  After tying Ticktock to the orchard fence, Jim stepped back and regarded his property with admiration. Ownership had caused the mustang to take on new beauty in the eyes of the boy. There were so many things to be done that Jim was uncertain where to start. He had to feed the pony, comb out his mane and tail, give him a good grooming and do something about that saddle sore. After much thought, Jim finally decided the most important and most enjoyable thing to do was to win his horse’s confidence. He ran happily into the house and down the cellar stairs. There were still a few apples left, he knew from frequent trips to the barrel. “Here you are, Ticktock,” he said, returning with an apple. “It’s a winesap and no worms in it either.” Cutting the apple in half, he carefully removed the core and offered one-half in his outstretched hand. Ticktock moved forward cautiously. After a few moments of doubtful sniffing, he picked the apple delicately from the boy’s outstretched palm. He ate it with obvious relish. “Liked it, didn’t you?” asked Jim, getting more pleasure than if he had eaten the apple himself. Ticktock didn’t reply. He stuck his head forward and sniffed at Jim’s other hand. “Say, you’re pretty smart,” said Jim admiringly, as he gave the pony the remainder of the apple. “You know there’s two halves to an apple.” By this time Jim felt confident enough to begin stroking the mustang’s head. Next he gently scratched the horse’s ears. He knew dogs liked their ears scratched, so why not horses? Ticktock didn’t seem to mind, for he stood patiently. Jim had progressed as far as the neck when there was an interruption. Colonel Flesher drove in the yard in his little truck. The fleshy stock buyer climbed out of his car and walked toward the boy. “Good afternoon, Colonel,” said Jim, glad to see the visitor. Now here was a man who would appreciate the finer points of a beautiful horse. “Come see my mustang.” Selling a mustang “Mustang, eh?” asked Colonel Flesher jovially. “Yep. A real Western. Isn’t he a beauty?” Colonel Flesher looked at the little horse doubtfully. He pursed his lips searching for the right thing to say. The boy’s enthusiasm left no doubt as to what sort of answer was expected. “Well, he’s a bit thin yet to be called a beauty,” he said, evading nicely. “He may be a little thin,” admitted Jim unwillingly, “but I’ll fix that up in no time. He’s a Texas ranch horse.” “That so?” asked the colonel, glad to be off the subject of the mustang’s appearance. “Where’d you get him?” “Traded a gold watch for him. I made a fine deal. He’s worth a lot more than a gold watch, isn’t he?” “Well, that all depends on the watch,” answered the stock buyer cautiously. “There are all sorts of watches you know, some cheap, some valuable.” “I’ve never seen a watch that was worth half as much as this horse,” said Jim hotly, realizing that Colonel Flesher wasn’t too enthusiastic about Ticktock. “Hm-m-m, well,” hedged the colonel, trying to be truthful and still not hurt the boy’s feelings. “You wait,” said Jim confidently. “Wait until I get him spruced up a bit; then you’ll see. He’s probably the smartest horse in the whole state.” “That could be true enough,” said the stock buyer, glad to find something on which they could agree. “I’d like to spend more time looking at him, son; but I’m in a big hurry. Can you tell me where the calf is that I bought from your father?” Jim led the calf out of the barn and over to the truck. The two carried a small stock chute to the back of the truck. By dint of much pushing, pulling and coaxing, the calf was finally loaded. “Here’s the fifteen dollars for the calf,” said the colonel. “Thanks a lot for helping me.” Jim returned to his horse. Colonel Flesher’s lack of approval didn’t bother him in the least. He shrugged his shoulders. After all the stock buyer bought cows largely, and probably wasn’t able to see Ticktock’s wonderful qualities. He went out to the barn for a curry comb and brush. Now he hoped his family wouldn’t be back for hours. He had visions of the mustang looking like a show horse by the time they returned. Currying Ticktock turned out to be a much bigger job than Jim had anticipated. After the first ten minutes he sadly conceded that it would be a matter of weeks instead of hours before he could have the pony’s coat sleek and glistening. He tried unsuccessfully to comb out a few strands of the matted mane and gave up. Instead he started to work on a shoulder—that looked easier. After twenty minutes of hard work, he was resting his tired arms when the family drove in the yard. Jim ran excitedly over to the car, jumping on the running board as the car stopped. Since the driver’s seat was on the side toward the orchard, Mr. Meadows saw the mustang first. “Where did that nag come from?” he inquired. “Nag!” said Jim, astounded. “Why that’s a real Texas cow pony with a brand and everything.” “All right,” said Carl Meadows, grinning at his son. “Where did that real Texas cow pony come from?” “I traded for him,” said Jim proudly. “You did what?” “Traded for him.” “Traded what?” asked Jim’s father. “My gold watch. I got the horse, a halter and a bridle, all for my watch.” Mr. Meadows said nothing, but the grin vanished. Very slowly and grimly he got out of the car and walked toward the horse. Mrs. Meadows and Jean followed, all gathering in front of the mustang. Ticktock stopped grazing and looked up inquiringly at his suddenly large audience. “You traded your grandfather’s gold watch for that,” Mr. Meadows asked finally, with a contemptuous wave of his hand toward the horse. “Uh-uh.” Jim sensed that matters were rapidly becoming difficult, so he tried to ease the situation as much as he could. “He’s the smartest horse you ever saw.” “I don’t know how smart the horse is,” said his father, “but I’m beginning to have some doubts about you, Jim. I gave you that watch because I thought you would take care of it and appreciate it.” “But I did appreciate it!” cried Jim in a hurt voice. “Not enough, apparently, to prevent you from trading it off for a broken-down piece of horseflesh.” “He isn’t broken-down,” replied Jim, coming to the defense of Ticktock. “He’s a beautiful horse.” “Well I’ll be—” “Carl!” said Mrs. Meadows sharply. “Well, it’s enough to make a man swear,” said Mr. Meadows. “Jim, who palmed this crazy-looking nag off on you? I’m going to take it back and get your watch back.” “I don’t want to trade back,” cried Jim. “I want to keep Ticktock.” “Who was it?” repeated his father. Mr. Meadows’ usually good-natured expression was replaced by one of angry determination. Jim knew he had best answer the question. “A traveling horse trader named Ned Evarts,” he replied. “A traveling horse trader!” shouted Mr. Meadows, grabbing his head in his hands in despair. “That is the last straw. There’s no telling where the rascal is now. Still, I’m so disgusted that I’ve half a mind to phone the sheriff to see if the man can be located.” “Don’t do that, Dad,” Jim pleaded. “He asked me if I was sure it would be all right with you.” “Well that is about as low a piece of swindling as I’ve ever encountered,” said the older man, “taking advantage of a boy!” “He wasn’t a swindler. Besides, he said he’d be back this fall and if I wasn’t satisfied, he’d trade back.” “Back this fall,” scoffed his father. “Why he’ll have that watch in the first pawn shop he finds. He’s probably laughing now at how he got rid of such a broken-down old plug.” Miserable as he was, Jim was not going to let anyone make remarks about Ticktock. “He isn’t broken-down and he isn’t old either. Only six years old.” “Six years old!” said Mr. Meadows scornfully. “Why he’s closer to sixteen. Did you look at his teeth?” “No.” “Well, I’ll show you something about your valuable horse!” said Carl Meadows, advancing toward Ticktock. The mustang had been watching and listening to the argument with interest. He couldn’t understand the words, but there was little else that he missed. The frequent looks of contempt that Carl Meadows had given him hadn’t passed unnoticed. Ticktock was a horse of considerable independence. He wanted people to like him, but if they didn’t, he wasted little time in trying to win their favor. Affection was a two-way affair with him. Mrs. Meadows and Jean were neutral and puzzled respectively, so Ticktock reserved judgment on them. But the mustang definitely did not like the tall man. When Mr. Meadows reached out confidently to open his jaws, Ticktock promptly took a nip at one of the outstretched hands. It wasn’t a savage bite—just a moderate bite, as the mustang didn’t hate the strange man. He merely didn’t want to be handled by anyone who disliked him. However, the nip was enough to take the skin off one finger and draw blood. Mr. Meadows jerked his arm back and really cursed this time. He shook the injured hand and glared with hatred at the pony. “That settles it. That mean-tempered beast has got to go. I won’t have a vicious horse on my place. The next thing you know he will kill someone.” Jim was very alarmed at the accident. He hadn’t expected outright approval of his trade, but he certainly had not anticipated such violent opposition. Now the biting had climaxed the situation. He felt sorry about his father’s injured hand but somehow he knew how Ticktock felt and was in sympathy with him too. “He isn’t vicious, Dad. He’s just not used to you. Look here.” Before his father could stop him, Jim stepped forward and took hold of Ticktock’s muzzle. He opened the mustang’s mouth easily. “Want to see his teeth?” “No thank you. I’ve felt them; that’s enough.” Mr. Meadows was a very tolerant man, but he was human and had a streak of stubbornness. He had taken his stand and was not going to back down. “I’ve said all I’m going to say about that horse. Come help me get the groceries out of the car.” All through the chores Jim and his father maintained strict silence about the mustang. Jim performed his routine work from habit, for his mind was busy with its overwhelming burden of misery. After the chores he went quietly in the house and washed for supper. During the meal he sat abjectly staring at his plate, eating scarcely anything. Mr. Meadows could not help noticing his son’s misery; but Jim’s father was angry and determined, so he too sat in tight-lipped silence. Mrs. Meadows maintained her stand of complete neutrality. That left only Jean, who had forgotten the argument and just wondered why everyone was so silent. After supper Mr. Meadows went into the living room. Jim waited a few minutes and then followed, determined to make another attempt to change his father’s stand. Mr. Meadows had always been very reasonable before. Jim’s mother left the dishes and went in the living room also, fearing a peacemaker might be needed. “Look, Dad,” said Jim, trying to approach the subject gradually, “there’s an empty stall in the barn.” “I said the horse was not going to stay,” said Mr. Meadows. “I simply will not waste feed on a useless, mean-tempered horse.” “He won’t use any feed,” Jim pointed out. “Just grass.” “In the winter there is snow covering the grass,” said the older man dryly. “I’ll earn money this summer to feed him through the winter!” declared Jim confidently. “Besides, I already have three dollars.” He reached in his pocket to make certain he still had his precious three dollars. His hand found the fifteen that Colonel Flesher had paid for the calf. In the excitement he had forgotten to give the money to his father. “Here’s the fifteen dollars Colonel Flesher gave me for the calf.” Mr. Meadows pocketed the money. “It’s a good thing he didn’t come before the horse trader, or you probably would have thrown in the fifteen dollars with the watch.” “I would not,” said Jim bitterly. He was now even more hurt than before. “The money wasn’t mine but the watch was. You gave it to me.” Everything seemed to mount up in Jim’s mind. He had felt like shedding tears several times since his family’s return, but he was no crybaby and had held them back. Now once again he began to choke up dangerously; so he started to leave the room. Mr. Meadows began to be somewhat sorry about his last words. He realized that in his anger he had spoken rather hastily, and he saw his son was deeply hurt. “I’m sorry, Jim,” he said finally and rather awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you would never be dishonest or trade off anything that didn’t belong to you. I did give you the watch and it was your property. It’s just that I attached a lot of sentiment to the watch and thought you would too.” Mrs. Meadows had been weighing the problem all evening. She hadn’t been too favorably impressed by Ticktock, but she knew with a mother’s instinct how precious the rawboned pony was to her son. Now that her husband was in a slightly more softened mood she decided to strike. “Carl, come in the kitchen a few minutes,” she said. As Jim waited anxiously, he could hear low voices coming from the kitchen. He knew his parents as well as they knew him and suspected that his mother was coming to his rescue. When his parents returned to the living room, Mrs. Meadows was looking determined and a trifle triumphant, while her husband was embarrassedly trying to look indulgent. Jim sat up expectantly. “Your mother and I have talked over this matter,” announced Mr. Meadows. “We’ve decided to arrive at a compromise with you. You can keep the horse this summer providing he isn’t too mean and causes no trouble. But this fall he goes. I will not feed him through the winter.” “Hurrah!” shouted Jim and dashed out of the house. When you are not quite thirteen a summer is a lifetime. The fall seemed a million years away—a tiny cloud away over on the horizon. Why school hadn’t even ended for the summer as yet. Jim went up to where Ticktock stood, still tied to the orchard fence. He stroked the mustang’s head and told him the good news. “It’s all set, Ticktock. You can stay. We’ve got the whole summer together. You’re going to get fat and really like it here. Now don’t mind if Dad doesn’t seem to like you. He’s really an awful nice Dad. It’s just that grown-ups don’t understand a lot of things. You sorta have to make allowances for them. We’ll show everybody what a good horse you are. Only if we’re going to make a good impression you can’t go around biting people.” The mustang took the good news very calmly. “Come on, old boy; I’ll show you your new stall. It might rain tonight and we don’t want you to catch cold.” |
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