“Your overhead is low though,” pointed out Arnold. “That cayuse of yours is getting his feed from my back yard.”
“Operating expenses may be low right now, but there is a long winter ahead,” said Jim with a worried frown. His cash was accumulating too slowly to suit him.
One day Arnold came out of his office waving a slip of paper. “Here’s a fine opportunity for you and that wonderful horse to show your stuff.”
“A big job?” asked Jim excitedly.
“Do you happen to know Mr. Hernstadt?” asked the editor.
“I know where his farm is,” said Jim. “He has all those big fat work horses.” Any horse that didn’t resemble Ticktock in size and build was an object of contempt to Jim.
“Well, those big fat horses are very valuable Percherons. Hernstadt is one of the finest breeders in the Middle West. Anyhow, his prize mare got out of the pasture somehow and is lost.”
“Work horses must be dumb,” said Jim with conviction. “You could never lose Ticktock.”
“Young man, will you quit bragging about that mustang long enough to listen to what I am telling you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Jim, who really wasn’t at all.
“This mare strayed away two days ago, and Hernstadt has looked all over for her. Now he is advertising, offering a reward of twenty-five dollars for her return.”
“Twenty-five dollars!” exclaimed Jim. “How I’d like to find that horse!”
“This is scarcely ethical,” said Arnold. “The paper isn’t delivered until tomorrow; so I’m giving you a twenty-four-hour advantage over my other subscribers.”
“I wouldn’t give you away for anything. When I find the horse, I’ll wait until the paper is out before I take it back to Mr. Hernstadt.”
“Rather confident, aren’t you?” asked Arnold laughing.
“Well, it couldn’t very well be stolen; a big horse like that would be too easy to trace. She’s just strayed, and Ticktock and I will find her.” Jim got up decisively. “If I can take a look at your big map, I’ll be on my way to locate that dumb horse that got lost.”
After carefully studying the map, Jim drew a little sketch. He put Mr. Hernstadt’s farm in the middle and then drew in all the roads in the surrounding territory. He mounted Ticktock and galloped importantly out of town. It was only midmorning, and he explored the country roads and lanes for several hours before hunger drove him home.
“I have to be gone all afternoon on a very important mission,” he announced as he was eating lunch.
Mr. and Mrs. Meadows just smiled and asked no questions. They were used to Jim’s acting mysterious and important. Jean, however, followed him out into the yard. Her curiosity was definitely aroused.
“Where are you going?” she teased. “I won’t tell on you.”
“I gave a cowboy’s word not to tell,” said Jim saddling Ticktock.
“Well, I think you’re mean,” said Jean. “You aren’t good to me at all any more.”
Jim considered this a moment as he cinched up the saddle. He still felt a little guilty about the matter of the hideaway. After all, Jean wouldn’t be going anywhere to tell anyone. The secret would be safe.
“There’s a big reward going to be offered tomorrow for a lost horse,” he said finally. “I’m going to find him before anyone knows about the reward.”
“What kind of a horse?”
“A prize Percheron mare of Mr. Hernstadt’s.”
“If you find her, how are you going to catch her?” asked Jean, who was a practical young lady.
“Why, Ticktock could catch any slow old Percheron,” said Jim scornfully. Actually he hadn’t thought about what he would do after locating the missing horse.
“I don’t mean catch upwithher. How are you going to put a halter on her if she’s the kind of horse that runs away?”
“Well,” drawled Jim, who had just had an idea. “I’ve been doing a lot of practicing with my lariat. I think I could lasso a slow-moving horse.”
While his admiring and envious sister gazed after him, Jim rode away. All afternoon he jogged back and forth, up and down the hills, carefully covering the territory of his map. The sun was hot and the country roads were dusty.
What had begun as an adventurous hunt, turned out to be a tedious job. At sundown he turned toward home. He was very tired and so was Ticktock. Most of the roads were now crossed off the map. Only a few were left unexplored.
That night Jim lay in bed considering the problem. The mail would be delivered at about eleven the next morning and then everyone would be on the lookout for the missing mare. He would have to work fast.
At breakfast the next morning Jim asked to be excused from the remaining chores.
“What is this mysterious mission?” asked Mr. Meadows good-naturedly.
“Jean can tell you,” said Jim who was deep in thought as to the possible whereabouts of the stray. They would know as soon as the paper arrived anyhow.
“Mr. Hernstadt lost one of his Percherons. There is going to be a reward in the morning paper and Jim is going to find her before anyone else knows about it,” said Jean importantly. It never occured to her to doubt her brother’s abilities or success. After all, he had said he would find the horse so find the horse he would.
“Oh, he is, is he?” asked Mr. Meadows. “How?”
“He has a map,” said Jean who considered that a final answer. “After he finds her he is going to catch her with Ticktock and then rope her. All he has to do then is collect the reward.”
“I hope it’s as simple as it sounds,” said Mr. Meadows. “Anyhow, I think I can do the rest of the chores myself while you’re off performing this little task.”
Jim also hoped it was as simple as it sounded. As he rode off he wished he hadn’t spoken so confidently either to the editor or to Jean. He was on the spot now. He had to find the horse. He urged Ticktock to a faster pace.
Noon found the boy and his horse covered with a blanket of dust and discouragement. The allotted territory was exhausted and there was still no horse. Of course, the Percheron could have strayed farther than Jim had expected. He considered enlarging his area. That idea didn’t seem too promising, as by now everyone in the countryside would know about the reward. Feeling rather low in spirits and very hot, he turned toward Briggs Woods. He had already explored the road through the woods and all the open trails, but at least it was cool there and Ticktock could have a drink of water.
Once in the cool cover of the forest, Jim turned toward his hideaway. He would take a rest there and eat his lunch. He was picking his way moodily through the trees when Ticktock suddenly decided to go off toward the left. Somewhat annoyed, Jim pulled the mustang back in the direction of the hideout. A few minutes later the pony again veered off to the left. This time he put his nose in the air and neighed.
“What is it, boy?” asked Jim.
Ticktock stood still and neighed a second time. This time there was an answer from the depths of the woods. Excitedly Jim urged the pony forward, giving him his head. Ticktock threaded his way through the trees confidently. After a short distance Jim suddenly saw through the woods the figure of a big gray horse.
“Hurrah! Ticktock, you found her!” he shouted.
He uncoiled his lasso as he approached. He was going to make good his boasts after all. Triumphantly he started to swing his rope. He made two circles around his head and the rope caught on the limb of a tree and fell in a tangle about his shoulders. He straightened out the lariat and tried again. This time the noose caught on a limb and refused to come loose. Feeling very uncowboylike, Jim dismounted, climbed the tree, and freed his lasso.
Half an hour later Jim was still trying. Either the rope would catch on a branch or the horse would move away just as he cast. He couldn’t use a very large noose due to the crowding branches, and somehow a limb always protected the mare’s head or she moved just in time to make the small noose whiz by harmlessly. Being hit on the head a number of times by a rope wasn’t making the Percheron any more approachable either. She was definitely getting tired of the game and fast becoming skittish.
Ticktock watched his master’s endeavors patiently for a long time. He was used to Jim’s games and at first thought this was another form of roping practice. Gradually, however, he began to realize that Jim was really trying to rope the mare for some purpose. He could sense the disappointment after each unsuccessful try. Also, Ticktock was getting tired of going through trees after the mare. He had been going steadily all morning and felt like stopping. So he decided to end all this nonsense. While Jim was resting after a particularly strenuous cast, Ticktock took charge. He gave a soft neigh and then waited. The mare neighed back.
Ticktock turned his head around and gave a long look at his rider. There was no mistaking his meaning. “You’ve had your chance, now let me try,” he seemed to say. Very slowly and patiently he made his way toward the mare. Jim sat quietly in the saddle. Finally Ticktock stopped and stood waiting. After a few more exchanges of nickers, the mare walked over to the mustang and the two horses began to rub noses. Gradually Ticktock edged around until they were side by side. Jim reached over and slipped one end of his rope around the mare’s neck. The chase was ended.
He led the mare back to the hideaway and tied her to a tree. He took off Ticktock’s saddle and the pony rolled gratefully in the tall grass. Jim sat down to eat his lunch, feeling very satisfied and happy. Ticktock was certainly a smart horse; he knew how to do everything. Now they could go back home in triumph. That seemed even more important than the reward. There was no question about it; his horse had saved the day.
Roping a horse
As he thought about how creditable Ticktock’s part had been, Jim began to grow dissatisfied with his own performance. He had fallen down on the roping. He couldn’t very well go back and tell how he had finally caught the horse. There wasn’t anything very dashing about that. Something had to be done.
He got up, saddled Ticktock, and led the mare out to the middle of the clearing. Very gently he undid the rope from her neck, talking soothingly all the time. While the mare contentedly cropped the grass, Jim backed Ticktock away a few feet. He swung his lariat quietly and slowly. He leaned forward and when the mare looked up he cast. The noose dropped squarely over her head.
With a sigh of relief, Jim rode up to the mare. He tied a knot so the noose would not choke the Percheron and then rode off through the trees, leading his valuable captive.
Home was only slightly out of his way to the Hernstadt farm and Jim could not resist the temptation to display the mare. Trying to appear very casual and unexcited, he rode up the lane. His father had just come in from the field when he arrived; so the entire family came out to meet him. It was a very satisfactory entrance.
“Where did you find her?” asked Mr. Meadows who was plainly amazed.
“Over in Briggs Woods. Ticktock found her and I roped her,” said Jim very calmly, but with a twinge of conscience.
“You and that horse continually dumfound me,” said Mr. Meadows.
Jim went inside and telephoned Mr. Hernstadt that his missing horse had been found. The pleased owner offered to come over after the mare but Jim insisted on delivering her. Before he left he called the editor.
“You can take that ad out of the paper,” he told Arnold with a pardonable amount of pride in his voice. “I am on my way to take the mare home right now.”
Arnold insisted on knowing a few details which Jim gave him with pretended reluctance. After all, as Mr. Morgan had said, what a business needs is publicity. Besides it would look nice in the paper about his roping the runaway horse. That would really make the other boys’ eyes bug out.
When Jim delivered the horse that afternoon, Mr. Hernstadt handed him twenty-five dollars gladly. He listened to the account of how the horse had been found.
“The man that helped me take care of the horses left a few months ago to run a farm of his own,” the horse breeder explained. “I’ve been so busy that I didn’t notice the fence needed repairing in one corner. That’s how she got out. Now that you have found the horse you don’t suppose you could find me a good man to help take care of her and the other horses?”
“Well,” said Jim considering the matter seriously, “the Pony Express does all sorts of things. I’ll see what I can do.”
With the twenty-five dollars reward money added to his previous earnings, Jim now had over fifty dollars. Fifty dollars was more money than he had ever seen before and seemed like the largest sum in the world. It must be adequate, he felt, to cover the cost of Ticktock’s feed for the winter. Mr. Meadows had not brought up the subject, and Jim was content to keep the unannounced truce. His father seemed to be over his anger about the watermelons. Jim reasoned that if the matter of Ticktock’s board was never mentioned, he would be foolish to call attention to it. It was simple arithmetic—he would be fifty dollars wealthier if he let sleeping dogs lie. If Mr. Meadows did raise the question, Jim was prepared. If necessary, he figured he could even pay for Ticktock’s keep elsewhere, although it would have broken his heart to have the mustang where he could not be seen and ridden daily. Still, such a course would be better than having to give up the pony in the fall as his father had threatened.
All over fifty dollars Jim felt he was free to spend. As he earned money from odd jobs, he began using it to stock his hideaway. He bought cans of pork and beans, sausages, corned beef, vegetables, fruits, soups, condensed milk, and even one can of Boston brown bread. Anything that came in cans or packages that seemed safe from spoilage was carefully stowed away in the cave. He was frugal about the process, preferring to take quietly those items that were in plentiful supply at home rather than spend his hard-earned money.
For quite a while now, Jim had been allowed to take food from the pantry for his picnics and all-day trips without asking for specific permission, provided there was plenty on hand of what he needed. In case of doubt, it was understood that he ask his mother. It was the same with anything that his mother had piled on the left-hand side of the attic. Both he and Jean could take anything they wished from the accumulation there.
Now, therefore, to the supplies which he bought with his own money, he added from the family cupboard sugar, coffee, tea, salt, pepper and a small quantity of flour. These he put carefully in jars that he picked up. In the same manner he slowly accumulated a set of battered pots and pans, two plates, and a few odd knives and forks, as well as an old blanket and a torn quilt from the attic.
The only difference between what he did this time and what he had done before was that he didn’t say a word to his mother about it all. Since always before he had talked over his plans with her, he now had a guilty feeling.
“I’ll keep a list of everything,” he said to himself, “and show it to Mother later on.”
It was so much more exciting to act mysteriously and in secret. It made the cave a real hide-out, something that belonged to him alone.
The quilt and blanket were the last items he needed to complete his preparations. Since he couldn’t very well ride out of the yard with them without causing questions, he slipped out one evening and hid them a respectable distance down the road. The next morning when he had finished his work, he saddled Ticktock and rode off to recover them. As he stopped to pick up his bedding, he was congratulating himself on how secretly he had managed everything. He looked under the little bush where he had left them the previous evening but the quilt and blanket were gone. With a puzzled frown on his tanned face, he tried to figure out the mystery. There was little traffic on the road past the farm and no reason why anyone would be prompted to stop at this spot and discover his bedding. Very annoyed, he looked up and down the road to see if there was any other bush he could possibly have confused with this one.
“Looking for your blankets?” asked a teasing voice.
Jim looked up, and there was his sister Jean sitting on the opposite side of the road. She held his missing loot in her arms.
“What are you doing here?” Jim demanded, very crestfallen at being caught.
“What are you doing with these?” asked Jean promptly.
“Oh, I was just going to use them somewhere!” said Jim in confusion. He tried to think fast. “I thought I might go fishing and want a soft place to lean back on while I fished.”
“Funny you’d go to all this trouble just to take some blankets with you fishing,” observed Jean with mockery in her voice. “You forgot your fish pole too.”
“Well, it’s none of your business,” replied Jim lamely.
“Yes, it is,” said Jean. “You were taking them to the hideaway and the hideaway is part mine.”
“Don’t be silly. Whatever gave you the idea I was taking them there?”
“Oh, I’ve been watching things,” said Jean calmly. “Let’s see, you’ve got sugar, coffee, plates, cups and two jars of peaches. Of course, I don’t know what you might have bought in town. Where else would you take all that stuff except to the cave?”
“Well, all right, the stuff was for the cave. Now what good does it do you to know?”
“None, unless I know where the cave is. But you’re going to show me now.”
“Like fun I am.”
“Either you spill the beans or I’ll squeal.” Jean had read enough comic strips that she could talk like a thug, and this was an occasion when she felt she had to act tough.
“You promised not to tell when I took you to the hideaway,” objected Jim.
“Yes, but I didn’t promise not to tell about all this stuff you’ve been stealing.”
“It isn’t really stealing,” protested Jim.
“It looks like stealing to me,” said Jean with infuriating calmness. “You took a bunch of junk but you didn’t ask.”
Jim felt trapped. He still didn’t consider his recent activities thievery, but that wasn’t the important part. If Jean talked, his parents would ask embarrassing questions about what he had done with the articles. They would know he had a secret headquarters, which spoiled half the mystery. It was better that Jean knew, than everyone. Thus far she had kept very quiet about what she already knew.
“Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take you there on your birthday,” he offered finally.
Jean considered thoughtfully. “That’s three weeks away.”
“Yes, but I’m awful busy now. Besides, wouldn’t it be a nice birthday present—making you a full partner in the hideaway. I’ve got a lot of things there I bought at the grocery store and you can have half of them.” Jim hoped she would forget about the matter in three weeks. He didn’t expect it, but it was a possibility.
“All right, on my birthday.”
“O.K. Give me the blankets and remember, don’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, I won’t, now that everything is going to be half mine!” said Jean with decision. “What are you going to do with all the stuff anyway?”
That question rather stumped Jim. He hadn’t gone into the reason behind all his activity in stocking the cave. He had long ago forgotten his idea of going there to live the life of a hermit. In the thrill of secretly gathering a hoard of food and utensils he hadn’t given much thought as to the purpose of it all.
“Well, I hadn’t thought about that too much,” he admitted frankly. “It’s just fun to have the stuff in the cave. I can pretend I’m an outlaw hiding out. Maybe Mother will let me camp out all night sometime.”
“Well, we could pretend we were shipwrecked on an island or that we were in a war and surrounded by enemies, and lots of things,” suggested Jean.
“Good ideas,” said Jim. “Well, I better be going. I’ll take you there on your birthday.” He rode off feeling that Jean might not be such a bad partner to share his hide-out. She was resourceful and she had imagination. Also, there was still three weeks in which he could enjoy the secret in solitary splendor.
Jean watched her brother disappear down the road. She had earned a victory, but three weeks was a long time. She walked back to the house with a very thoughtful look on her determined young face. She had been doing much thinking and observing, and she wasn’t going to stop and wait calmly for her birthday.
Jim delivered his blankets to the cave. After gloating over his very respectable pile of provisions, he made himself a pot of coffee. It was a lot of trouble, and he didn’t care too much for coffee, particularly with a lot of grounds, as his somehow always managed to have. Still it was fun. He washed the pot in the stream, scouring it carefully with sand before replacing it in the cave.
On his way back home he made a detour to go by the railroad tracks. It was about time for the morning freight to pass by, and he enjoyed watching the long train labor slowly up a hill which was about a mile from the farm. Arriving at a good point of vantage near a stream at the foot of the hill, he dismounted to sit by the roadside. Ticktock grazed contentedly while Jim chewed on a long stem of grass.
In a few minutes the train came whistling around the bend at full speed, trying for a head start up the hill. Jim counted the cars as they appeared, his largest total was fifty-seven and he had hoped this freight would break the record, for the engine slowed and began laboring the moment it hit the upgrade. As the sixteenth car appeared around the curve, he forgot about counting. A figure was running along the top of the boxcars toward the engine, looking frantically over his shoulder every few minutes. About ten cars later Jim saw the cause of the excitement. A second man was pursuing the first, but the latter did not seem particularly worried.
“Railroad cop,” thought Jim. “He’s trying to catch that hobo.”
The first man apparently realized that he didn’t have too far to run before he reached the engine. He stopped in his flight and began clambering down the side of one of the freight cars. The train had slowed considerably now that it was part way up the hill. The man looked down at the ground and then up at the car tops where his pursuer was hidden from view. Then he jumped. The leap occurred almost at the point where the tracks crossed the trestle over the stream. Jim could not tell if the man landed on the ground or in the water. In either case, he must be badly shaken up, for although the train had lost much of its speed it was still traveling at a respectable rate.
It was several hundred yards to the trestle, so, deciding that it would be quicker to ride than to walk, Jim dashed for his horse. Unfortunately, Ticktock had strayed up the road looking for choice bunches of clover. By the time Jim had run to his horse, mounted, and then ridden over to the trestle, several minutes had elapsed. Pulling Ticktock to a dust-raising stop that would have done credit to a Western movie, Jim slid to the ground. There was no mangled corpse in sight. He rushed to the edge of the bank bordering the stream and peered down. Still there was nothing to be seen. As there were a number of bushes, weeds and stunted trees on the steep banks, whoever had jumped might be lying unconscious behind some clump. There was nothing to do but make a search.
Searching near the track
Jim climbed up and down the sloping sides of the stream covering the area where anyone might possibly have fallen. When his efforts turned out to be fruitless, he decided there could be only one other solution. If the man had landed in the stream, there was sufficient water to carry him along to the shallows on the other side of the bridge. Although the water was only a few feet deep, an injured or unconscious man could drown. Working his way downstream under the bridge, Jim reached the shallows about a hundred yards on the other side of the tracks without finding any body. Puzzled, he decided to give up the search. Perhaps he had just imagined someone had jumped. As he was slowly making his way back, he heard the sound of rapid hoofbeats. Panic-stricken, he rushed as fast as he could along the slanting banks. He clambered to the top and looked around for Ticktock. The mustang was gone.
He looked up the road and there disappearing in the distance was his beloved horse. Hunched over the pony’s back, urging him to greater speed, was the figure of a man.
“Come back, you dirty horse thief!” screamed Jim at the top of his lungs, with rage and panic in his voice.
He continued to shout uselessly as the figure of the horse and rider grew smaller in the distance. Finally a curve in the road hid them from view. Heartbroken, Jim sat down by the side of the road. He buried his face in his hands and his body shook with sobs. It was a disaster much worse than any he could possibly have imagined. His beloved mustang had been stolen. He sat by the roadside for a long time before he looked up. The cheery sunshine of a few minutes earlier had suddenly become hard and bitter. The bright world had turned ugly, drab and cruel.
Finally he got to his feet and started plodding dejectedly down the road. It was a long desolate walk. Each step seemed to take him farther from Ticktock. His parents saw him when he finally came forlornly up the lane. With his slow pace and sorrowful face, he was a heartbreaking sight.
“What’s the matter, Jimmy?” asked his mother, running to meet him.
“Someone stole Ticktock,” he said with a quavering voice.
“Stole Ticktock?” asked Mr. Meadows incredulously. “How did it happen?”
“I saw a man jump off a freight,” said Jim slowly. “I thought maybe he was hurt. While I was hunting for him, he stole Ticktock. He must have been hiding behind some bush.”
“Why the dirty rat,” said Mr. Meadows, his rage mounting as he listened to the details. While he had threatened to get rid of the horse a few months earlier, now the idea that anyone would steal his son’s mustang made him furious. “I’m going in to call the sheriff. That horse is so well known the thief won’t be able to get far. We’ll get Ticktock back, Jim.”
Two days went by, and they didn’t get Ticktock back.
The sheriff passed the alarm to surrounding towns, while the SpringdaleGazettecarried big headlines warning everyone to be on the lookout. It forgot its usual joking tone about Jim and his horse and seriously asked everyone to cooperate in the search. Bill Arnold even had a front-page editorial on the subject.
Jim sat at the telephone waiting for news, but there was no joyous message. He was grief-stricken and refused to be consoled.
“Don’t feel so bad,” said Mrs. Meadows comfortingly. “You have money enough to buy another horse.”
“I don’t want another horse. I want Ticktock,” said Jim.
While he was deep in misery, Jim did not lose hope. Somehow he felt that Ticktock would escape from the thief and return. He was confident that no matter how far the mustang might be ridden he would discover the way back home. The third day following the theft was Saturday. The family tried to persuade Jim to go to town to take his mind off his loss, but he was firm in insisting on staying home. A message was sent to Colonel Flesher that he would not be in for work for the sale. Ticktock might possibly return, Jim felt, and he wanted to be home to greet him.
Jim sat sadly on the front porch after the family left for town, looking up and down the road hoping to see the mustang. Three days was a long time. A man could ride a horse a great distance in that length of time. Still Jim kept gazing at the road hopefully. Suddenly he jumped up and rubbed his eyes. He had been searching so long that he thought he was now dreaming. He looked again and still saw the same wonderful sight. Ticktock was jogging contentedly down the road toward home.
Jim ran to the gate to meet his horse. He threw his arms around the pony’s neck and hugged him through sheer joy.
“You came back, boy, you came back!” he cried happily.
Ticktock closed one eye and winked. He wasn’t a demonstrative horse.
As Jim started to lead his prodigal pony into the yard, he noticed for the first time that Ticktock wore no bridle.
“So you had to slip your bridle to get away,” he said. “Well, you did a good job. We’ll get another old bridle. I’ll bet you’re tired and hungry. You must have come a long way; so I’ll take the saddle off and let you rest.”
When the saddle was removed, there was very little perspiration beneath the blanket. The hair was scarcely ruffled. Jim stood back and looked at Ticktock in puzzlement.
“You don’t look as if you had come so far,” he observed. “In fact, you look as if you had just been groomed.”
He opened one of the saddlebags. He usually carried a curry comb and brush with him so that he could use them in odd moments. The implements were still there, but it was hard to tell if they had been used. Whatever the thief had used, Ticktock had obviously been groomed only a short time before. The pony didn’t look tired either, but acted quite fresh and frisky.
Noticing that the other saddlebag bulged suspiciously, Jim opened it. There, folded neatly, was the missing bridle.
“Now why would anyone fold up a bridle and put it in the saddlebag?” asked Jim.
Ticktock didn’t answer but just nuzzled his master contentedly.
“If someone wasn’t going to ride you for a while,” said Jim musingly to his pony, “he would take off your saddle as well as your bridle. If he was going to ride you in a few minutes, he either wouldn’t take off the bridle at all or at most hang it on a tree limb or the saddle horn. But that bridle was carefully put away in the saddlebag. There’s something fishy here. I don’t believe that thief is so far from here.”
The more Jim thought about the matter, the more puzzled he became. But no matter what the solution, he was very angry with whoever had stolen his horse. According to all the books he had read and movies he had seen, a horse thief was considered three degrees lower than a murderer. Jim agreed with the Western idea. Turning over such thoughts in his mind, he finally came to a decision. He saddled Ticktock, put on the bridle and then went into the house. He opened the closet to his father’s room and carefully got out a twenty-two rifle. He had been forbidden to touch his father’s firearms, but he felt this case was different. There was a heavy deer gun in the closet too, but that looked too forbidding. He found five twenty-two long shells in his father’s bureau, which he carefully stuck in his pocket. It was a single shot rifle, and he knew how to load it.
Going back downstairs, he found a pencil and paper and wrote a short note that he left lying on the kitchen table.
Dear Dad and Mom:Ticktock came back and is all right. I have gone to look for that low-down horse thief. If I catch him alive, I hope they hang him.Jim
Dear Dad and Mom:
Ticktock came back and is all right. I have gone to look for that low-down horse thief. If I catch him alive, I hope they hang him.
Jim
Very grim-faced, Jim mounted and rode off in the direction from which Ticktock had come. He had no idea where he was going to hunt for the thief, but to hunt anywhere was a form of action. He jogged along, so overjoyed to be back on his horse once more that he paid little attention to where the pony was heading. Suddenly he realized that he was entering Briggs Wood. At the proper point Ticktock turned off the road toward the hideaway.
“Well, we might as well go there as anywhere else,” said Jim cheerfully. He really didn’t have much hope of locating the thief anyhow.
At the clearing, Jim dismounted to stretch his legs. He sat down contentedly on a big rock by his fireplace.
“Well, here we are, back together again at the old hangout, Ticktock,” he observed happily to the pony.
He tossed a rock into the ashes of the fireplace. Nothing could keep him and his mustang down. Then he noticed that the disturbed ashes were smoking slightly. Alarmed, he poked in the fireplace with a stick. There was no doubt that a fire had been built there recently. Clutching his gun, he looked around at the trees.
“Someone has been here in our hide-out,” he confided softly to Ticktock.
The pony was not grazing as usual but looking around inquiringly. Frowning fiercely, Jim tried to feel as brave as he looked. Cautiously he peered inside the brush hut. It was empty; so he began to make a slow circuit of the clearing, staying well back in the trees. He was approaching the lower end near the stream, trying to move silently over the rocky ground when he stumbled over something projecting from a low bush. He spun around with his rifle ready, completely forgetting that he had never loaded the gun. There was a stir in the bush and then a man’s face peered out. Two sleep-clouded eyes looked at Jim and his rifle. The eyes opened wide and lost their sleepiness.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I give up,” said a frightened voice.
It was difficult to say which of the two was the more frightened, the man in the bushes or Jim. The only difference was that Jim held a rifle. He didn’t know quite what to do with it as all his training had been to the effect that he should never point the muzzle of a gun at anyone. So he waved the gun around uncertainly, first pointing it at the man and then away. The erratic maneuvers of the gun muzzle served to terrify the stranger even more.
“Don’t shoot!” he repeated, his frightened eyes going back and forth as they followed the end of the waving gun barrel with a horrified fascination.
The man presented a very odd sight. He was short, but with abnormally broad shoulders and powerful arms. His heavily muscled body was stripped to the waist, and he wore nothing but a pair of faded khaki trousers. This garment was crumpled and dirty with several jagged tears in the legs. He was both barefooted and bareheaded. His brown weathered face and arms had numerous partially healed scratches and cuts. At first Jim received an impression of villainous ferocity caused by the man’s mangled face. Then as he calmed down he saw the stranger had an ugly but rather pleasant countenance. Also, that powerful chest looked rather gaunt, for the ribs were beginning to show. Jim looked at his captive in uncertainty, unable to decide whether to feel angry, terrified, or sorry for the man.
“Did you steal my horse?” he asked finally, when he found his voice. He tried to sound stern, but his voice insisted on quavering.
“No, sir!” denied the stranger, who was more frightened because Jim was obviously excited than he would have been had the boy been calm and steady. “I borrowed a horse a couple of days ago but I took good care of him and turned him loose so he could go home.”
Jim thought this over for a minute. The evidence of the bridle and Ticktock’s recent grooming pointed to the truth of the statement.
“Why’d you borrow him?” he asked. “I went down to the railroad tracks to see if you were hurt, and you ran off with my horse.”
“I was scared,” said the man frankly. “I didn’t see you were a boy. A railroad cop had just chased me off that freight. I thought maybe they had rangers in this state like they have in Texas and one was after me for bumming a ride. I just lost my head and ran.”
“How did you get here?” Jim was very annoyed at anyone’s finding his hideaway.
“After I got on the horse I just rode away as fast as I could. When I came to this woods I slowed down and let that little horse walk along. All of a sudden he turned off the road and came here. It looked as good a spot as any, so I stayed.”
The explanation was very logical. For once Jim wished that Ticktock would refrain from displaying his intelligence to others. It was all right to be smart, but to take a stranger to the secret hideaway was another matter.
“We’ll go back to the clearing,” he said firmly, motioning with his gun.
“Yes, sir,” the captive moved forward promptly. Jim marched behind the man, his nervousness gone. His brown hands held the gun steadily, and there was a serious frown on his normally cheerful face. He couldn’t quite figure out the situation. The stranger seemed perfectly frank and straightforward in his manner and didn’t look like a horse thief should. According to Jim’s conceptions, a horse thief should be a sullen, villainous man with a mustache and a long scar on his cheek. This man was a good-natured, honest-appearing person.
When they arrived at the clearing, Ticktock was standing near the brush hut. The man walked up to him and began patting him on the neck.
“How are you, old fellow?” he asked in a soft persuasive tone. Ticktock seemed to like the man. He looked over and winked at Jim as if he were putting the stamp of approval on the stranger.
“Nice horse you got here, son,” said the man.
“He sure is,” agreed Jim. He always warmed toward anyone who appreciated the mustang. Yes, this whole thing certainly was a puzzle.
“Why did you let him loose?” he asked.
“You don’t think I’m a horse thief, do you?” asked the other indignantly. “I could see that someone was taking awful good care of this pony and must like him. So I turned him loose.”
“Look here,” said Jim, “I can’t figure this out. Why should you be so scared just because you were riding on a freight? Lots of people do that.”
“In some states they put them in a chain gang or jail too, when they catch them.”
“That would explain your running off with Ticktock,” said Jim, reasoning out loud, “but it doesn’t account for your staying here in the woods. You look peaked and hungry to me. Why don’t you go some place where you can get something to eat? And where are your clothes?”
Where are your clothes?
“I washed my clothes,” said the other nervously. “They’re hanging over there in the bush.”
Jim’s eyes followed in the direction of the pointed finger. There was a shirt, undershirt and two socks hanging on a limb. They had obviously been washed, although it was rather a poor job, since there had been no soap and only the cold water of the stream.
“That doesn’t answer the other questions,” said Jim stubbornly. “I think you are hiding for some other reason.”
The man looked at Jim long and searchingly. Apparently he was reassured by the appearance of the boy’s frank face and steady brown eyes.
“I think I’ll tell you the truth,” he said at last. “I think you’ll understand.”
“Go ahead.”
“Look, I’m kind of weak from lack of something to eat. Why don’t we sit down, because this is a long story? And how about pointing that rifle just a little bit in the other direction? It makes me nervous.”
“All right,” agreed Jim, sitting down on a log, “but I’m keeping this gun handy.”
As Jim placed the rifle across his knees, he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to load it. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and a big lump suddenly came up in his throat, threatening to choke him. He couldn’t very well reach in his pocket, extract a shell, open the breech, and load the gun. Nervous as he was, he knew he would be slow reloading it. He knew how, but had never had much practice and it might take a long time. The other man was too close to permit such a maneuver. There was nothing to do but try not to change expression and stick it out.