“Don’t do that, Dad,” Jim pleaded. “He asked me if I was sure it would be all right with you.”
“Well that is about as low a piece of swindling as I’ve ever encountered,” said the older man, “taking advantage of a boy!”
“He wasn’t a swindler. Besides, he said he’d be back this fall and if I wasn’t satisfied, he’d trade back.”
“Back this fall,” scoffed his father. “Why he’ll have that watch in the first pawn shop he finds. He’s probably laughing now at how he got rid of such a broken-down old plug.”
Miserable as he was, Jim was not going to let anyone make remarks about Ticktock. “He isn’t broken-down and he isn’t old either. Only six years old.”
“Six years old!” said Mr. Meadows scornfully. “Why he’s closer to sixteen. Did you look at his teeth?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ll show you something about your valuable horse!” said Carl Meadows, advancing toward Ticktock.
The mustang had been watching and listening to the argument with interest. He couldn’t understand the words, but there was little else that he missed. The frequent looks of contempt that Carl Meadows had given him hadn’t passed unnoticed. Ticktock was a horse of considerable independence. He wanted people to like him, but if they didn’t, he wasted little time in trying to win their favor. Affection was a two-way affair with him. Mrs. Meadows and Jean were neutral and puzzled respectively, so Ticktock reserved judgment on them. But the mustang definitely did not like the tall man. When Mr. Meadows reached out confidently to open his jaws, Ticktock promptly took a nip at one of the outstretched hands. It wasn’t a savage bite—just a moderate bite, as the mustang didn’t hate the strange man. He merely didn’t want to be handled by anyone who disliked him. However, the nip was enough to take the skin off one finger and draw blood.
Mr. Meadows jerked his arm back and really cursed this time. He shook the injured hand and glared with hatred at the pony.
“That settles it. That mean-tempered beast has got to go. I won’t have a vicious horse on my place. The next thing you know he will kill someone.”
Jim was very alarmed at the accident. He hadn’t expected outright approval of his trade, but he certainly had not anticipated such violent opposition. Now the biting had climaxed the situation. He felt sorry about his father’s injured hand but somehow he knew how Ticktock felt and was in sympathy with him too.
“He isn’t vicious, Dad. He’s just not used to you. Look here.”
Before his father could stop him, Jim stepped forward and took hold of Ticktock’s muzzle. He opened the mustang’s mouth easily.
“Want to see his teeth?”
“No thank you. I’ve felt them; that’s enough.” Mr. Meadows was a very tolerant man, but he was human and had a streak of stubbornness. He had taken his stand and was not going to back down. “I’ve said all I’m going to say about that horse. Come help me get the groceries out of the car.”
All through the chores Jim and his father maintained strict silence about the mustang. Jim performed his routine work from habit, for his mind was busy with its overwhelming burden of misery. After the chores he went quietly in the house and washed for supper. During the meal he sat abjectly staring at his plate, eating scarcely anything. Mr. Meadows could not help noticing his son’s misery; but Jim’s father was angry and determined, so he too sat in tight-lipped silence. Mrs. Meadows maintained her stand of complete neutrality. That left only Jean, who had forgotten the argument and just wondered why everyone was so silent.
After supper Mr. Meadows went into the living room. Jim waited a few minutes and then followed, determined to make another attempt to change his father’s stand. Mr. Meadows had always been very reasonable before. Jim’s mother left the dishes and went in the living room also, fearing a peacemaker might be needed.
“Look, Dad,” said Jim, trying to approach the subject gradually, “there’s an empty stall in the barn.”
“I said the horse was not going to stay,” said Mr. Meadows. “I simply will not waste feed on a useless, mean-tempered horse.”
“He won’t use any feed,” Jim pointed out. “Just grass.”
“In the winter there is snow covering the grass,” said the older man dryly.
“I’ll earn money this summer to feed him through the winter!” declared Jim confidently. “Besides, I already have three dollars.”
He reached in his pocket to make certain he still had his precious three dollars. His hand found the fifteen that Colonel Flesher had paid for the calf. In the excitement he had forgotten to give the money to his father.
“Here’s the fifteen dollars Colonel Flesher gave me for the calf.”
Mr. Meadows pocketed the money. “It’s a good thing he didn’t come before the horse trader, or you probably would have thrown in the fifteen dollars with the watch.”
“I would not,” said Jim bitterly. He was now even more hurt than before. “The money wasn’t mine but the watch was. You gave it to me.”
Everything seemed to mount up in Jim’s mind. He had felt like shedding tears several times since his family’s return, but he was no crybaby and had held them back. Now once again he began to choke up dangerously; so he started to leave the room.
Mr. Meadows began to be somewhat sorry about his last words. He realized that in his anger he had spoken rather hastily, and he saw his son was deeply hurt.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” he said finally and rather awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you would never be dishonest or trade off anything that didn’t belong to you. I did give you the watch and it was your property. It’s just that I attached a lot of sentiment to the watch and thought you would too.”
Mrs. Meadows had been weighing the problem all evening. She hadn’t been too favorably impressed by Ticktock, but she knew with a mother’s instinct how precious the rawboned pony was to her son. Now that her husband was in a slightly more softened mood she decided to strike.
“Carl, come in the kitchen a few minutes,” she said.
As Jim waited anxiously, he could hear low voices coming from the kitchen. He knew his parents as well as they knew him and suspected that his mother was coming to his rescue. When his parents returned to the living room, Mrs. Meadows was looking determined and a trifle triumphant, while her husband was embarrassedly trying to look indulgent. Jim sat up expectantly.
“Your mother and I have talked over this matter,” announced Mr. Meadows. “We’ve decided to arrive at a compromise with you. You can keep the horse this summer providing he isn’t too mean and causes no trouble. But this fall he goes. I will not feed him through the winter.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Jim and dashed out of the house.
When you are not quite thirteen a summer is a lifetime. The fall seemed a million years away—a tiny cloud away over on the horizon. Why school hadn’t even ended for the summer as yet. Jim went up to where Ticktock stood, still tied to the orchard fence. He stroked the mustang’s head and told him the good news.
“It’s all set, Ticktock. You can stay. We’ve got the whole summer together. You’re going to get fat and really like it here. Now don’t mind if Dad doesn’t seem to like you. He’s really an awful nice Dad. It’s just that grown-ups don’t understand a lot of things. You sorta have to make allowances for them. We’ll show everybody what a good horse you are. Only if we’re going to make a good impression you can’t go around biting people.”
The mustang took the good news very calmly.
“Come on, old boy; I’ll show you your new stall. It might rain tonight and we don’t want you to catch cold.”
The next few weeks were busy ones for Jim. School took most of the day, while after school there were chores to do. Since Mr. Meadows maintained his hostile attitude toward the mustang, Jim was very careful not to shirk any of his farm work in order to spend additional time on Ticktock. In spite of the full schedule, he managed to spend an hour or two on his pony each day. He went over the pony’s coat for an exhausting hour every evening and worked on the matted tail and mane. A few applications of methylene blue to the saddle sores caused them to start healing, while the remaining lameness quickly disappeared.
The first week-end Jim laboriously put in an entire new floor in Ticktock’s stall. He carried fresh clay from a hill on the other side of the farm and packed it firmly over the floor of the stall. He kept the pony’s quarters scrupulously clean and filled with fresh straw for bedding.
While Jim was at school, the little horse cropped busily at the spring grass and waited for his master’s return. He sensed that Jim was the only member of the family who was ready to lavish affection on him. Mr. Meadows’ hostility was quite open and apparent. Jim’s mother, while at least neutral, was seldom seen by the horse. As for Jean, Ticktock hadn’t quite made up his mind. Jim’s little sister hadn’t decided whether to be scornful of the horse or to like him as she did all the other animals around the farm.
Under the circumstances it was not strange that the mustang welcomed Jim home from school each afternoon, particularly since the reunion usually meant an apple. The little pony had never had anyone really love him before and he was quick to respond. Like most horses, the mustang had always wanted to be close friends with some man. While the cow hands on the range had treated him well, no one had ever singled him out for any particular attention. He had been roped, saddled and worked. That was the beginning and end of his ranch existence. Perhaps his very gentleness had kept him from notice, as many cowboys preferred a rather wild and unmanageable horse. Ticktock didn’t lack spirit. He simply didn’t see any sense in bucking and kicking up a fuss.
It was three days before Jim ventured to ride his horse. He examined the saddle sores and decided they were not too tender and that he could avoid sitting on them. He put on the bridle for the first time and led Ticktock up beside a small platform by the feed shed. Gingerly he climbed on the pony’s bare back. Mrs. Meadows, unobserved, watched nervously from the kitchen window. Secretly she thought the mustang looked somewhat mean-tempered, but she kept silent. Her fears were unfounded, for the pony stood calmly while Jim climbed awkwardly on his back. The horse craned his head around as if to make certain his rider was firmly seated and then stood waiting for orders.
Jim sat puzzled for a moment. He had ridden their broad-backed farm horses many times, but this was different. He had heard somewhere you never clicked to a saddle horse—and he wanted to do things right. You said “giddap” to a work horse, but that sounded a little undignified for a Western ranch horse. Finally he just pressed with his knees, lifted the reins and said: “O.K., Ticktock, let’s go.” The pony seemed to understand, for he started off at a brisk walk. Once outside the yard gate, Jim gave another press of the knees and they were off at a trot. It wasn’t a very comfortable trot, as jolting along bareback on a spine as prominent as Ticktock’s still was, couldn’t possibly be anything but painful. But Jim enjoyed every moment. As he was still being careful of the pony’s tender foot, he rode him only a short distance down the road. The return trip was made at a full gallop. Ticktock was not slow, so the horse and rider made a triumphant entry into the yard.
As Jim slid off there was no doubt in his mind that Ticktock was the fastest as well as the finest horse in the world.
After the first trial, Jim went for a daily ride, each one growing longer. He led the horse into the yard, took the bridle over to the platform, gave a shrill whistle, and Ticktock would trot up to be bridled and mounted. Then they would go dashing off down the road, chasing rustlers, carrying the mail, or acting out whatever happened to be the current daydream.
Springdale no longer held any fascination for Jim. Saturdays were too precious to be wasted in town. There were too many odd jobs to be done. He repaired Ticktock’s feedbox, and built a rack for a bucket in one corner of the stall. He wasn’t going to ask anyone to water his horse when he was away, and he had no intention of letting the pony be thirsty.
The second Saturday after Ticktock’s arrival, Jim was lying on the front porch resting from his labors. He munched on a cookie and gazed contentedly at his horse. Ticktock was in the front yard grazing. The regular pasture didn’t seem quite luxuriant enough to Jim. Besides he planned to ride any moment now and wanted his horse near. The orchard would have been the ideal spot but the bull was again occupying that area. The boy thought about the bull and frowned.
Jim wasn’t the only one who disliked the bull, for Mrs. Meadows was very nervous concerning the big red animal. She was also home this particular Saturday. Her last words to her husband, before he and Jean left for town, had been about the mean-tempered bull.
“Carl, I wish you’d see Colonel Flesher and sell that ugly brute. When I stay home without you I’m always afraid that he’ll get loose.”
“I’ll get rid of him this fall,” Mr. Meadows had said, laughing. “He’s safe enough in the orchard and I’m certain there’s nothing you’ll want in there today.”
Jim lay thinking about the time he had been trapped in the tree. He was still angry about that and wished he could think of some way of evening the score. Besides, that orchard would certainly make a nice private pasture for the horse. Grazing in the yard was not too satisfactory. His mother had objected at first on the grounds that Ticktock would eat or trample her flowers. They had finally compromised by agreeing that the mustang could graze on the strip between the drive and the orchard fence. As Jim disliked tethering his horse, he had to watch carefully; but it was worth it. The pony was near and each mouthful he ate was that much less lawn to be mowed.
Jim was turning over the weighty problem of whether to go for a ride now or to try arguing his mother out of another cookie, when he noticed the bull coming through the orchard gate. Either the gate had been insecurely fastened or else the latch had been broken. He jumped to his feet in alarm.
“Mother, the bull’s loose!” he shouted.
His mother came through the door onto the porch just as Jim started down the steps. She made a frantic grab and caught her son by his overall suspenders. She pulled him, kicking and struggling, back to the center of the porch.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“Ticktock is in the yard,” pointed out Jim, almost beside himself with fear for his precious horse.
“The bull won’t bother a horse,” Jim’s mother reassured him.
“He will too!” cried Jim. “I saw a movie of a bull-fight and bulls sometimes kill horses.”
“Nevertheless, you are staying right here,” said Mrs. Meadows firmly. “If anybody gets hurt, it is not going to be you. Besides, Ticktock is a ranch pony. He can take care of himself.”
The bull took a long curious look at the mustang who continued to graze peacefully. Ordinarily the bull stayed clear of the large work horses but the pony looked small enough to intimidate. He gave several snorts and began to paw with his front foot. Ticktock just went on grazing, ignoring the bull completely. The big animal lowered his head and prepared to rush. Jim squirmed and struggled in another attempt to get free but his mother now had him by the arm and showed no intention of letting him go. Jim wasn’t quite certain what he could do if he were free. All he could think of was that his pony was in danger.
“He’s going to rush!” he shouted.
“You couldn’t stop him,” said his mother. She too began to wonder about the mustang’s safety.
The bull lunged forward, gathering speed as he went. His short legs worked furiously, like pistons in a racing engine. Just as he seemed certain to smash into the pony’s side, Ticktock jerked his head up and made a quick wheeling movement. The bull rushed past harmlessly.
“There!” said Mrs. Meadows, with a huge sigh of relief. “Ticktock can take care of himself.”
“I guess he’s too smart for an old bull,” said Jim with more confidence than he really felt.
The bull turned around and was pawing again. After his experience in the orchard, Jim was well acquainted with the ugly animal’s tactics.
“Look out, Ticktock!” he shouted.
The mustang needed no warning. He was watching the bull with a quizzical look. He seemed amazed, as if he couldn’t quite believe that a “cow critter” could possibly be stupid enough to try any tricks on a smart ranch pony like himself. He cocked his head and stood waiting as if he were saying, “I’ll just wait and see if this is really true. Maybe I just imagined that bull was rushing at me.”
Bull and pony fighting
The bull rushed all right. He came ploughing across the yard like a freight train, the driving hooves taking huge chunks out of the smooth green sod. Ticktock calmly and neatly side-stepped. He decided this time that he hadn’t been mistaken. The bull was actually trying to scarehim. The whole thing was ridiculous. As the bull came charging back the third time the pony decided he had enough of such foolishness. He wheeled sharply when the animal was a few feet away. As the bull roared past, Ticktock lashed out sharply with both hind feet. Running the open range as a colt had taught the mustang how to use his only weapons, his feet. He had learned well, as the bull now discovered. Ticktock planted a firm kick squarely on the fat side of the big red animal. The bull, almost knocked over by the force of the blow, gave a loud bellow of pain and surprise. Jim jumped up and down on the front porch, cheering as if at a boxing match.
“Sock him, Ticktock; let him have it!”
By now Ticktock had his ears back and his teeth bared. He stood watching the bull, willing to give him another lesson. The bull, however, needed no more instruction. He promptly dropped all ideas regarding the little pony, moving a respectful distance away. Snorting in baffled rage and disappointment, he walked across the yard and began pawing furiously in the flower beds.
“My flowers,” moaned Mrs. Meadows. “Now I know that bull is going to be sold. I could kill him with my bare hands.”
“I’ll chase him out,” volunteered Jim.
“No you don’t. You are still staying here,” insisted Jim’s mother.
Jim gave a whistle. “Come here, Ticktock.”
The mustang trotted up to the porch. Jim climbed on confidently. He had no bridle but he was long since past the point where he needed reins to make his wishes known to the pony. He rode over to the nearest tree and broke off a substantial switch.
“Come on, boy; after the bull.”
Ticktock went after the big animal. Cutting steers out of herds, chasing back strays, and all such maneuvers were old routine with him. He needed few directions; all he required was to know where Jim wanted the bull to go. They turned the animal back and, after a few trys, chased him through the orchard gate.
Once inside, Jim gave the defeated and lumbering bull a triumphant swat with his switch. The big beast broke into a reluctant run. Shouting and waving his arms like a wild cowboy, Jim chased the vanquished bull to the far end of the orchard.
When finally there was no place farther to go, he relented. Returning, he fastened the gate securely and slid off Ticktock.
“You’re the bravest and smartest horse in the world, Ticktock. I’m going to get you something for a reward.”
Jim swaggered into the kitchen, trying to walk as he thought a bow-legged cowboy would.
“Ticktock is really a smart horse, isn’t he, Mom?”
“He seems to be very intelligent,” admitted his mother.
“We can handle that bull all right,” boasted Jim. “Why we can chase him all over.”
“I noticed you did,” said Mrs. Meadows dryly. “I don’t say he didn’t deserve it this time, but don’t make a practice of chasing him. That bull is going to be sold and there is no use running the fat off him.”
“Oh no, we won’t run him,” protested Jim. “But any time you want him handled, just call on us.”
“All right,” laughed his mother. “Now go get the apple you were planning on asking for. And you can have a cookie for yourself.”
“One down,” said Jim as he gave Ticktock his apple. “Mom’s all for you. We’ll show the others too. You wait. If only you hadn’t taken that bite at Dad.”
The mustang stopped munching long enough to grin.
By the time school was over for the summer, Ticktock had filled out considerably. His hip bones no longer appeared as if they were about to poke through his hide, his neck was less scrawny, and his backbone, though visible, no longer resembled the ridgepole of a tent. Jim could ride him bareback without the painful discomfort of the first few weeks. While the daily grooming had improved the pony’s coat a good deal, there were still patches that were far from satisfactory. Over all, the horse presented a rather mottled appearance. As some of the snarls in the pony’s tail proved too much for Jim’s patience, they had been removed by means of scissors. The result was rather weird—some strands were long and flowing while others were short and ragged. The mane was likewise irregular. Jim couldn’t bring himself to clip the mane short, as all the cowboys’ horses he had ever seen in the movies had long manes. So again he had clipped where he couldn’t untangle, ending up with a mane that resembled a comb with half the teeth missing. But at any rate the horse was free of burrs.
There was no questioning the mustang’s health or vitality. He frisked about like a colt, showing that his wiry constitution hadn’t suffered permanently from his past mistreatment. Since to Jim the horse had appeared beautiful in his original state, by now he was the embodiment of all that was perfect in horseflesh. Ticktock ran to meet the boy each time he appeared, even though it might be ten times a day. It had become second nature to obey the boy’s whistle. The two were on a perfect basis of friendship and understanding.
A few days after the summer vacation began, Jim hung on the orchard fence, deep in thought. The summer was just beginning, but he hadn’t forgotten his father’s decision the night he had traded for Ticktock. Fall had to come someday and then the mustang would have to go. Mr. Meadows had shown no signs of relenting toward the pony. He ignored the mustang as much as possible and when he did have to notice the pony, his eyes contained as much dislike as ever.
Something had to be done, decided Jim. Perhaps he could think of some way to earn money. If he could get enough money to pay for Ticktock’s feed for the winter, his father’s chief objection would be overcome. Then with his mother on his side, Jim felt he might win a reprieve for his horse. He thought over the possible ways of earning money. There weren’t many jobs a boy could do on a farm that brought in cash. Certainly there was plenty of work, but you did that anyway and didn’t expect pay. Now a boy in town could deliver papers, cut the neighbors’ lawns and run errands. Here on the farm it was different. Of course you could pick wild blackberries and huckleberries and sell them, but it would be some time before either were ripe and he couldn’t afford to wait. No, things were tough. Now he knew why boys left the farm. Feeling discouraged he went into the house to see if there was something to eat that would take his mind off his troubles.
“Jimmy,” said Mrs. Meadows, as her son ambled into the kitchen, “You won’t get that cake I promised. I forgot to get any vanilla extract when I was in town.”
“Gee,” said Jim disappointedly. Things certainly were tough. He sat thinking a few minutes.
“Look, Mom,” he said brightening, “I’ll just ride into town and get the extract. It won’t take long.”
Mrs. Meadows looked at her son’s eager face for a moment and then gave her permission. “All right. But you be careful of the cars when you get in town. Motorists don’t expect cowboys on mustangs to ride through the streets.”
“Anything else you need at the store?”
“How are you going to carry anything? You have to have your hands free for the reins.”
“I’ll take a burlap bag, put the things in it and then hang it across Ticktock’s back,” said Jim with decision. At least if this errand didn’t earn any money it would prove to his mother that Ticktock was useful. And then a cake wasn’t to be sneezed at.
Jim and Ticktock jogged contentedly into town, enjoying the warm sunshine. Arriving at the town’s sleepy main street, Jim looked around thoughtfully. Where would he tie Ticktock while he was in Mr. Higgins’ grocery store? Hitching posts had long since vanished in Springdale. Finally he spied a fire plug. Sliding off the pony’s back, he looped the reins over the plug. Perfect, he decided. He could use the fire plug to climb back up on Ticktock when he returned.
Mrs. Meadows had made quite a list of groceries, so Jim was gone some time. Also he made no effort to hurry away from the store, as it was his first visit to town since he had acquired Ticktock. He stood by the coffee grinder and inhaled the wonderful odor of freshly ground coffee while Mr. Higgins served the two customers ahead of him. Finally he got his groceries, carefully stowing them in the burlap bag so the weight would be equally distributed between the two ends. He tied the bag but stuck the bottle of extract in his shirt pocket for greater safety.
Carrying the bag of groceries over his shoulder, Jim returned to his steed. The town constable, his star shining brightly on his blue denim shirt, was standing by the fire plug eyeing the mustang with angry disapproval.
“This your horse?” the constable asked as Jim approached.
“Sure is,” said Jim proudly.
“What do you mean tying him to a fire plug?” demanded Constable Whittaker.
“I couldn’t find any other place to tie him,” explained Jim reasonably.
Robert Morgan, the younger of Springdale’s two lawyers, came strolling by at this moment. He stopped to listen to the conversation and to examine Jim’s horse.
“Well, you can’t tie him to a fire plug,” said the constable. “It’s against the law.”
“Where will I tie him?” asked Jim. “I’m in town on business and I’ve gotta leave my horse somewhere.”
“I don’t know where you’ll tie him, but fire plugs are out. Why I could throw you in jail for this.” Whittaker fingered his star, looking at Jim threateningly.
Jim began to be decidedly frightened. Desperately he tried to think of something to say.
“Don’t believe you could, Whit,” said Robert Morgan with a grin as he entered the argument. “I was reading the town ordinances last night. It’s against the law to park a car within fifteen feet of a fire plug but I don’t remember a word being mentioned about horses. You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court.”
“Do you mean this kid can tie his nag to a fire plug and get away with it?” demanded the big constable irritably.
Ticktock, in the meantime, had been watching the argument intently. He hadn’t cared for the way Whittaker had glared at him during Jim’s absence. The horse could sense when anyone disapproved of him and was quick to reciprocate. He had about decided he didn’t like the constable before any conversation started. During the argument he kept glancing back and forth between Jim and the huge law officer. He had no idea what it was all about but he could see that Jim was becoming frightened. As it was quite plain that the constable was the cause of all the trouble, Ticktock decided it was time to go into action. He edged around until his hind quarters were close to the curb and pointed in the proper direction. After looking over his shoulder to see if Whittaker were at the proper range, Ticktock laid his ears back and a mean glint flickered in his eyes.
“Look out!” yelled Morgan. He pulled Whittaker back just in time, as Ticktock lashed out with his left hind leg.
“You not only haven’t a leg to stand on,” said Morgan, roaring with laughter, “but you won’t be able to sit down for a week if you argue with this boy while his horse is around!”
By this time there were a dozen onlookers present, all laughing at the embarrassed constable. The latter, however, refused to join in the merriment. He stood glaring at Ticktock.
“You leave that horse on the main street again and I’ll arrest him for being a menace to the public health and safety,” the constable threatened Jim angrily.
“I don’t think you can arrest a horse,” pointed out the persistent Morgan, who was enjoying himself tormenting the law officer. “Besides, you can’t quarter a horse in the town jail. It would be unsanitary.”
At this wisecrack the bystanders became hilarious. One man was busily jotting down notes on the back of a letter.
“Nevertheless, don’t let me see this horse alone on the main street,” warned Whittaker. He strode off, red and angry.
“Thanks a lot, Mister,” said Jim to the lawyer. He was glad the argument was over.
“Robert Morgan is the name,” said the young attorney, extending his hand. “I’m happy to have been of service. Any time you need any further legal advice come to me.”
“I will,” promised Jim seriously. “But I’m not planning on getting into trouble if I can help it. My father wouldn’t like it—and then I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“There are no charges,” said Morgan laughing. “Just between you and me, I wouldn’t tie your horse to the fire plug even if it is technically legal. I just wanted to bluff Whittaker since he was trying to scare you.”
“Tell you what,” said the man who had been taking notes. “You can leave your horse in back of my newspaper office whenever you want. You ride him around there now and I’ll show you where you can tie him. Then I’d like to get your name and a few details if you don’t mind.”
Jim rode Ticktock around to the alley to a small green plot in back of the newspaper building. The editor and Robert Morgan were waiting for him there.
“Tie him to that tree,” said the editor, “and come on inside for a minute.”
Jim dismounted and followed his new friends inside. He looked curiously at the presses and linotype machines. He would like to have examined the machines more carefully but the two men went directly into a small office with the label “Editor-in-Chief” written on the door.
“Have a chair,” offered the editor. “My name is Arnold, Bill Arnold.”
“Glad to meet you,” said Jim politely. “I’m Jim Meadows.”
“I just want to get down a few facts for theGazette,” said Arnold. “What is your horse’s name?”
“Ticktock.”
“That’s an odd name,” observed Arnold.
“I called him that because I traded my watch for him.”
The editor seemed genuinely interested, so Jim told him about the mustang. The boy had been longing to find someone who really wanted to hear about Ticktock’s merits, so he became very enthusiastic. He described how he had traded for the pony and how quickly the horse had learned. Very carefully he avoided mentioning that his father had been angry and was not going to permit him to keep Ticktock permanently.
“Thank you very much,” said Arnold when he had finished taking notes. “Watch for theGazetteon Thursday. Ticktock will be in it. Now I think we all ought to adjourn to the café and have some ice cream and a coke.”
Jim approved of that idea heartily, so the three went across the street to the café. They joined a tall lanky man who was seated in a booth drinking coffee.
“This is Doc Cornby,” said Arnold. “Doc, I want you to meet a young horseman friend of mine, Jim Meadows.”
“How do you do, Jim,” said Dr. Cornby gravely, shaking hands.
“Bob has just been acting as legal counsel for Jim,” continued the editor. “He saved Jim’s horse from the law and also the law from Jim’s horse. For details read your local newspaper when it arrives on the stands Thursday.”
“Doc is a good man to know,” said Morgan to Jim. “He’s the best as well as the only veterinary in town. If there’s anything wrong with your horse, call on him.”
“Oh, Ticktock’s healthy,” said Jim, “but I’ll remember in case anything does happen.”
Finishing his ice cream, Jim thanked the editor and got up to leave.
“Look,” said Morgan suddenly, “Let’s hire Jim to distribute the bills about the Co-op. He could take them around on his horse.”
“Good idea,” approved the editor. “Do you know the countryside pretty well, Jim?”
“Why sure,” said Jim. “I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Well, we will give you a dollar and a half a day. The idea is to deliver bills advertising the new Farmer’s Co-operative that we are forming. We want to put a circular in the hands of every farmer within a radius of ten miles. I have a big map at my office on which we can mark out the territory. Want the job?”
“I sure do,” said Jim enthusiastically.
“You be at the office tomorrow morning at nine or so. The circulars will be printed by then and we can get started.”
Jim said nothing at home about his day’s adventures, other than to mention that he had a job for the next few days. The following morning he hurried through his chores, gave Ticktock a hasty grooming, and then rushed into the house to change into clean overalls. His mother had prepared a lunch, which was ready for him, packed in a brown paper bag. Jim looked inside to make certain he would have enough. Riding all day would not ruin his appetite. There were three thick sandwiches, two pieces of cake and two apples. It would do, he decided after some consideration.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “Ticktock and I’ll be home in time for supper.”
“All right, cowboy,” smiled his mother. “Don’t get lost now.”
“Get lost!” snorted Jim indignantly. “Why even if I did, Ticktock would be able to find the way back.”
He went outside in high spirits, opened the orchard gate and whistled. It was no longer an orchard in his mind but a corral which was the private domain of the mustang. Of course, the bull was often there but Jim and Ticktock ignored that animal as being beneath their notice.
The pony trotted over to the feed shed for his bridle. As Jim put his paper lunch bag inside the burlap sack, he thought longingly how handy a saddle would be. You could tie things such as your lunch to the saddle horn or, even better, get your mother to make some canvas bags to fasten behind the cantle. The way it was now, you had to have equal weights in both ends of the burlap bag to make it lie across the mustang’s back. Even then it was always sliding off. Well, decided Jim, that was one of the problems of life. He did not have a saddle, but he did have a wonderful horse—which was the important thing.
While he was debating what to put in the bag to balance his lunch, he realized suddenly that he had nothing for the horse to eat. There would be plenty of green grass and clover by the roadside, no doubt, but they would be on the move most of the time with few pauses for Ticktock to crop. Also a horse needed something solid when he was on the go all day. Feeling rather guilty, Jim went to the corn-crib and picked out six choice ears of corn. He would tell his father that night, he decided. After the remark Mr. Meadows had made about having no feed to waste on Ticktock, Jim felt rather underhanded in giving the pony any grain. He would offer to pay for the corn, now that he was earning money.
The SpringdaleGazettewas being run through the presses when Jim arrived in town. He hung around the shop watching the machinery with absorption. The inky smell and the activity of the print shop fascinated him. It must be fun to write things and then see your words appear in print. When Bill Arnold finally found a free minute and motioned for Jim to follow him into the office, the boy went with reluctance. Perhaps he could manage to be both an editor and a rancher when he grew older.
The editor and Jim went over the area to be covered. Arnold outlined the region on a huge county map which hung on the office wall. Jim made a rough sketch, took a huge bundle of bills and started off to work. As he jogged out of town with the bills in two bundles hanging over Ticktock’s back, he again found himself longing for the convenience of a saddle.
It was pleasant riding in the warm June sun along the country roads. There were flowers by the roadside, the fields were a bright green, and the air was filled with the heady scent of the rich earth and its new blanket of growing life. Birds sang in the trees while quail scurried across the road or took off in their short plummeting flights. Jim felt like taking off his shoes and wiggling his bare toes in the fertile ground.
It was fun delivering the bills. He and Ticktock developed a system after the first few farms. They would jog along at a comfortable easy pace until they reached the lane leading from the road. Then they would break into a mad gallop, dashing into the farmyard as if on a mission of life and death. Most of the men were in the fields working, but such tactics invariably brought at least the woman of the house out on the porch to learn the cause of the excitement. If there were any children present, they crowded around to stare at Jim and Ticktock. Jim felt proud and important, particularly if there were boys about his age. He would hand his circular to the woman with a flourish.
“Be sure to read that carefully,” he told each one. “It’s very important.”
He was usually able to deliver the bill to someone without dismounting. After he made his short speech, he would wheel Ticktock quickly and gallop furiously out the lane, knowing that the envious eyes of the children were following him. As soon as they were well out of sight, Ticktock would lapse into a pleasant ambling walk until they reached the next farm. The mustang seemed to enjoy the game as much as his master. Each time he resumed his walk after a spectacular delivery he would turn his head around to grin at Jim as if saying, “We certainly put on a show that time, didn’t we?”
Galloping back to the farm
The first day passed rapidly. The second morning Jim was stiff from riding all the previous day, but the soreness soon wore off. Noon found the two near Briggs Woods, a heavily wooded area about six miles from home. Jim’s route was such that the shortest way took him along the one road leading through the center of the forest. It was lonely and silent once the high trees closed behind him, but the semi-gloom appealed to the boy. He stopped beside a small stream in the middle of the forest to eat his lunch. As he munched his sandwiches he could see narrow trails which led back into the trees and hinted of mystery and excitement. There must be pools in the depths of the woods, decided Jim, for the air was filled with the croaking of frogs. A turtledove was giving its plaintive, mournful coo in the distance and there were rustling sounds in the underbrush that hinted of wild animals passing near by on their mysterious errands. Jim inhaled deeply of the odor of pine needles and moulding leaves. This would be a secret rendezvous belonging to him and Ticktock. When he had finished this job, they would explore the forest together until they knew it well. Somewhere, back up one of these little winding trails, they would find a perfect spot for a hidden camp.