  For two weeks Jim and Timothy alternated nights beside Ticktock. After several days the mustang seemed resigned to remaining in one spot but grew very spoiled. Unless someone were beside him, he wanted to move about. Dr. Cornby came out daily to inspect Ticktock and check on progress. Timothy proved invaluable, for each day he gave the horse a thorough massage and grooming. His long experience with race horses enabled him to keep the mustang’s muscles in trim in spite of his lack of exercise. Each time Timothy finished his daily stint of several hours rubbing and massaging, Jim gave mental thanks that he had made the right decision that first day when he had met Timothy at the hideaway. Horse in a sling During the day, Jean often spelled Jim in his vigil beside the pony. School started during Ticktock’s last week in the sling, but the question of whether Jim should go to school was not even raised—he stayed beside his horse. When the day finally arrived to take Ticktock from the sling, there was a large audience. Timothy, of course, was present, having brought Mr. Hernstadt with him. Bill Arnold, the editor, was there to report the big event for the Springdale Gazette. Dr. Cornby brought two colleagues from neighboring towns who watched with professional interest. Altogether there was a very attentive gallery as the veterinarian removed the cast and gave the signal for Mr. Meadows to lower away slowly. Ticktock gradually had been allowed to put more weight on his feet for several weeks so at first when the sling was removed he noticed no difference. Jim stood at his head, talking soothingly but watching anxiously. Then he led Ticktock forward for a few tentative steps. The mustang walked somewhat uncertainly, due to his long period of inaction, but he did not seem to be limping or favoring his injured leg. “I believe we’ve done it,” said Dr. Cornby jubilantly. “He seems to be good as new, Jim!” Jim threw his arms around his horse’s neck and hugged him in ecstasy. “You’re all right now, Ticktock. You’re all well again.” “I’d just lead him around for a few minutes a day at first, Jim. Don’t let him run at all for six weeks and aside from when you’re exercising him, keep him in the stall. You should wait at least three months before you ride him.” Jim led his horse out to the barn where he had his stall prepared. He wanted to be alone with the pony for a few minutes. Tears of happiness were welling up in his eyes—tears that he preferred no one see. The following week Jim started to school. Ticktock progressed rapidly and six weeks later was grazing contentedly in the orchard. He wondered impatiently why Jim had not ridden him for so long, but otherwise he was content. One day Mr. Meadows had just taken a reassuring look at the mustang and was crossing the yard toward the house when Ticktock raised his head and, looking down the road, whinnied. Mr. Meadows followed the horse’s gaze with idle curiosity at first, and then stared in frank puzzlement. Coming up the road was an odd-looking wagon followed by a long string of horses. Had Jim been home, or Ticktock able to talk they could have told Mr. Meadows that the old man on the driver’s seat was Ned Evarts, the horse trader, but as it was, the farmer had to figure out the mystery by himself. The strange procession came on up the road and turned without hesitation into the lane. Mr. Meadows stared curiously at the sombreroed driver and the odd assortment of horses. Due to the initial resentment at Jim’s having traded the gold watch for Ticktock, the horse trader and his unusual cavalcade had never been discussed much by Jim and his father. It was only as the wagon stopped and the driver climbed down that Mr. Meadows began to suspect the identity of his visitor. “My name’s Evarts,” said the old man, introducing himself. “Are you Meadows?” “That’s right,” said Carl Meadows, shaking hands with Evarts. “Last spring I swapped your son a horse. Still got him?” “Sure have. He’s over there in the orchard,” replied Jim’s father. “Yep, that’s him all right,” said the horse trader, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand while he looked at Ticktock. “He’s lookin’ much better than when I saw him last.” “He’s been getting good care,” said Carl Meadows, grinning. “In fact he’s practically been fed with a spoon lately.” “When I traded with your boy I was a bit doubtful about the deal, as he gave me a gold watch for the horse,” said Evarts. “I asked him if he was sure it was all right, and he reckoned it was. Some days later I happened to take the watch apart again and I noticed that engravin’ on the back. While I ain’t doubtin’ that the watch belonged to your son, I figured you might set a big store by it, seein’ it’s been in the family so long. Anyhow I held onto it and if you’re a mind to trade back, I still have the watch.” “I’ve been wrong on so many counts concerning that horse it’s getting kinda monotonous,” said Mr. Meadows almost to himself. “What’s that?” asked Evarts. “Nothing. No, I wouldn’t consider trading back,” said Mr. Meadows stoutly. “I was a bit mad at the time, but Jim sure knew what he was doing. Now I wouldn’t swap that mustang for your whole string. I’d like to buy the watch though.” “How about forty-five dollars?” “Fair enough. I’ll buy it.” “Made money on that horse after all,” said the old man, grinning as he pocketed his money. “I’m glad you did, because that mustang is just about the most valuable horse in the country. Also the most famous in the state.” “What’s he done?” “Well, for one thing he’s just recovered from a broken leg. Had the cannon bone broken and you’d never know it now.” “Well, I’ll be hanged,” said Evarts in amazement, as he walked toward the orchard fence. “How’d he break it?” “The barn caught on fire one night and he broke out. He jumped the fence and broke his leg when he landed. That’s what woke us. Must have saved me a thousand dollars worth of stock. I had the barn insured against fire but not the stock. That’s just one of the reasons why we wouldn’t part with him.” “Well, I’m sure pleased you’re satisfied with him. As I said, I was a bit worried at the time, tradin’ with a boy.” “I’ve quit worrying about Jim getting beat in a trade,” said Mr. Meadows proudly. “He’s quite a businessman. I guess he made at least seventy-five dollars with that horse during the summer.” Mr. Meadows was still recounting Ticktock’s exploits when Jim returned from school. “Hi, Mr. Evarts!” he shouted as he came through the gate. “How do you like the looks of my horse?” “Wonderful. He looks like he’d found horse heaven.” “Don’t mention that watch,” warned Mr. Meadows as Jim approached. “I’ll surprise him on his birthday. Not very often you can give the same present twice. Probably end up with an elephant this time.” Ticktock came trotting up to the fence to welcome his master. He stuck his nose over the top wire, begging for some tidbit. Surprisingly enough it was Mr. Meadows who reached in his pocket and produced a sugar cube. He held it in his outstretched palm. Ticktock could see plainly enough that it was sugar, but he hesitated. Mr. Meadows had long since forgotten his old hostility but the mustang remembered. However, he wasn’t the horse to hold a grudge; so he looked inquiringly at Jim. Jim grinned and nodded his head. Ticktock reached out to take the sugar. |
|
