  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 the Gazette,” 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 the Gazette on 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 Springdale Gazette was 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. After lingering so long in the woods, Jim was late in covering the area he had mapped out for the day. He delivered the last bill and turned Ticktock impatiently in the direction which he thought home to be. After going several miles, he not only recognized no landmarks, but the farms looked increasingly unfamiliar. He stopped and puzzled over his map. That didn’t help a great deal. He made a grimace and unsuccessfully tried to figure out his bearings from the rapidly setting sun. Very crestfallen, he had to admit that he was lost. Knowing that he could stop in at any farmhouse and ask directions, Jim was not worried. However, he felt that to do so was to admit defeat. He and Ticktock were a self-reliant team, and it would hurt his pride to admit that they couldn’t handle any situation. Also he knew these Missouri farm women. They were kind—too kind to suit his purposes. They would give him very complete directions and then insist that he have something to eat. That would be fine, for he certainly was hungry, but matters wouldn’t stop there. They would promptly call his parents to keep them from worrying. That was the last thing Jim wanted. Not only had he boasted to his mother about not getting lost, but both she and his father might forbid his delivering circulars again the following day if they were afraid of his losing his way. No, there had to be a better way out. Ticktock looked around at his rider with a question in his eyes. He was hungry too and couldn’t quite understand what they were waiting for. “O.K., boy,” said Jim suddenly. “You figure it out. Take us home.” He let the reins go loose. Ticktock set out confidently at a brisk trot. He turned right at the first corner without hesitation. He was going somewhere, there was no doubt of that. Jim hoped that it was in the right direction. After three or four miles, Jim’s confidence in Ticktock was justified, for the countryside began to look familiar. “You’re the smartest horse in the world,” said Jim, patting Ticktock fondly on the neck. “There’s nothing we can’t do. We’ll really explore that woods now. At least you won’t get lost.” Mr. Meadows was reading the Gazette when Jim arrived. The boy rushed in the house full of the news of this fresh evidence of the mustang’s brilliance. “I didn’t mean to be late to help with the chores,” he explained, “but after I got ready to come home I was all twisted up in my directions and was going to ask the way, but instead I just let Ticktock go and he brought us right home.” “I have to admit that nag seems to have a sense of responsibility where you are concerned,” said Mr. Meadows dryly. “But where others are involved he seems to have a streak of meanness. I warn you to watch him closely, because if he causes any trouble, away he goes. Here, read this.” With these ominous words Mr. Meadows handed Jim the Gazette, pointing to an article on the front page. Puzzled, Jim started to read.
|
|
