  Jim set out for town with the bull haltered and trailing behind Ticktock. He would have much preferred to drive the animal to market, but he decided that discretion was better than playing cowboy. If the animal got loose in the village and caused havoc, his father would never trust him again. The bull had learned his lesson well and plodded meekly behind the horse. Uneventfully the little cavalcade made its way into town, across the tracks, and over to the stockyards. Colonel Flesher came out of his weighing shed, which also served as his office, and greeted Jim. “Good morning, young man. I see the Pony Express is delivering the male.” He laughed so heartily at his own pun that his enormous stomach shook up and down. Jim, who was very pleased that the colonel had evidently read his recent publicity, grinned politely. The bull was led onto the weighing platform and after being weighed, was put in one of the enclosures of the stockyard. “How’s business with the Pony Express Incorporated?” asked the stock buyer. “Fair,” answered Jim. “Of course, just starting in business this way things are apt to be a little slow.” “Have any trouble bringing that bull to town?” “Not a bit,” answered Jim proudly. “Ticktock comes from a ranch, you know, so he really knows how to handle stock. We could drive a whole herd.” “I don’t doubt it,” said the colonel. “I have to admit that I was a bit off base where that horse is concerned. He has certainly improved since the first time I saw him. I think I’ll have a job for you in a couple of days. There’s about ten head of stock I bought from a farmer three miles south of here. You interested in driving them in for me?” “Sure,” said Jim confidently. “Any time you say. Ten head at my usual rates would be two dollars.” “That’s quite a wage for a young man,” said the colonel considering. “But then there’s the rising cost of living and the upkeep on your horse so I suppose that’s fair. Anyhow its cheaper than trucking them in. I’ll give you a call. Probably day after tomorrow.” Leading a bull “All right, sir. If I’m away on business my mother will take the message. She acts as my secretary,” said Jim, trying to speak casually. The telephone message came through as expected, and very much excited, Jim set out. This was a job to his liking—herding cattle like a true cowboy. He arrived at his destination, collected the ten head of cattle and started toward town. Driving the cattle along the country roads was not difficult. He kept the herd carefully to one side to avoid trouble with passing automobiles. Now and then one of the “critters” would see a tuft of grass on the opposite side of the road and try to break away. Ticktock would quickly demonstrate his prowess as a cow pony and drive the offender back into line. Altogether the trip to Springdale was accomplished without any untoward incident. As they started through the edge of town toward the stockyards, difficulties began to develop. At the sight of the wide inviting lawns on each side of the street, the cattle really began to be troublesome. As fast as one was chased back into the herd another would stray. Jim and his pony both began to work up a sweat. About halfway through town, the crisis came. One stubborn old cow, taking a fancy to some lettuce in a vegetable garden, went ambling across the sidewalk with a determined glint in her eyes. As Jim turned the pony after her, a steer broke ranks and headed across a front lawn on the opposite side of the street. It was a tough spot. You couldn’t chase two strays in opposite directions and herd the remaining eight cattle, all at the same time. With a sinking feeling that he was failing at his first big job, Jim considered desperately what to do. Leaving the reins dangling on Ticktock’s neck, Jim slid from the horse’s back. “Keep ’em herded, Ticktock,” he shouted, and started after the old cow in the vegetable garden. Ticktock followed his instructions remarkably well. He seemed to sense what was wanted and faithfully kept the remaining eight cows tightly bunched. Shouting and waving his arms, Jim chased the old cow from the garden before any damage was done except a few deep hoof prints in the soft earth. As he herded the straying animal back across the sidewalk toward the main herd, he looked for the stray on the opposite side of the street. Dismayed he saw the steer was already across the well-kept lawn and almost to an orderly flower garden which nestled at the side of a little white bungalow. Just as the frisky young bull was about to plow into the little flower bed, a liver and white shape came hurtling around the corner of the bungalow, barking furiously. Ferociously, the dog went after the steer, which turned tail and fled back toward the street. Nipping at the steer’s heels, the dog chased the animal across the sidewalk. “Here, boy. Come here, old fellow,” shouted Jim as invitingly as he knew how. He was deeply grateful to the dog for helping save the day, but he didn’t want the barking warrior to get the whole herd excited. Then there would be serious trouble. Fortunately, the dog was well trained and stopped his barking, trotting obediently up to Jim. It was a springer spaniel with beautiful markings. Jim longed to reach down and pat his new friend’s head but the cattle seemed more important at the moment. By now the herd was altogether again and Ticktock was doing a magnificent job keeping the cattle tightly bunched. The little mustang was slowly circling the herd which was now at a standstill. Since there was nothing available from which to climb up on the mustang’s back, Jim decided to walk the remaining short distance to the stockyards. Moreover, it would be easier to keep the cattle under control with himself on one side and Ticktock on the other. He started the cattle moving once more. As they proceeded down the street, the spaniel followed. At first, Jim tried to get the dog to return to his home, fearing that the animal would start barking and stampede the cattle. But the brown and white springer seemed determined to accompany him. He turned out to be a very competent helper, trotting along on one side of the herd very quietly until one of the cattle attempted to break from the knot. Then the little dog would bark furiously and chase the offender back into place. With perfect teamwork such as this, the rest of the journey was uneventful. When they arrived at the stockyard Ticktock was on one side of the herd, the dog on the other, and Jim walked behind. Colonel Flesher came out of his office, watching the last stage with open-mouthed amazement. “That certainly takes the prize,” he observed when the cattle were safely penned. “You, that horse and the dog all working together like clockwork. I hope you didn’t walk all the way to town.” “No, just the last half-mile. It was simple out on the country road. Going through town, I figured out this was the easy way to handle ’em.” “Well, I have to admit you did it beautifully,” said the stock buyer in admiration. “I forgot to tell you, but that little road over there west of the yards comes in parallel to the railroad tracks. There are no houses or yards along that. It might be a little longer in case you have to circle town to get to it, but it would probably be less trouble in the long run.” “I’ll take that next time,” said Jim, who didn’t care to repeat his recent experience. “Where’d you pick up Doc Cornby’s dog?” asked Colonel Flesher, paying Jim his two dollars. “Oh, I just recruited him on the way,” said Jim very off-handedly. “Well, it’s a mystery to me how you get these animals to work for you so easily,” said the colonel, shaking his head. “I’ll have another job for you in a few days.” Thanking the stock buyer for the money, Jim climbed back on his horse and whistled to the dog. He felt it was only fair to return the spaniel to his home after the assistance the dog had given him. Arriving at the bungalow, Jim dismounted and walked up to the door. His knock was answered by a very pleasant-faced woman. “How do you do, Mrs. Cornby,” he said politely. “I brought your dog back. He was helping me drive cattle.” “I saw what was happening from the window,” said Mrs. Cornby, smiling. “It was a good thing Horace was here to help you. That steer was heading straight for my flowers. If it had ruined my prize begonias, I would never have forgiven you.” “He’s certainly a smart dog. He was a big help.” “He spent the last summer on my brother’s farm. Bert taught him to go after the cows each evening, so I guess he enjoys helping herd cattle.” Mrs. Cornby had solved the mystery of why the dog had helped herd so intelligently, but Jim was slightly disappointed. He would have preferred to think that animals instinctively knew what he wanted. “If he likes to drive cattle, I’d be glad to take him along the next time I bring some in,” volunteered Jim. “Thank you very much, but I think not,” said Mrs. Cornby. “He runs away too much as it is and if anything happened to him the children would be heartbroken. I suppose you’re Jim Meadows of the Pony Express that we have been reading about in the paper.” “That’s right,” said Jim proudly. A sudden thought struck him. The editor and Dr. Cornby were close friends. “Would you do me a favor, Mrs. Cornby? Don’t let Mr. Arnold hear about the trouble I had with the cattle. He might print it in his newspaper and bad publicity like that could ruin my business. I’m going to drive cattle by a different route after this, anyhow.” Mrs. Cornby laughingly promised she would remain silent. Jim got back on his horse and headed home for lunch. He would get a smart dog like Horace some day, he decided. But first, before taking on any more liabilities, he wanted to solve the problem of keeping Ticktock permanently. Mrs. Cornby had been nice, agreeing to keep quiet about the incident. He was glad the steer hadn’t ruined her begonias, though why anyone set such a store by ugly waxy-leaved plants like begonias, he didn’t know. Women are hard to understand, he decided. After two more successful and uneventful trips driving cattle to town, Colonel Flesher offered Jim an additional job. “How would you like to work for me Saturday afternoons and evenings at the sales barn?” asked the stock buyer with a wave of his fat hand toward the huge auction barn near the stockyards. “That sounds swell, sir,” said Jim. He had attended part of the auction one afternoon with his father and had enjoyed it immensely. “I’ll give you a dollar and a half and your supper. Since I don’t suppose you’d consider a proposition that didn’t include your horse, I’ll throw in feed for him too,” offered the colonel. “It’s a deal,” said Jim, shaking hands. “When do I start?” “Three o’clock this Saturday.” Anything and everything was sold at the colonel’s Saturday sales. There were horses, sheep, cattle, goats, pigs and poultry auctioned off in the big barn. The farmers who always came to town Saturday afternoon or evening to do their shopping brought whatever they wished to sell. You could buy garden tools, tractors, chairs, setting hens or pianos. Anything that was offered was put on the block and sold to the highest bidder. There were items ranging from fifty cents to five hundred dollars. Each sale was as fascinating as a circus to Jim. There was always a huge throng of people gathered under the big roof—men, women and children from all over the surrounding countryside. There is some form of contagious excitement at an auction. When the crowd surged forward to bid on some choice item, the tenseness and excitement of the group would grip Jim too. He would hold his breath as the colonel skillfully maneuvered the bidding higher and higher. Jim gained a new respect for Colonel Flesher at the auctions. He had always wondered secretly how a man could be as fat as the stock buyer unless he were lazy, but he changed his mind at the sales. The big man was going from three in the afternoon, when the sale opened, until it ended, usually about nine in the evening. It was a mystery to Jim how the colonel’s voice managed to keep up its steady flow, hour after hour. He never lost his enthusiasm either. He would shout as jovially and interestedly while selling a fifty-cent used ironing board as he would over a prize cow. The auctioneer was particularly adept at keeping the crowd in a good humor. If the bidding were not progressing well, he could always manage to bring up a joke or story to get the crowd laughing. “Now look men,” he might say, while selling a used washing machine. “You can’t let this washing machine go for a paltry ten dollars. No wonder the divorce rate is rising. You tell a woman you love her, and then, after you are married, you would rather let her break her back over a washboard than spend more than ten dollars. Now let’s have a bid that will show chivalry is not dead. Besides, I think with a little bit of trouble you could hook an ice-cream freezer to this motor. What am I bid? Fifteen, fifteen, fifteen, sixteen, sixteen, eighteen, who’ll make it twenty. Twenty dollars by the man over there who loves his wife. Twenty—twenty—going at twenty. Going, going, gone! Sold for twenty dollars.” In the beginning Jim was baffled by the methods used in bidding. During the first few sales he jerked his head back and forth frantically trying to locate the various bidders but he seldom saw more than half of them. After a few experiences helping the colonel upon the platform, he began to solve the mystery. Some men would lift a finger while others would wink an eye or use a nod of the head. Whatever the signal, the colonel seldom missed it. He seemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing who was a likely bidder on each item, so that often it was unnecessary for a bidder to announce himself as a party to the bidding even on his initial offer. It seemed of particular importance on expensive items, such as large farm machinery, that the bidders maintain secrecy. “They don’t want the other bidders to know who their competition is,” explained the colonel to Jim. “Everybody knows everybody else and about how much money he has. If a man knows who’s bucking him at an auction, he knows just about how high the other fellow is willing to go. That’s bad at a sale. For example, if a good milk cow was being sold and everybody knew old man Wilkins was bidding, they might get discouraged because they know he’s wealthy and stubborn. On the other hand, he doesn’t want people to know he’s in the race as someone might run up the price just to spite him.” Jim enjoyed his duties at the auction. He led out cows and horses to be sold, handed small items to the colonel, or even held up an occasional article for the inspection of the crowd while Colonel Flesher sold it. When there was an unusually large amount of stock to be sold, part of it was kept at the stockyard and driven over as required. Those instances were the only times that Ticktock’s services were needed. However, Jim always kept the pony tied in the stock barn during the sales. He liked the mustang close by, and Ticktock seemed to enjoy the sale as much as the boy. There was a half-hour pause at six o’clock while the colonel and his helpers ate a quick supper. The meal usually consisted of several hot dogs or hamburgers, a piece of pie and coffee. The food was obtained at the lunch counter just outside the main entrance to the sales barn and was taken into the colonel’s office to be eaten. Jim always looked forward to the brief meal. Not only did he like hot dogs and hamburgers, but also he enjoyed the conversation. “That big gray horse went dirt cheap, didn’t it?” the sales clerk, Carl Mason, would say. “Yeah, it was a steal,” Colonel Flesher would agree. “I tried my best to get the price up on that. That tractor was way overbid though. Sold for twice what it was worth.” Jim began to have a very shrewd idea of what various articles were worth, ranging from mops to gang plows. At Jim’s fourth auction, a saddle was offered for sale. He saw it just before the sale opened, stacked in a corner with a pile of miscellaneous household articles. Climbing over two galvanized washtubs, he managed to get close enough to inspect it carefully. It was a Western saddle with a high horn and cantle. The pommel, the cantle and the leather leg protectors were all covered with fancy tooling. The saddle had been used just enough to deepen the color of the leather to a beautiful dark brown. Nowhere was it worn, and apparently it had been well cared for, as the leather was soft and pliable to the touch, indicating that plenty of saddlesoap and elbow grease had been used by the owner. It looked just right for Ticktock. Jim gazed at the saddle with longing and admiration. He had looked at the prices of saddles in the Montgomery Ward and Sears catalogs at home and knew a saddle such as that must have cost at least a hundred dollars. Probably more, as he had never seen a saddle with tooling such as this one. In his mind he counted his money. He had only two dollars with him, but the total of his earnings now amounted to nineteen dollars. The saddle couldn’t conceivably go for such a price as that, he decided dismally, even if it were an off day at the sale. Besides he didn’t have the money with him and the sales were always for cash. Regretfully he stopped his minute inspection and went about his duties. In spite of being resigned about the saddle, Jim made certain that he was present when it was sold. It seemed forever before it came up on the block. For the first time Jim took little interest in the bidding on various other articles offered. When the saddle was finally brought forward, he stood on the edge of the crowd, tense with excitement. “What am I offered for this fine saddle?” asked the colonel. “A hand-tooled saddle in fine condition. None of your Eastern foolishness about this. It’s a serviceable as well as a beautiful Western job. There’s a good saddle blanket here that goes with it. What am I bid? Who’ll make me an offer?” Jim found himself criticizing the colonel’s sales methods for the first time. He wished the auctioneer wouldn’t praise the saddle in such glowing terms. “Ten dollars,” came the first bid from somewhere in the crowd. “I have an offer of ten dollars. Who’ll make it twelve?” boomed the colonel. “Twelve,” was the answer from another quarter of the room. The bidding went to fourteen dollars and hung there for a moment. Jim couldn’t bear the thought of that beautiful saddle going to someone else for a mere fourteen dollars. He resolutely shoved his fears about money for Ticktock’s winter feed into the background. “Fifteen dollars,” he shouted in a high voice. “I’m offered fifteen,” said the colonel, glancing quickly at Jim. “Sixteen, sixteen, am I bid sixteen?” Someone gave the signal and the offer went to sixteen. The auctioneer looked over at Jim questioningly. Feeling very nervous and uncertain that he was doing the proper thing, Jim nodded. His bid stood only a moment until the ante was raised to eighteen. Again the colonel looked in his direction and Jim nodded. “Nineteen, I’ve been offered nineteen; who’ll make it twenty, twenty, twenty. Twenty it is. Who’ll make it twenty-one?” Colonel Flesher looked questioningly at Jim, who had to shake his head sadly. He had reached the limit of his means. The bidding went on briskly until it reached twenty-five dollars. There it hung. “Twenty-five, twenty-five, who’ll make it twenty-six? Going, going, gone. Twenty-five dollars. Sold to the Pony Express Incorporated for twenty-five dollars.” Jim opened his mouth in astonishment. For a moment he doubted what he had heard. He had stopped bidding at nineteen. He didn’t think he had made any signal after that which the colonel could possibly interpret as a bid. He started to shout out a denial and then thought better. He would put the auctioneer in a bad spot if he denied the bid. He tried to think of some way out of the delicate situation. The only solution was to see Colonel Flesher as soon as he could and explain that not only had he not bid any such sum as twenty-five dollars but that he couldn’t possibly pay it anyhow. All afternoon he worried about the matter. The sale seemed to drag on forever. Finally it was time for supper. Jim collected his food at the lunch wagon and headed for the auctioneer’s office. Troubled as he was, his appetite still remained. “There’s been a mistake, Colonel Flesher,” Jim said as the big man entered. “I stopped bidding at nineteen dollars on that saddle.” “I know you did. My eyesight isn’t failing yet.” “I thought I heard you say it was sold to the Pony Express at twenty-five dollars.” “That’s right. I got to thinking how nice that saddle would be for your horse. It’s worth seventy-five dollars easily. I looked over at Ticktock and he seemed interested in it too. After you finished bidding I got three separate and distinct winks from your horse. Since I understand he’s a full partner of the firm I considered his bids binding and sold him the saddle.” Jim was still too troubled to worry whether the colonel was kidding him or not. He wouldn’t put it past Ticktock to have winked at the auctioneer. The idea that the mustang might bid on the saddle didn’t seem at all absurd to Jim. “But I have only nineteen dollars,” he protested weakly. “Perfectly all right,” said the colonel jovially. “This is one exception we’ll make to the rule of cash on the barrel head. I’ve already paid for the saddle. I’ll take it out of your wages. Now quit worrying about the matter.” Jim quit worrying. He gulped down his piece of pie, thanked the colonel, and rushed out of the sales barn. He found his newly acquired saddle and blanket. He stroked the leather fondly. It certainly was a beauty. Tenderly he carried it over to show Ticktock. |
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