Chapter II: Part 2

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.

Chapter Four
New Allies

By the time school was over for the summer, Ticktock had filled out considerably. His hip bones no longer appeared as if they were about to poke through his hide, his neck was less scrawny, and his backbone, though visible, no longer resembled the ridgepole of a tent. Jim could ride him bareback without the painful discomfort of the first few weeks. While the daily grooming had improved the pony’s coat a good deal, there were still patches that were far from satisfactory. Over all, the horse presented a rather mottled appearance. As some of the snarls in the pony’s tail proved too much for Jim’s patience, they had been removed by means of scissors. The result was rather weird—some strands were long and flowing while others were short and ragged. The mane was likewise irregular. Jim couldn’t bring himself to clip the mane short, as all the cowboys’ horses he had ever seen in the movies had long manes. So again he had clipped where he couldn’t untangle, ending up with a mane that resembled a comb with half the teeth missing. But at any rate the horse was free of burrs.

There was no questioning the mustang’s health or vitality. He frisked about like a colt, showing that his wiry constitution hadn’t suffered permanently from his past mistreatment. Since to Jim the horse had appeared beautiful in his original state, by now he was the embodiment of all that was perfect in horseflesh. Ticktock ran to meet the boy each time he appeared, even though it might be ten times a day. It had become second nature to obey the boy’s whistle. The two were on a perfect basis of friendship and understanding.

A few days after the summer vacation began, Jim hung on the orchard fence, deep in thought. The summer was just beginning, but he hadn’t forgotten his father’s decision the night he had traded for Ticktock. Fall had to come someday and then the mustang would have to go. Mr. Meadows had shown no signs of relenting toward the pony. He ignored the mustang as much as possible and when he did have to notice the pony, his eyes contained as much dislike as ever.

Something had to be done, decided Jim. Perhaps he could think of some way to earn money. If he could get enough money to pay for Ticktock’s feed for the winter, his father’s chief objection would be overcome. Then with his mother on his side, Jim felt he might win a reprieve for his horse. He thought over the possible ways of earning money. There weren’t many jobs a boy could do on a farm that brought in cash. Certainly there was plenty of work, but you did that anyway and didn’t expect pay. Now a boy in town could deliver papers, cut the neighbors’ lawns and run errands. Here on the farm it was different. Of course you could pick wild blackberries and huckleberries and sell them, but it would be some time before either were ripe and he couldn’t afford to wait. No, things were tough. Now he knew why boys left the farm. Feeling discouraged he went into the house to see if there was something to eat that would take his mind off his troubles.

“Jimmy,” said Mrs. Meadows, as her son ambled into the kitchen, “You won’t get that cake I promised. I forgot to get any vanilla extract when I was in town.”

“Gee,” said Jim disappointedly. Things certainly were tough. He sat thinking a few minutes.

“Look, Mom,” he said brightening, “I’ll just ride into town and get the extract. It won’t take long.”

Mrs. Meadows looked at her son’s eager face for a moment and then gave her permission. “All right. But you be careful of the cars when you get in town. Motorists don’t expect cowboys on mustangs to ride through the streets.”

“Anything else you need at the store?”

“How are you going to carry anything? You have to have your hands free for the reins.”

“I’ll take a burlap bag, put the things in it and then hang it across Ticktock’s back,” said Jim with decision. At least if this errand didn’t earn any money it would prove to his mother that Ticktock was useful. And then a cake wasn’t to be sneezed at.

Jim and Ticktock jogged contentedly into town, enjoying the warm sunshine. Arriving at the town’s sleepy main street, Jim looked around thoughtfully. Where would he tie Ticktock while he was in Mr. Higgins’ grocery store? Hitching posts had long since vanished in Springdale. Finally he spied a fire plug. Sliding off the pony’s back, he looped the reins over the plug. Perfect, he decided. He could use the fire plug to climb back up on Ticktock when he returned.

Mrs. Meadows had made quite a list of groceries, so Jim was gone some time. Also he made no effort to hurry away from the store, as it was his first visit to town since he had acquired Ticktock. He stood by the coffee grinder and inhaled the wonderful odor of freshly ground coffee while Mr. Higgins served the two customers ahead of him. Finally he got his groceries, carefully stowing them in the burlap bag so the weight would be equally distributed between the two ends. He tied the bag but stuck the bottle of extract in his shirt pocket for greater safety.

Carrying the bag of groceries over his shoulder, Jim returned to his steed. The town constable, his star shining brightly on his blue denim shirt, was standing by the fire plug eyeing the mustang with angry disapproval.

“This your horse?” the constable asked as Jim approached.

“Sure is,” said Jim proudly.

“What do you mean tying him to a fire plug?” demanded Constable Whittaker.

“I couldn’t find any other place to tie him,” explained Jim reasonably.

Robert Morgan, the younger of Springdale’s two lawyers, came strolling by at this moment. He stopped to listen to the conversation and to examine Jim’s horse.

“Well, you can’t tie him to a fire plug,” said the constable. “It’s against the law.”

“Where will I tie him?” asked Jim. “I’m in town on business and I’ve gotta leave my horse somewhere.”

“I don’t know where you’ll tie him, but fire plugs are out. Why I could throw you in jail for this.” Whittaker fingered his star, looking at Jim threateningly.

Jim began to be decidedly frightened. Desperately he tried to think of something to say.

“Don’t believe you could, Whit,” said Robert Morgan with a grin as he entered the argument. “I was reading the town ordinances last night. It’s against the law to park a car within fifteen feet of a fire plug but I don’t remember a word being mentioned about horses. You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court.”

“Do you mean this kid can tie his nag to a fire plug and get away with it?” demanded the big constable irritably.

Ticktock, in the meantime, had been watching the argument intently. He hadn’t cared for the way Whittaker had glared at him during Jim’s absence. The horse could sense when anyone disapproved of him and was quick to reciprocate. He had about decided he didn’t like the constable before any conversation started. During the argument he kept glancing back and forth between Jim and the huge law officer. He had no idea what it was all about but he could see that Jim was becoming frightened. As it was quite plain that the constable was the cause of all the trouble, Ticktock decided it was time to go into action. He edged around until his hind quarters were close to the curb and pointed in the proper direction. After looking over his shoulder to see if Whittaker were at the proper range, Ticktock laid his ears back and a mean glint flickered in his eyes.

“Look out!” yelled Morgan. He pulled Whittaker back just in time, as Ticktock lashed out with his left hind leg.

“You not only haven’t a leg to stand on,” said Morgan, roaring with laughter, “but you won’t be able to sit down for a week if you argue with this boy while his horse is around!”

By this time there were a dozen onlookers present, all laughing at the embarrassed constable. The latter, however, refused to join in the merriment. He stood glaring at Ticktock.

“You leave that horse on the main street again and I’ll arrest him for being a menace to the public health and safety,” the constable threatened Jim angrily.

“I don’t think you can arrest a horse,” pointed out the persistent Morgan, who was enjoying himself tormenting the law officer. “Besides, you can’t quarter a horse in the town jail. It would be unsanitary.”

At this wisecrack the bystanders became hilarious. One man was busily jotting down notes on the back of a letter.

“Nevertheless, don’t let me see this horse alone on the main street,” warned Whittaker. He strode off, red and angry.

“Thanks a lot, Mister,” said Jim to the lawyer. He was glad the argument was over.

“Robert Morgan is the name,” said the young attorney, extending his hand. “I’m happy to have been of service. Any time you need any further legal advice come to me.”

“I will,” promised Jim seriously. “But I’m not planning on getting into trouble if I can help it. My father wouldn’t like it—and then I can’t afford a lawyer.”

“There are no charges,” said Morgan laughing. “Just between you and me, I wouldn’t tie your horse to the fire plug even if it is technically legal. I just wanted to bluff Whittaker since he was trying to scare you.”

“Tell you what,” said the man who had been taking notes. “You can leave your horse in back of my newspaper office whenever you want. You ride him around there now and I’ll show you where you can tie him. Then I’d like to get your name and a few details if you don’t mind.”

Jim rode Ticktock around to the alley to a small green plot in back of the newspaper building. The editor and Robert Morgan were waiting for him there.

“Tie him to that tree,” said the editor, “and come on inside for a minute.”

Jim dismounted and followed his new friends inside. He looked curiously at the presses and linotype machines. He would like to have examined the machines more carefully but the two men went directly into a small office with the label “Editor-in-Chief” written on the door.

“Have a chair,” offered the editor. “My name is Arnold, Bill Arnold.”

“Glad to meet you,” said Jim politely. “I’m Jim Meadows.”

“I just want to get down a few facts for the _Gazette_,” said Arnold. “What is your horse’s name?”

“Ticktock.”

“That’s an odd name,” observed Arnold.

“I called him that because I traded my watch for him.”

The editor seemed genuinely interested, so Jim told him about the mustang. The boy had been longing to find someone who really wanted to hear about Ticktock’s merits, so he became very enthusiastic. He described how he had traded for the pony and how quickly the horse had learned. Very carefully he avoided mentioning that his father had been angry and was not going to permit him to keep Ticktock permanently.

“Thank you very much,” said Arnold when he had finished taking notes. “Watch for the _Gazette_ on Thursday. Ticktock will be in it. Now I think we all ought to adjourn to the café and have some ice cream and a coke.”

Jim approved of that idea heartily, so the three went across the street to the café. They joined a tall lanky man who was seated in a booth drinking coffee.

“This is Doc Cornby,” said Arnold. “Doc, I want you to meet a young horseman friend of mine, Jim Meadows.”

“How do you do, Jim,” said Dr. Cornby gravely, shaking hands.

“Bob has just been acting as legal counsel for Jim,” continued the editor. “He saved Jim’s horse from the law and also the law from Jim’s horse. For details read your local newspaper when it arrives on the stands Thursday.”

“Doc is a good man to know,” said Morgan to Jim. “He’s the best as well as the only veterinary in town. If there’s anything wrong with your horse, call on him.”

“Oh, Ticktock’s healthy,” said Jim, “but I’ll remember in case anything does happen.”

Finishing his ice cream, Jim thanked the editor and got up to leave.

“Look,” said Morgan suddenly, “Let’s hire Jim to distribute the bills about the Co-op. He could take them around on his horse.”

“Good idea,” approved the editor. “Do you know the countryside pretty well, Jim?”

“Why sure,” said Jim. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Well, we will give you a dollar and a half a day. The idea is to deliver bills advertising the new Farmer’s Co-operative that we are forming. We want to put a circular in the hands of every farmer within a radius of ten miles. I have a big map at my office on which we can mark out the territory. Want the job?”

“I sure do,” said Jim enthusiastically.

“You be at the office tomorrow morning at nine or so. The circulars will be printed by then and we can get started.”

Jim said nothing at home about his day’s adventures, other than to mention that he had a job for the next few days. The following morning he hurried through his chores, gave Ticktock a hasty grooming, and then rushed into the house to change into clean overalls. His mother had prepared a lunch, which was ready for him, packed in a brown paper bag. Jim looked inside to make certain he would have enough. Riding all day would not ruin his appetite. There were three thick sandwiches, two pieces of cake and two apples. It would do, he decided after some consideration.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “Ticktock and I’ll be home in time for supper.”

“All right, cowboy,” smiled his mother. “Don’t get lost now.”

“Get lost!” snorted Jim indignantly. “Why even if I did, Ticktock would be able to find the way back.”

He went outside in high spirits, opened the orchard gate and whistled. It was no longer an orchard in his mind but a corral which was the private domain of the mustang. Of course, the bull was often there but Jim and Ticktock ignored that animal as being beneath their notice.

The pony trotted over to the feed shed for his bridle. As Jim put his paper lunch bag inside the burlap sack, he thought longingly how handy a saddle would be. You could tie things such as your lunch to the saddle horn or, even better, get your mother to make some canvas bags to fasten behind the cantle. The way it was now, you had to have equal weights in both ends of the burlap bag to make it lie across the mustang’s back. Even then it was always sliding off. Well, decided Jim, that was one of the problems of life. He did not have a saddle, but he did have a wonderful horse—which was the important thing.

While he was debating what to put in the bag to balance his lunch, he realized suddenly that he had nothing for the horse to eat. There would be plenty of green grass and clover by the roadside, no doubt, but they would be on the move most of the time with few pauses for Ticktock to crop. Also a horse needed something solid when he was on the go all day. Feeling rather guilty, Jim went to the corn-crib and picked out six choice ears of corn. He would tell his father that night, he decided. After the remark Mr. Meadows had made about having no feed to waste on Ticktock, Jim felt rather underhanded in giving the pony any grain. He would offer to pay for the corn, now that he was earning money.

The Springdale _Gazette_ was being run through the presses when Jim arrived in town. He hung around the shop watching the machinery with absorption. The inky smell and the activity of the print shop fascinated him. It must be fun to write things and then see your words appear in print. When Bill Arnold finally found a free minute and motioned for Jim to follow him into the office, the boy went with reluctance. Perhaps he could manage to be both an editor and a rancher when he grew older.

The editor and Jim went over the area to be covered. Arnold outlined the region on a huge county map which hung on the office wall. Jim made a rough sketch, took a huge bundle of bills and started off to work. As he jogged out of town with the bills in two bundles hanging over Ticktock’s back, he again found himself longing for the convenience of a saddle.

It was pleasant riding in the warm June sun along the country roads. There were flowers by the roadside, the fields were a bright green, and the air was filled with the heady scent of the rich earth and its new blanket of growing life. Birds sang in the trees while quail scurried across the road or took off in their short plummeting flights. Jim felt like taking off his shoes and wiggling his bare toes in the fertile ground.

It was fun delivering the bills. He and Ticktock developed a system after the first few farms. They would jog along at a comfortable easy pace until they reached the lane leading from the road. Then they would break into a mad gallop, dashing into the farmyard as if on a mission of life and death. Most of the men were in the fields working, but such tactics invariably brought at least the woman of the house out on the porch to learn the cause of the excitement. If there were any children present, they crowded around to stare at Jim and Ticktock. Jim felt proud and important, particularly if there were boys about his age. He would hand his circular to the woman with a flourish.

“Be sure to read that carefully,” he told each one. “It’s very important.”

He was usually able to deliver the bill to someone without dismounting. After he made his short speech, he would wheel Ticktock quickly and gallop furiously out the lane, knowing that the envious eyes of the children were following him. As soon as they were well out of sight, Ticktock would lapse into a pleasant ambling walk until they reached the next farm. The mustang seemed to enjoy the game as much as his master. Each time he resumed his walk after a spectacular delivery he would turn his head around to grin at Jim as if saying, “We certainly put on a show that time, didn’t we?”

The first day passed rapidly. The second morning Jim was stiff from riding all the previous day, but the soreness soon wore off. Noon found the two near Briggs Woods, a heavily wooded area about six miles from home. Jim’s route was such that the shortest way took him along the one road leading through the center of the forest. It was lonely and silent once the high trees closed behind him, but the semi-gloom appealed to the boy. He stopped beside a small stream in the middle of the forest to eat his lunch. As he munched his sandwiches he could see narrow trails which led back into the trees and hinted of mystery and excitement. There must be pools in the depths of the woods, decided Jim, for the air was filled with the croaking of frogs. A turtledove was giving its plaintive, mournful coo in the distance and there were rustling sounds in the underbrush that hinted of wild animals passing near by on their mysterious errands. Jim inhaled deeply of the odor of pine needles and moulding leaves. This would be a secret rendezvous belonging to him and Ticktock. When he had finished this job, they would explore the forest together until they knew it well. Somewhere, back up one of these little winding trails, they would find a perfect spot for a hidden camp.

After lingering so long in the woods, Jim was late in covering the area he had mapped out for the day. He delivered the last bill and turned Ticktock impatiently in the direction which he thought home to be. After going several miles, he not only recognized no landmarks, but the farms looked increasingly unfamiliar. He stopped and puzzled over his map. That didn’t help a great deal. He made a grimace and unsuccessfully tried to figure out his bearings from the rapidly setting sun. Very crestfallen, he had to admit that he was lost.

Knowing that he could stop in at any farmhouse and ask directions, Jim was not worried. However, he felt that to do so was to admit defeat. He and Ticktock were a self-reliant team, and it would hurt his pride to admit that they couldn’t handle any situation. Also he knew these Missouri farm women. They were kind—too kind to suit his purposes. They would give him very complete directions and then insist that he have something to eat. That would be fine, for he certainly was hungry, but matters wouldn’t stop there. They would promptly call his parents to keep them from worrying. That was the last thing Jim wanted. Not only had he boasted to his mother about not getting lost, but both she and his father might forbid his delivering circulars again the following day if they were afraid of his losing his way. No, there had to be a better way out.

Ticktock looked around at his rider with a question in his eyes. He was hungry too and couldn’t quite understand what they were waiting for.

“O.K., boy,” said Jim suddenly. “You figure it out. Take us home.” He let the reins go loose.

Ticktock set out confidently at a brisk trot. He turned right at the first corner without hesitation. He was going somewhere, there was no doubt of that. Jim hoped that it was in the right direction. After three or four miles, Jim’s confidence in Ticktock was justified, for the countryside began to look familiar.

“You’re the smartest horse in the world,” said Jim, patting Ticktock fondly on the neck. “There’s nothing we can’t do. We’ll really explore that woods now. At least _you_ won’t get lost.”

Mr. Meadows was reading the _Gazette_ when Jim arrived. The boy rushed in the house full of the news of this fresh evidence of the mustang’s brilliance.

“I didn’t mean to be late to help with the chores,” he explained, “but after I got ready to come home I was all twisted up in my directions and was going to ask the way, but instead I just let Ticktock go and he brought us right home.”

“I have to admit that nag seems to have a sense of responsibility where you are concerned,” said Mr. Meadows dryly. “But where others are involved he seems to have a streak of meanness. I warn you to watch him closely, because if he causes any trouble, away he goes. Here, read this.”

With these ominous words Mr. Meadows handed Jim the _Gazette_, pointing to an article on the front page. Puzzled, Jim started to read.

Law Tangles with Horse

Constable Whittaker came out second best in an encounter with a horse
last Tuesday. Ticktock, a fiery mustang from the far West, was
peacefully standing on Main Street while his master, Mr. Jim Meadows,
was engaged in business in Higgins’ grocery store. Constable Whittaker
appeared on the scene and threatened to arrest the horse for being
illegally parked in front of a fire plug. The horse, refusing to
comment without benefit of legal counsel, stood his ground. Mr. Robert
Morgan, of Springdale legal fame, learning that one of his clients was
in trouble, rushed to the scene. He arrived at the same time as Mr.
Meadows, the horse’s owner.

A long legal discussion ensued as to whether or not it is unlawful to
park a horse by a fire plug. Ticktock, becoming tired of the argument,
decided to settle the issue by kicking Constable Whittaker out of town.
Our worthy law officer was saved from this painful fate by the heroic
efforts of Mr. Morgan, who not only wanted to protect Constable
Whittaker from injury but wished to prevent the question of assault and
battery from entering an already involved case. The constable
threatened to arrest the horse as a menace to public safety but further
thought convinced him that the doughty mustang would doubtless kick his
way out of jail in short order.

The whole matter was settled out of court. The Springdale _Gazette_,
with its usual public spirited policy, has placed the yard in back of
the _Gazette_ building at the disposal of Mr. Meadows and his horse
whenever they are in town. Citizens may often see the mustang
peacefully grazing there these days. Ticktock is very friendly and
welcomes visitors, but they are warned to make no slurring remarks or
threatening gestures toward Mr. Meadows, as the horse is quick to take
offense where his master is concerned.

Chapter Five
The Pony Express

It took three more days to complete the delivery of circulars. On the last day, Jim had covered the remaining area by mid-afternoon and was on his way home when he noticed a farm that he had missed. It was a dilapidated old place with tumble-down fences and a few rickety unpainted buildings situated well back from the road, almost hidden in a clump of trees. The whole farm looked so neglected and run-down that Jim decided to deliver a circular there for the chief purpose of obtaining a closer look at the place.

After riding up a long, weed-choked lane, he reached the farmyard. It was a barren, grassless yard, littered with odds and ends of farm machinery and an old model-T Ford touring car with no top. Seated beneath a huge tree was a white haired old man, drinking lemonade. A pair of bright blue eyes looked quizzically at Jim from beneath shaggy white brows.

“Howdy, son,” he said, the leathery old face wrinkling into a friendly smile.

“How do you do,” answered Jim politely. “Here is a circular all about the new Farmer’s Co-operative.”

As he leaned down to hand the paper to the old man, his eyes rested longingly on the pitcher of lemonade. The look did not escape the bright blue eyes.

“Light a while and have a glass,” the old man invited.

Jim promptly accepted, sliding from Ticktock’s back. His host looked at the circular casually and then stuffed it in his pocket. He examined Jim and the mustang much more closely.

“Right pert-looking horse you got there, son,” he observed finally.

“Smartest horse in the country,” boasted Jim. “He can do anything.”

“That so?” asked the man. “Reckon he could catch that shoat over there?”

Jim looked in the direction of the pointing finger. A small black and white pig was wandering loose around the yard, stopping to root in the earth here and there.

“I reckon so,” answered Jim. “I don’t know why a horse would be needed to catch a pig though.”

“That shows how little you know about pigs,” said the old man. “That shoat is part razorback, part snake and the rest deer as near as I can figure it out. Leastwise you’d think so if you tried to catch it. Been loose three days now. Not that I mind pigs being loose around the yard—they’re sort of company to an old bachelor like me. But this little thing is the orneriest critter I ever run across. Yesterday it went over there where those beehives are and knocked three of them over. Today I dropped my plug of chewin’ tobacco and hanged if that shoat didn’t eat it before I could lean down. It’s started killin’ chickens too. Nothin’ worse than a hog that kills chickens; never did know one to be cured.”

“Where’s its pen?” asked Jim.

“Over there,” said the old man, pointing to an open gate. “I fixed the fence so it’ll hold if I can ever catch the dad-blamed pig. I guess I’m too old to catch a pig like that. Too lazy too. I retired twenty years ago and aside from a few chores, I been mighty happy doin’ nothin’ for years, and now this fool shoat has to come along to upset my peace of mind. If I don’t catch it, I’ll find it in my bed one of these nights. Already found it in the kitchen once.”

“I’ll chase it in for you,” said Jim, finishing his lemonade. He got to his feet confidently.

Getting the pig back into the pen was not so simple as Jim had thought. He had considerable experience with pigs but he had never encountered one as wily as this. He chased around the yard after the elusive animal until he was exhausted, without so much as getting the pig near the open gate of the pen. Panting heavily, Jim regarded the shoat, which in turn looked back at him with insolent contempt.

“Feared you might have trouble,” said the old man, who had not stirred from his seat beneath the tree, but was watching with interest. “That’s why I suggested the horse. Maybe you can tire out the little wretch.”

Accepting the suggestion, Jim mounted Ticktock. Around and around the yard they went after the pig. The latter showed no signs of becoming exhausted but finally grew tired of the scene. The animal headed through a gap in an old fence and started across an adjoining pasture which contained a shallow muddy pond. In the open pasture Jim and his horse had a decided advantage. While in the cluttered yard his speed had been retarded by having to duck and turn, now Ticktock could open up. The pig’s short legs worked like mad but the horse was always behind him. A quick turn of the shoat would cause Ticktock to rush past, but Jim would wheel the mustang and in a few strides they would again be practically on top of the pig. The fleeing animal now began to show signs of exhaustion.

In the excitement of the twisting, turning chase, both Jim and the mustang paid little attention to where they were going but simply kept their eyes glued to the pig. After being left behind on another turn, they came rushing up on the animal, to discover suddenly that they were heading straight into the pond. The exhausted and panicky shoat began floundering in the mud. Jim realized the danger at the last moment and tried to rein in Ticktock. The mustang braced all four legs, trying to stop, but his speed was too great. He slid forward into the slippery mud like a sleigh, passing directly over the bogged-down pig. As the mustang’s hind legs cleared the pig, they hit a particularly slippery spot and collapsed beneath him. The pony sat down in the shallow muddy water with a resounding smack. As Ticktock sat, Jim slid down the sloping bare back and in turn landed in the water. However, instead of sitting in the soft mud, he found himself astride the muddy and now terror-stricken pig. The animal let out one piercing squeal after another, wiggling and thrashing in the shallow water. Once the muddy water had dripped from Jim’s eyes so that he could see what was happening, he grabbed the pig’s ears. He firmly retained his seat astride the squealing animal.

Jim knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the struggling pig would wriggle free, since the muddy creature was almost impossible to hold. However, after all the trouble, the boy was not going to let the captive escape if there were any way of preventing it. The burlap bag which he had been using for padding on Ticktock’s back had slipped off with him. Grabbing it, he quickly slipped the bag over the pig’s head. A floundering muddy struggle ensued. Occasionally Jim was on top but just as often it was the pig. Finally when both were about drowned, the task was accomplished. The pig was in the bag. Covered with mud from head to foot, Jim dragged the bag to shore.

The old man, laughing uproariously, was waiting beside the pond.

“You did it, by gum!” he said, when at last he stopped laughing. “Mighty strange method though. Do you always catch pigs that way?”

“I caught him, didn’t I?” said Jim a little belligerently. He didn’t see much humor in the situation.

“Sure did,” said the old man, still grinning. “You’re all covered with mud and glory.”

The pig was too heavy to carry, so the old man got a wheelbarrow in which they trundled the captured animal back to its pen.

“That watering tank is good and clean,” suggested the old man. “Why don’t you jump in, clothes and all and get some of that mud off?”

After enjoying himself splashing in the cool water for a few minutes, Jim emerged much cleaner and in a better frame of mind. He wiped the mud off Ticktock’s hind quarters and prepared to leave.

“Thanks, son,” said the old man, his eyes twinkling. “Here’s two dollars—one for catching that pesky animal and one for the entertainment.”

Jim grinned and thanked his benefactor. It had been a profitable day; although he hoped he could sneak in the house without his mother seeing his clothes.

The money earned by delivering circulars and catching the pig proved to be only a teaser to Jim. Now that it had been demonstrated that he and Ticktock had the capacity to earn money together, his ambition knew no bounds. He worried and fretted over his inactivity. Surely there must be numerous jobs that he and his pony could undertake. He considered going from door to door in Springdale, offering his services, but it seemed a tedious method of obtaining work. Then Robert Morgan gave him a better idea.

“How’s the Farmer’s Co-operative doing?” asked Jim when he chanced to meet the young lawyer on the street.

“Splendid!” said Morgan warmly. “You did a wonderful job delivering those bills. From what I hear you must have been going at a mad gallop the entire time. How did Ticktock stand the pace?”

“We just galloped while we were being watched,” explained Jim, with a grin. “The rest of the time we went at a slow walk.”

“Smart work,” said Morgan. “We got a great deal of publicity out of that. Publicity is what you need, Jim, when you are trying to start something new. You have to create interest.”

Jim thought over the lawyer’s words all the way home. He was turning in the lane when he found the solution to his problem. Going upstairs to the privacy of his room, he began work with a pencil and paper. After much thought and many false starts, his writing began to take form. He labored for several hours, hunting up words in the dictionary, correcting his spelling, altering and revising his sentences.

The following morning Jim bridled his mustang and departed eagerly for Springdale. Arriving at the _Gazette_ building he sought out the editor. Arnold was seated in his office relaxing; his feet up on the desk, his swivel chair tipped back and a pipe between his teeth. To Jim he was the picture of editorial genius at work. Being an editor must be a fine occupation.

“I have a scoop for you, Mr. Arnold,” announced the boy.

“You have?” asked the editor, picking up his feet and a pencil from the desk at the same time. “Have you and that horse of yours started a riot or a revolution?”

“Neither,” said Jim. “Something else though. I’ve written it up for you.”

Arnold took the proffered pages, reading them carefully. Jim watched the other’s face anxiously as he read.

“A very creditable job of reporting for a cub,” said Arnold solemnly. “There will have to be a few minor changes. For example, you shouldn’t say ‘errands run lickety-split.’ It would sound better to use some such phrase as ‘speedy messenger service.’ You see, the _Gazette_ is a dignified paper.”

“That does sound better,” agreed Jim. “Do you want the story?”

“I think we can use it,” answered the editor. “What are your rates for literary services?”

“Oh, you can have this free. I need the publicity.”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” offered Arnold. “In return for the news story, I’ll run an advertisement for you. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Swell!”

“It’s a deal then. I’ll draw up something appropriate.”

Jim rode home feeling proud and important. The recent article about himself and Ticktock, even though it had caused rather unfavorable comment from his father, had made the boy hungry for fame. When the _Gazette_ arrived Jim was waiting at the mailbox. His article was on the front page carrying what seemed to Jim enormous block headlines.

New Business In Springdale

_Pony Express Incorporated formed by Jim Meadows_

Mr. Jim Meadows, local young business man, has announced the formation
of a new enterprise in our community—The Pony Express Incorporated.
This business offers a variety of services to Springdale residents. The
owners, Mr. Jim Meadows and his horse Ticktock, will drive cattle to
market, provide speedy reliable messenger service, do chores for
farmers absent from their homes, perform light freighting jobs
(anything moved that can be carried in a burlap bag), or even baby sit
providing no changing of diapers is involved.

Mr. Meadows and his horse, who were recently mentioned in this paper,
are full and equal partners in the new business. The Pony Express,
Inc., will use R.F.D. #2 as its address, telephone Springdale 6207. Mr.
Meadows, the president, will take all telephone messages, as the horse
is a silent partner. The advertisement of the Pony Express will be
found on page 3 of this issue.

Springdale is fortunate to be chosen as the seat of this new
enterprise. The variety of new services offered will no doubt make life
richer and fuller for everyone. It is not yet known whether the
Springdale Rotary Club will extend an invitation to Mr. Meadows and
Ticktock to join the organization.

While the article was much changed from its original form, and the last paragraph was entirely new to Jim, there were still enough of the original words remaining to make him feel that he had appeared in print. Glowing with pride he turned to see his advertisement. It was equally satisfactory.

Turn Your Odd Jobs over to
_The Pony Express, Inc._
(Ticktock and Jim, sole owners)
Errands run, quickly and reliably
Pigs caught
Cattle herded or driven anywhere
Confidential Messenger Service
_For anything that man and horse can do_
CALL ON US!
Phone 6207 Ask for Jim

Jim said nothing to his parents but let them discover the article themselves. His father was first to see the paper. He read the news item and advertisement, grinning with amusement and pride.

“So you are in business now,” he said. “How did you get all this free publicity?”

“Wrote most of it myself,” answered Jim frankly.

“I think you’ll do all right,” said Mr. Meadows. “Well, I’ll give your firm its first job. The bull seems to be in disfavor around here. How much will you charge to drive it to town?”

“Fifty cents.”

“You’re hired,” said Mr. Meadows promptly. “As a matter of fact, I think your rates are too low. I would have paid a dollar.”

“Well, I gave you a special discount,” said Jim. “When you do business with relatives they always expect discounts.”

Chapter Six
The Saddle

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.”

“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.