  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.” 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 scare him. 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. |
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