  The next morning Jim rode to Springdale for newspapers and supplies for Timothy. Purchases were becoming rather difficult of late. Perhaps it was merely his fancy, but he felt that the man in the store was beginning to look at him curiously when he made his daily purchase of several newspapers. As for cigarettes, Jim had bought what he felt was his limit without exciting suspicion. He would have to think of some new solution for Timothy’s tobacco problem. The last quart of milk purchased had brought forth a comment from the clerk. “Haven’t you got any cows on that farm?” “Oh, sure,” replied Jim, with what he considered magnificent nonchalance. “This is for a customer. I run errands of all sorts you know. Don’t need a good rural delivery boy, do you?” Feeling that he had allayed suspicion for the moment, Jim rode off toward the hide-out. While the intrigue he was carrying on with Timothy was the most exciting adventure in which he had ever taken part, he had to face facts. Avoiding questions was bound to become increasingly more difficult. Also, the end of summer vacation was not too far distant. Going to school, doing his chores at home, and continuing the operation of the Pony Express was going to make a very stiff schedule without the added labor of having to administer to the wants of Timothy. Cold weather would add further complications. How would Timothy heat the cave? Also, there was the matter of money. While he was still operating on the original twenty dollars that Timothy had given him, sooner or later the money would be exhausted. Jim didn’t begrudge using some of his own money to provide for his new friend, but if the proceeds of the Pony Express were all used up for food, in time it would grow irksome. He could see long years stretching ahead of him during which he would have to continue the responsibility which he had assumed. The law didn’t forget quickly; there was no way of knowing when Timothy would come out of hiding. Unquestionably what was now a thrilling escapade would develop into a burdensome chore as time passed. Occupied with such worrisome thoughts, he arrived at the hide-out. Timothy met him and was so cheerful that Jim soon forgot his forebodings. He told the story of Jean’s mishap, and they both agreed that their secret had come perilously close to being discovered. “I had to tell Jean everything,” explained Jim. “It was only fair, and she can be trusted.” “You can’t keep a secret from a woman anyhow,” said Timothy sagely. “Once they suspect anything is being kept from them, you haven’t got a chance.” Together the two began their usual search through the papers for news about Willie Fry or his assailant. There was nothing to be found; so Timothy turned to the sport section to read the racing news. Suddenly he let out a startled shout. “What’s the matter?” asked Jim. “Look here!” said Timothy excitedly. “Fireball won the fourth at Havre de Grace and was ridden by Willie Fry!” Jim examined the paper. Timothy was correct; Willie Fry had ridden in the fourth race. “There aren’t two jockeys named Willie Fry are there?” he asked. “Never heard of any other except the rat I socked,” said Timothy. “I don’t get this.” “Maybe you didn’t kill him after all. Maybe you just knocked him out. He probably came to and didn’t even notify the police. That’s why we haven’t noticed anything in the papers.” “Well, he didn’t have any pulse when I felt his wrist,” said Timothy wonderingly. “I think you need some lessons on how to feel pulses,” suggested Jim dryly. “You were probably so excited that you couldn’t find his.” He began to look casually over the remainder of the sporting news. “Look! Here’s a little article about Willie Fry,” he said. “Listen! ‘Willie Fry, well-known jockey, was married yesterday to Miss Alvina Morgan, of Baltimore, Md. Miss Morgan is well known to racing circles, as she has accompanied the Roudcroft Stables string as cook to tracks throughout the country. In addition to serving delicious food to the Roudcroft personnel, Miss Morgan is famous for always having a welcome cup of coffee for any jockey, trainer or trackman. Track people will be happy to hear that the new Mrs. Fry will continue at her old post in the trailer which serves as her kitchen. Coffee will still be on tap. “‘Willie celebrated his wedding day by winning the fourth race at Havre de Grace, riding Fireball. This was the first race ridden by Willie since he was struck down by an unknown assailant at Churchill Downs several weeks ago.’” “See,” said Jim, as he finished reading. “You just knocked him out. He’s probably just as anxious as you are to forget the whole thing. If he told who hit him, you’d tell about his doping a horse.” Timothy wasn’t listening, however, but was staring incredulously at Jim. “Let me see the paper,” he said finally in a strained voice. “Alvina married to Willie! I’d never have believed it.” Timothy shook his head as if stunned. Slowly his disbelief turned to indignation. “Why two weeks ago she was engaged to me! I spent a month’s wages on a diamond ring for her. And now she marries Willie Fry! “I guess I’m glad Willie Fry is all right,” went on Timothy calming down. “Just sort of shakes your faith in human nature, though, a thing like this does. Kind of a jolt to be sweet on a gal and have her turn around two weeks after you’re gone and marry your worst enemy. Well, they can have each other for my money. I wish them all the unhappiness in the world. ’Spose I’m lucky to find out about Alvina in time. Just doesn’t seem possible though that a woman who can bake an apple pie like Alvina does would turn out to be so fickle.” “Well, it sure makes things simpler,” said Jim happily. He could not be bothered by such trivial matters as a broken heart. “Now I suppose you’ll go get your old job back as trainer?” “Not on your life!” said Timothy with great feeling. “I may not be hunted by the law anymore, but my career at the tracks is ruined.” “Why?” asked Jim, completely baffled. “Why I’d be the laughingstock of every track in the country. Willie has probably concocted some story about how he scared me away and now he’s stolen my girl. Everyone in the racing business knew I was engaged to Alvina. No siree, I can’t go back to the tracks now.” “What’ll you do then?” asked Jim solicitously. “Well, maybe I can get a job taking care of horses at some riding stable or breeding farm,” said Timothy. “Somebody ought to need a good horse handler.” “I know where I can get you a job right around here,” said Jim, as a sudden thought struck him. “It would be handling big Percherons though. Do you know anything about them?” “Sure. I once handled a whole stable of them. One of the big trucking firms in Milwaukee used to have some beautiful teams. They used them for some of their deliveries as sort of advertising. You get six big prancing Percherons pulling a wagon and it’s a beautiful sight.” “Mr. Hernstadt raises Percherons, and he’s looking for a good man,” said Jim. “I found one of his horses that had strayed; so I’m in good with him. We’ll go see him and I’ll recommend you.” “That sounds like a good idea,” said Timothy. “I look pretty ragged, though, to be applying for a job.” “I’ll ride in town and buy you a new shirt and overalls,” volunteered Jim. “Then we’ll go see Mr. Hernstadt.” Jim was back with the new clothes in slightly over an hour. After Timothy had changed, they both mounted Ticktock and rode into town, where Timothy had his hair cut. After eating lunch they set out for the Hernstadt farm. “I certainly owe you a lot,” said Timothy as they approached their destination. “Whether I get the job or not, you certainly have gone to a lot of trouble for me. A guy that helps you when you’re in trouble is a real friend.” “I knew you weren’t a real crook,” said Jim, embarrassed by Timothy’s gratitude. “The minute Ticktock liked you, I figured you could be trusted.” “I owe this little horse plenty too,” said Timothy. “After he has carried double for so far, I’m not sure he’s going to like me anymore though.” “Good afternoon, Mr. Hernstadt,” said Jim when they arrived. “This is Timothy Dinwiddie, a friend of mine. He’s a very good horse trainer. I remembered that you asked me to find you a good man to handle horses; so I brought him over to see you. The Pony Express always gets its man.” “Glad to meet you,” said Mr. Hernstadt, shaking hands with Timothy. “What experience have you had?” In a few minutes the two men were deep in horse talk, much of it far too technical for Jim. It was apparent to the horse breeder, after a short conversation, that Timothy definitely knew horses. The three of them made a tour of the stables, Mr. Hernstadt explaining the various duties of the job. Jim walked through the immaculate barns with their modern equipment, his eyes wide with interest. Every convenience he saw he wanted for Ticktock’s stall. They finally ended their tour at a small shed that contained a forge, an anvil and complete blacksmithing equipment. “It’s rather difficult to find a good blacksmith these days,” explained Mr. Hernstadt. “Everyone uses tractors, and there isn’t enough business to keep a good blacksmith going. I had so much trouble finding a man who really knew how to shoe a horse that I bought this equipment to do it myself. Ever shoe a horse?” “Many a time,” said Timothy confidently. “You haven’t shown me anything yet, Mr. Hernstadt, that I can’t handle.” “I believe you. If you want to try the job for a month, I’ll be glad to have you. There are nice quarters over that harness shed where you can live. Come on and I’ll show you.” The details of salary and duties were settled and Timothy declared his intention of going to work immediately. He was very enthusiastic about his new job, liking his employer, and admiring the horses and all the modern equipment. Feeling very satisfied at the way matters had turned out, Jim prepared to leave. “What do I owe the Pony Express for finding me a good man to handle horses?” Mr. Hernstadt asked Jim. “Nothing at all,” answered Jim. “This comes under the heading of good will. Employment service is a little out of our line. I was just doing this as a favor to a friend.” “Well, thank you very much,” said the farmer laughing. “I’d like to do something for the Pony Express though,” said Timothy. “I owe the firm a lot. If it’s all right with you Mr. Hernstadt, when I get the time I’d like to use the blacksmith shop to shoe Ticktock.” “Certainly, any time you like,” agreed Mr. Hernstadt cordially. “Bring him over in about two weeks,” said Timothy. “By then I’ll know my way around and be able to find the time. He needs reshoeing.” “Thanks,” replied Jim. “I’ve been wondering where I was going to get him shod.” “I’ll float his teeth too,” said Timothy. “I was looking at them one day and they could stand it.” “What does ‘floating his teeth’ mean?” Jim inquired. “Those back teeth are called grinders,” explained Timothy. “They grind up the grain and after a while they get sharp edges and points. Ticktock’s aren’t so bad, as apparently he hasn’t had too much grain. Anyhow, unless you file away those sharp edges, the horse can’t chew the way he should. When the teeth get really bad a horse gets out of condition and sometimes has colic. Filing down the teeth is called floating.” “You weren’t wrong when you said he knew horses,” said Mr. Hernstadt to Jim. As soon as Jim reached home, he told his sister about the happy ending to Timothy’s story. She was very pleased that the trainer was no longer a fugitive from justice, but her pleasure seemed overshadowed by her worry about Timothy’s broken heart. “Don’t be silly,” said Jim, who couldn’t understand her concern. “Why should he worry about a woman when he’s got twenty-three horses?” Later that evening Jim sat contentedly in the living room reading a book about the West in the days of the pioneers. He was deeply engrossed in a running battle between a wagon train and the Indians when the clock struck nine. “Your bedtime, Jim,” said Mr. Meadows. Jim was feeling too happy and satisfied with the world in general to put up his usual fight against bed. He stood up obediently, and with his nose still buried in the book, started to walk toward the stairs. “Jim,” said Mr. Meadows, embarrassedly clearing his throat, “there’s something I wanted to say.” “Yes, Dad,” said Jim looking up in surprise at his father’s rather red face. “It’s about that horse of yours,” said Mr. Meadows lamely. “I guess I was wrong about Ticktock. He’s a pretty smart horse, the way he led us to where your sister was. I think we can find room and feed enough to keep him permanently.” “Thanks, Dad,” said Jim. “That’s wonderful!” His world was very full of happiness. Knowing how difficult it was for his father to make such a speech as he had just heard, he was deeply appreciative. Jim, like his father, was unable to act very demonstrative, so having expressed his thanks, he hurried upstairs to bed. They understood each other, he and his father. Although they didn’t say much, each knew how the other felt. Jim dropped off to sleep with a contented smile on his face. Ticktock was his forever, Timothy was safe now, and the hide-out was still undiscovered. It was a very satisfactory world. |
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