”
“He’s been getting good care,” said Carl Meadows, grinning. “In fact he’s practically been fed with a spoon lately.”
“When I traded with your boy I was a bit doubtful about the deal, as he gave me a gold watch for the horse,” said Evarts. “I asked him if he was sure it was all right, and he reckoned it was. Some days later I happened to take the watch apart again and I noticed that engravin’ on the back. While I ain’t doubtin’ that the watch belonged to your son, I figured you might set a big store by it, seein’ it’s been in the family so long. Anyhow I held onto it and if you’re a mind to trade back, I still have the watch.”
“I’ve been wrong on so many counts concerning that horse it’s getting kinda monotonous,” said Mr. Meadows almost to himself.
“What’s that?” asked Evarts.
“Nothing. No, I wouldn’t consider trading back,” said Mr. Meadows stoutly. “I was a bit mad at the time, but Jim sure knew what he was doing. Now I wouldn’t swap that mustang for your whole string. I’d like to buy the watch though.”
“How about forty-five dollars?”
“Fair enough. I’ll buy it.”
“Made money on that horse after all,” said the old man, grinning as he pocketed his money.
“I’m glad you did, because that mustang is just about the most valuable horse in the country. Also the most famous in the state.”
“What’s he done?”
“Well, for one thing he’s just recovered from a broken leg. Had the cannon bone broken and you’d never know it now.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged,” said Evarts in amazement, as he walked toward the orchard fence. “How’d he break it?”
“The barn caught on fire one night and he broke out. He jumped the fence and broke his leg when he landed. That’s what woke us. Must have saved me a thousand dollars worth of stock. I had the barn insured against fire but not the stock. That’s just one of the reasons why we wouldn’t part with him.”
“Well, I’m sure pleased you’re satisfied with him. As I said, I was a bit worried at the time, tradin’ with a boy.”
“I’ve quit worrying about Jim getting beat in a trade,” said Mr. Meadows proudly. “He’s quite a businessman. I guess he made at least seventy-five dollars with that horse during the summer.”
Mr. Meadows was still recounting Ticktock’s exploits when Jim returned from school.
“Hi, Mr. Evarts!” he shouted as he came through the gate. “How do you like the looks of my horse?”
“Wonderful. He looks like he’d found horse heaven.”
“Don’t mention that watch,” warned Mr. Meadows as Jim approached. “I’ll surprise him on his birthday. Not very often you can give the same present twice. Probably end up with an elephant this time.”
Ticktock came trotting up to the fence to welcome his master. He stuck his nose over the top wire, begging for some tidbit. Surprisingly enough it was Mr. Meadows who reached in his pocket and produced a sugar cube. He held it in his outstretched palm. Ticktock could see plainly enough that it was sugar, but he hesitated. Mr. Meadows had long since forgotten his old hostility but the mustang remembered. However, he wasn’t the horse to hold a grudge; so he looked inquiringly at Jim. Jim grinned and nodded his head.
Ticktock reached out to take the sugar.