by Carol Norton
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morganand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net
Ticktock and Jim]
TICKTOCK _and_ JIM
_By Keith Robertson With Illustrations by Wesley Dennis_
Boy on galloping horse]
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY _Philadelphia . Toronto_
_Copyright, 1948, by The John C. Winston CompanyCopyright in Great Britain and in The British Dominions and Possessions Copyright in the Republic of the Philippines_
First Printing December, 1947 Second Printing June, 1948 Third Printing December, 1949
_Made in the United States of America_
To Christina,_Who at two is somewhat confused about horses and thinks they say "Moo."_
Contents
PAGE Chapter One The Trade _1_ Chapter Two The Reception _24_ Chapter Three The First Victory _38_ Chapter Four New Allies _49_ Chapter Five The Pony Express _69_ Chapter Six The Saddle _82_ Chapter Seven Horace _100_ Chapter Eight Exile _115_ Chapter Nine The Lost Horse _135_ Chapter Ten Ticktock Disappears _147_ Chapter Eleven The Conspirators _165_ Chapter Twelve Jean's Ride _182_ Chapter Thirteen The Mystery Is Solved _196_ Chapter Fourteen The Fire _208_ Chapter Fifteen A Long Night _222_ Chapter Sixteen The Convalescence _233_
Ticktock and Jim
Chapter One The Trade
"Someone has to stay home to give Colonel Flesher that Jersey calf," saidMr. Meadows. "Since we are the only men around the place, it looks as ifyou're elected."
"O.K. I'll stay. I don't mind," Jim answered cheerfully, if not tooaccurately. He did mind very much.
"I'm sure everything will be safe with you," continued Mr. Meadows as heclimbed in the car.
"Oh, I'll take care of things," said Jim nonchalantly.
He watched the car drive off. His father, mother and sister Jean were allgoing into town for the afternoon while he stayed at home alone. He feltrather proud that his father had called him a man, but that didn't makeup for the disappointment of not going with them. He went over to sit onthe edge of the front porch, where he forlornly kicked his heels againstthe lattice work. It was a beautiful spring day with a warm sun shining,but Jim was in no mood to appreciate the wonders of nature. His smallbrown face looked very mournful as he sat there feeling sorry forhimself. Something exciting was certain to happen in town, and he wouldmiss it. He wondered how long the family had been gone now. Jumping up,he ran inside the house and returned with a large gold watch.
"Quarter past one," he said aloud. Doubtfully, he held the watch to hisear.
"Ticktock, ticktock," came the answer.
It seemed impossible that it was only a quarter past one; it would bealmost four hours before the family returned. Although it was a form oftreason to doubt that watch, Jim peered through the kitchen door tocompare it with the kitchen clock. The watch was right. It promised to bea long dismal afternoon.
To pass away the time he polished the gold case with his big redbandanna. The watch was his most prized possession; his father had givenit to him on his twelfth birthday, almost eight months before. He wore itonly on special occasions or when he was feeling sad, like today.Carefully he unscrewed the back and looked at the shiny works. Thebalance wheel was going back and forth quietly and faithfully. Jimpolished the inside of the back cover and reread the inscription for thehundredth time. "To James Meadows from Elizabeth, June 7, 1884." Oversixty years ago his grandmother had given that watch to his grandfatherand it was still bright and shiny, and kept perfect time.
"I wish it would run a little faster this afternoon though," said Jim, ashe placed the watch in his overall watch pocket.
Feeling a tiny bit more cheerful, he walked toward the orchard fence. Agentle breeze was blowing toward him, bringing the delicate scent ofapple blossoms. He leaned on the fence, inhaling deeply and gazing at theriot of blossoms in the orchard. When it is spring in southern Missouri,one must have a very deep sorrow to remain downhearted long. Jim, beingyoung and normally very healthy, was recovering his spirits rapidly. Hewrinkled his short nose and after inhaling the odor of apple blossomsagain, decided that he would go closer to the trees. Now that no one wasabout he might even break off a sprig of blossoms. Having a healthy fearof appearing a sissy, he would never think of doing such a thing if hissister Jean were present. Flowers were for girls as far as he wasconcerned.
He was halfway across the orchard when he remembered the bull. The bigred bull was Mr. Meadows' pride and joy but Jim's pet abomination. He wasafraid of it and very reasonably so, as it was a mean-tempered animal.Feeling rather panicky, Jim turned to hurry back toward the gate. It wastoo late. Unnoticed, the bull had slipped behind him and was now blockingthe way. The big animal was standing very quietly, looking straight atJim. There was a wicked look in the bloodshot eyes that indicated plainlythat he had no intention of remaining quiet long.
With a sinking sensation in his stomach, Jim looked around frantically,trying to figure which fence was the closest. It was rather a tossup asto distance. Choosing the fence bordering the road as being the easiestto climb, he began backing cautiously toward it, keeping his eyes on thehostile bull.
As Jim made up his mind which way to move, so did the bull. He snortedseveral times, pawed the ground ferociously, lowered his head and chargedtoward the boy. The powerful feet dug into the soft ground as the bigbody gathered speed in a ponderous rush. Jim knew he would never make thefence in time. He was frightened, but not too frightened to think. Oncethe huge bull was up to top speed he couldn't change direction quickly.As the thundering feet drew dangerously close, the boy darted quickly tothe right and ducked behind the nearest apple tree. The bull swerved androared by like an avalanche.
Jim was safe for a moment, but he knew he would not have long to waituntil the bull charged again. The animal had turned around and was pawingand snorting. Reluctantly Jim gave up all ideas of reaching the fence. Hegrabbed the lowest branch of the apple tree and swung his stocky bodyupward. He was just in time, for the bull rushed underneath him like anexpress train.
Giving a whistle of relief, the boy climbed higher. Finding what appearedto be a comfortable perch, he settled down to consider the situation.Apparently he would simply just have to sit there and hope the bull wouldforget him. The bull decided to play a waiting game too. He pawed andsnorted for a time and then calmed down. Although he grazed quietly, heshowed no signs of leaving the vicinity. Just as Jim would begin to growhopeful, the animal would lift his head and gaze balefully up into thetree. This began to appear very one-sided to Jim after a few minutes.While the bull could amble around at his ease, the most Jim could movewas a few inches. What had appeared a comfortable seat began to grow veryirksome.
He shifted around trying to find a soft spot. It was impossible. One spotwas as bad as another. There was a limit as to how long one could sitcomfortably in an apple tree. Now Jim grew really sorry for himself. Howhe wished he could have gone into town with his family. That was the mostexciting event of the week. First they took the cream to the SpringdaleCreamery, where he could walk around inhaling the clean smell of steamand butter. It was fascinating to watch the huge revolving churns. Hesupposed today would be one of those times when Mr. Slemak would offereveryone a drink of cold buttermilk.
The grocery store was fun too. Probably Jean was sampling the cookiesnow. When his father paid the grocery bill there was always a bag ofcandy for both him and Jean. He hoped Mr. Higgins wouldn't forget himjust because he wasn't along. Jim sighed miserably. Instead of smellingthe odor of newly ground coffee, here he was up in a tree smelling appleblossoms. The scent which was so wonderful before was getting rathertiresome now.
"What a mess!" he said to himself. He looked down at the bull, his angermounting. "Go away, you big dope!"
That did no good either. Jim remained uncomfortably in the tree. To makematters worse, bees began to buzz around entirely too close to his head.Holding on to the tree with one hand and swatting at bees with the otherwas not pleasant exercise. Suddenly he remembered he hadn't closed theorchard gate behind him. If the bull did wander away, he would beperverse enough to head straight for the gate. The yard gate was opentoo, so the way onto the road was clear. Once he was out on the roadthere was no telling where the animal might stray. Now Jim was tornbetween hoping the bull would go away and wanting him to stay. Eitherway, he decided he was in a pickle. His parents would either come home tofind him trapped in the apple tree or else would find the bull loose andstrayed to parts unknown.
The thought of Colonel Flesher came like a ray of light. The stock buyerwas supposed to arrive about three o'clock. If the bull were stillstanding guard beneath the tree, the colonel could come to the rescue andall would be well. Jim shifted his perch slightly and hoped the stockbuyer would arrive soon. It seemed as if he had been in the tree forhours. He reached in his pocket but his hand found nothing. With ahorrible sinking feeling he realized his precious watch was gone. It musthave bounced out of his pocket while he was racing for the tree. With aneffort he kept back the tears. He looked back along his recent path,hoping to catch the glint of gold. There was nothing in sight but the newgreen grass. If the bull had trampled on it during his mad rush, thewatch was probably broken and buried in the soft earth. Completelydejected now, Jim sat in the tree and mourned. It was certainly aheartbreaking day.
He was so deep in his misery that he did not notice a strange cavalcadecoming over the hill until the creaking of wagon wheels and the neighingof a horse caused him to look up in surprise. The procession, which wasnearing the yard gate, was so unusual and interesting that Jim forgot hiswoes and stared in excited curiosity. First there was the oddest wagon hehad ever seen. It was a large wagon with a sort of house built on thechassis. The house had a flat roof which stuck out in front and overhungthe driver's seat, and the board sides contained two small windows.Initially Jim thought it was a ranch chuck wagon, for he had been readingWestern stories; but then he changed his mind and decided it was morelike a circus wagon or like the wagons he had seen in the movies used bytraveling road troupes in the old days.
Caravan of horse trader]
Seated on the high driver's seat was an old man in a sombrero, whistlingcheerfully and clucking to a team of huge black horses. The team wasambling along slowly, drawing the wagon with effortless ease. But whatattracted Jim's gaze most was the procession following the wagon. Strungout behind were at least twenty horses of all sizes and colors--big grayPercherons, medium-sized brown horses, sorrels, some dark bays, lightgrays and a few whites. Jim looked at each horse in turn until finally hecame to the last in the string--a lean little mouse-colored horse whosesmall body contrasted oddly with the other broad-rumped work horses.
The fascinating cavalcade drew still nearer until it reached the gate.The driver gave a slight tug on one rein and the wagon started turning.Jim was so interested and delighted that he almost lost his seat in thetree. The strange wagon and all those horses were coming in their yard!Almost doubting his eyes, he saw the vehicle progress down the lane andcome to a halt, the long string of horses bunching up behind the wagonuntil they too finally stopped. The old man climbed down from his highperch and looked around inquisitively. Seeing no one in the yard hestarted toward the house.
"There's nobody home but me," shouted Jim loudly.
The stranger turned around to look toward the orchard, and Jim got hisfirst good view of the visitor. He was a tall stringy individual with along gray handle-bar mustache that drooped from his upper lip and hidmuch of the lower part of his face. He was obviously a very old man, butthere was nothing old about his movements nor the way his bright eyessearched in the direction from which the voice had come. He lookedpuzzled, for all he could see was apple blossoms.
"And where are you?" he asked.
"I'm up here in a tree," said Jim, poking his black thatched head as farthrough its frame of apple blossoms as he dared. "The bull won't let meclimb down."
"Treed are you?" asked the man, laughing at what Jim didn't think was afunny situation. "Just how mean is that bull?"
"Dad handles him without any trouble," replied Jim. "Once in a while hehas to hit him on the nose with a stick."
"Be with you in a minute." The stranger hunted around until he found abig piece of wood for a club.
The bull decided he wasn't quite so ferocious when he saw a determinedman approaching with a sizable club. He gave a few disgruntled snorts andthen ambled off to the far end of the orchard. Thankfully Jim climbeddown from his uncomfortable haven.
"Thanks, Mister," he said with feeling. "Now I've got to find my watch."
He hurried back along the path of his recent flight from the bull,searching the ground anxiously. About thirty feet from the tree he foundhis watch, lying bright and shining in the sun. He picked it up and heldit to his ear. It was ticking away merrily. With a huge sigh of relief,Jim put the watch in his pocket.
"You really got me out of a mess," he said, as they walked toward thegate. "I was trapped in that tree, the orchard gate was open, and mywatch was lying on the ground."
"That looks like a pretty good watch to be carrying around in youroveralls."
"It's about the best watch in the world I guess," said Jim proudly. "Idon't usually carry it every day."
"Now you can do me a good turn," said the stranger as they went out ofthe gate, fastening it this time. "I'd like to water my horses."
"Sure, bring them over to the tank."
Jim pumped more water into the big cement tank while the man led hishorses over to drink. First he watered the team he was driving and thenstarted with the string of horses behind the wagon.
"How come you've got so many horses?" asked Jim, his curiosity gettingthe better of his manners.
"I'm a horse trader. Not many traveling horse traders left any more. Iusually have a lot more horses than these, but I sold fourteenyesterday."
"Gee," said Jim, "it must be a lot of fun to have so many horses."
"It is if you like horses. It's a lot of work too. Most people find twoor three too much to take care of the way they should."
"Do you live in that wagon?" asked Jim.
"All but about three months of the year," replied the horse trader. "Nowlet me ask a question. When's your pa going to be home?"
"About five o'clock, I 'spect," Jim informed him. He looked at his watch.It was not quite three. He hadn't been in that tree nearly so long as hehad thought.
"Think your pa will want to trade or buy any horses?"
"I don't think so," replied Jim. "We've got two teams that are prettygood."
The old man led the last horse to the trough for a drink. It was thesmall brown horse that Jim had noticed at the end of the string. Itw
asn't an impressive horse at all. It was very thin, the hip bones makingbig bumps as if they were trying to push their way through the poorhorse's hide. There was an ugly, partially healed sore on his back, andhe limped slightly on his right foreleg. His coat was a shaggy lusterlessgray-brown. It was hard to tell what either the tail or mane was like asboth were so matted with cockleburs and bits of weed. Lastly, the littlehorse didn't hold his head as he should, but kept it cocked to one sideas if he were looking at something very odd and interesting. To mosthorse fanciers this odd position of the head would have been the crowningdefect of the long list, but it was just this feature that attracted Jim.The pony seemed to be looking at him quizzically. As Jim looked closer hewas certain he saw a twinkle in the horse's eye as if the animal weretrying to share some sort of joke with him.
Jim stopped pumping water and moved closer to the little horse. He was sopainfully thin and that sore looked so tender that Jim felt a surge ofsympathy. He wished the horse could stay there and rest. The object ofJim's compassion lifted his muzzle from the trough, shook his head, andsnorted until he had blown the water from his nostrils. Then he lookedsquarely at the boy and winked. This time Jim was certain the horsegrinned too. It was very plain what the pony meant. He seemed to say:"Thanks for the water and your kindness. I'm rather deceiving inappearance and am in much better shape than most people would think."
Walking around to look at the horse from the other side, Jim spied a markon the pony's left shoulder. It was an _H_ lying on its side like this:
Letter H lying on its side]
"That's a brand, isn't it?" asked the boy excitedly.
"Yep. I reckon that is the lazy-_H_ brand."
"Where did he get it?"
"Well, this is a Western mustang. The man I bought him from said acarload of cow ponies was shipped in from Texas a couple of years ago. Hepicked up this feller at the sale."
"A real Texas mustang," said Jim, reverently.
"He's a bit small even for a Western cow pony," said the trader, sittingdown on the edge of the water tank. "In fact there's a lot of thingsabout this horse that are different from most mustangs."
"What?"
"Well," drawled the old man, filling his pipe, "I'm in no hurry to get upon that jolting seat again. Just set here awhile and I'll tell you alittle about Western horses, specially this one."
"Swell," said Jim enthusiastically. "Can I hold the horse?"
The old man passed over the halter rope and Jim sat happily on the wellplatform holding on to the end of the tether. The horse looked at both ofthem for a moment and then calmly started to crop the grass.
"Western horses usually run pretty wild for three years or so," began theold man. "Then they're broken for riding. They break Western horses quickand rough and most of them buck every time they're saddled. A ranch horseis worked only four or five months a year and then only three or fourdays a week. Most of them, except the favorites, never get to know a manreal well and so usually they don't show much affection." He paused torelight his corn-cob pipe. Reflectively he gazed on the glowing coal anddrew on the pipe stem noisily while Jim waited impatiently.
"This little feller is different. Plenty of spirit, but about as gentle ahorse as I've ever seen. Gentle, that is, if he likes you. In the fivedays I've had him I can tell he'd develop a real likin' for anybody thattreated him at all reasonable."
"I'll bet he would," agreed Jim, looking at the horse.
"He's a good horse, but I don't know just what I'll do with him. He's nota work horse--too small for heavy work. He's really a saddle horse andpeople in these parts don't go much for saddle horses unless they're richpeople. Then they want something fancy like a Kentucky saddle horse. ButI felt sorry for this critter and I bought him."
"Felt sorry for him? Why?" asked Jim with great interest.
"He was bein' mistreated. You can't be a horse trader for fifty yearswithout becomin' real fond of horses. It gets you mad to see anyone treatan animal mean. So I picked up this pony mainly to get him away from theskunk that owned him. Look how thin the horse is. Why I'd bet money hehasn't had a feedin' of grain in the two years that man had him. Ofcourse, these Westerns are tough. They run wild all winter and find feedwhere other breeds would starve. But this pony was turned out in a fieldwhere there wasn't enough grass. Nothing to eat except straw. Thatstrawstack was all the shelter he had too. You can tell from that longshaggy hair that he was out all winter. It will take a lot of curryin'and plenty of oats to get that coat in shape."
"You mean he was out in the snow and everything?" asked Jim.
"The snow isn't so bad. He's probably used to that. But when horses runloose in the winter out West, they don't have nothin' else to do but huntfor feed. This horse has been rode all winter too. See those saddlegalls?" said the trader, pointing. "They're recent. A horse can't do muchwork on a diet of straw and then stay outside in the cold to boot. Heneeds a layer of fat to keep him warm."
"How did he get those saddle sores?" inquired Jim.
"Been saddled wrong."
"They look awful sore."
"They were, but they're healing now that I'm givin' them a littleattention. If nobody rides him for a while, they'll clear up all right."
"He's lame too," pointed out Jim.
"Yep, nail in his foot. The owner just pulled the nail out--nothin' else.I was sort of takin' a chance buyin' the horse at all. He might havedeveloped lockjaw. Once a horse gets lockjaw you might as well shoot him.But I pared out the hoof, soaked his foot in a lysol solution, and workedsome iodine into the puncture. I've given him a couple of treatmentssince and he's out of danger now. In a week you'd never know he'd steppedon a nail."
The long story of the mustang's mistreatment and ills had aroused Jim'ssympathy. He looked at the horse with even greater interest than before.Several times the little horse raised his head and appeared to give theboy a good-natured nod. The fact that the pony was still gentle andapparently in high good humor after all he had been through particularlyappealed to the boy.
"How much would you sell that horse for?" he asked impulsively.
"Well, I reckon he's worth about forty dollars," said the old traderappraisingly.
"Gee," said Jim sorrowfully. "I guess he's worth that all right but Ionly got three bucks."
"I'm afraid three dollars would be a mite too cheap," said the manlaughing. "I know he looks like three dollars now, but he'll shape up.Feed him properly and take care of him and you'd be surprised at theimprovement. I haven't had time to work on his coat or tail but a fewweeks would do a lot."
"How old is he?"
"Six years, I figure. He's a good sound horse. You take a good look andyou'll see that he has his better points."
It was true. On closer inspection the first bad impression began to fade.The pony had a short barrel, straight unblemished legs, and a deep chest.Aside from their extreme thinness, his hind quarters were wellproportioned. Both eyes were bright, clear and alert.
"He sure looks like a good horse to me," said Jim truthfully. He knewnothing about the finer points of horses, but the little mustang appealedto him. He liked the horse and that settled the matter. Naturally he wasa fine animal.
"He is a good horse. No fancy gaited animal but just a good sturdy ridin'horse. Some of these days I'll find someone who'll appreciate him andtake good care of him."
"I'd appreciate him," thought Jim enviously. "And I'd take awfully goodcare of him."
Apparently the horse read Jim's thoughts, for he raised his head, cockedit even farther to one side, and stared straight at the boy. It was afriendly look that clearly said, "Yes, I know, Jim; we'd be goodfriends."
Sorrowfully the boy watched the old trader tie the mustang to the end ofthe string and then climb up on his wagon. How he would like to own thathorse. A real mustang with a brand. He and that pony certainly could havefun together.
The wagon turned around and started down the lane. Jim felt as sad andlonely as if his best friend were departi
ng forever. If only he couldhave gone to town. Then he would not have seen the little mustang andwanted him so. He pulled out his watch. Three-thirty. Time had passedrapidly enough while he was looking at the mustang. Now it would dragagain. Suddenly he looked at the watch as if he were seeing it for thefirst time. His grandfather's watch--his most prized possession. Hecouldn't possibly part with it. He raised his eyes and saw the mustanggoing out the gate. Headlong he ran after the wagon.
"Hey, Mister! Wait a minute please!"
The horse trader heard the frantic cry and pulled his team to a halt. Helooked down inquiringly as Jimmy rushed up beside him.
"Would you trade that mustang for my watch?" Jim asked in a rush ofwords, as though afraid that if he hesitated he would lose his nerve.
"Well, I might now," answered the old man. "What kind of a watch is it?"
"Here it is," said Jim, pulling out his precious watch. He stood ontiptoe to hand it up to the trader.
The old man examined the watch carefully while Jim watched nervously. Thetrader held the watch to his ear, removed the back and inspected theshiny works.
"Look, son," he said finally, "this is _your_ watch, isn't it? Not yourfather's?"
"It's mine, really mine," said Jim in desperate eagerness to be believed."It was given to me on my birthday."
"How about it? Would your father and mother be mad if you traded it for ahorse?"
"I don't see why. It's my watch," protested Jim. The thought made him alittle uneasy. He wondered if they would care. His resolution began towaver. Then he looked at the mustang and his doubts vanished. How he'dlike to have that horse!
"Well," drawled the old man slowly, "I got my doubts about how this isgoin' to set with your pa. But I know you want the horse more than you dothe watch. It wouldn't be an uneven trade either. This is a good watchbut not an awful expensive one."
"Then I can have the horse?" asked Jim in eager anticipation.
"If you're sure that's what you want. I hate to be the cause of anytrouble though. Tell you what I'll do. I'll be back by here in aboutthree, four months. You tell your father that. My name's Ned Evarts--OldNed Evarts. In fifty years of horse tradin' no one has ever accused me oftellin' a lie. When I come back I'll still have the watch. If you're notsatisfied with the horse, we'll trade back."
"That sounds fair," said Jim judiciously.
The trader reached inside the wagon and pulled out a bridle.
"Here's the bridle I got with the horse," he said, climbing down from thewagon. "You'll need a bridle, so I'll throw that in. Now the horse has ona rope halter. It doesn't look like much but it's sturdy. You can havethat too if you want."
"Thanks, Mister," said Jim, beginning to be overwhelmed by all his newproperty.
"Now I'll tell you something," said the old man. "There is such a thingas an honest horse trader even if people don't think so. A trader thatdeals square will tell a man about any defects that he knows of insidethe horse. About his wind, whether he has the heaves, and things likethat. Anything that shows outside the horse, it's up to the buyer to see.If he can't tell what he's buyin', it's his tough luck."
"This horse looks all right to me," said Jim, stoutly defending his newproperty.
"He is," said the trader. "Since you're a young feller and haven't hadmuch experience tradin', I'd tell you if anything was wrong. This mustanghasn't any defects we haven't already talked about. There's that saddlesore, the lame foreleg, he's pretty lean, and his coat needs a lot ofwork. Other than that he's sound. Now I want you to take notice of theway he holds his head. It's kinda cockeyed. Now lots of folks would lookat him and figure him to be a mean horse. He isn't. That horse isn't abit mean; he's been mistreated and he's a little worried about whom totrust. You be good to him and he'll be as gentle as can be."
"He'll like me," said Jim confidently.
"I think he will. One other thing--that mustang is a smart critter.Horses are like people; some are just naturally dumb and others aresmart. I've been handling the animals so long I've kinda got a sixthsense about 'em. Now this little feller is one of the smartest I've everrun across."
Evarts untied the mustang from the end of the string and handed the ropeto Jim.
"Well, he's your horse. Good luck."
"Good-by," said Jim as the trader climbed back on the wagon. "That's agood watch too."
Jim watched the wagon, with its trailing string of horses, move off downthe road. He felt a twinge of pain as he thought of his beloved watchslowly moving into the distance. Then he felt a tug on the rope he held.The horse was looking at him quizzically.
"No, I'm not sorry I traded," said Jim, as if in answer to a question."But I'm going to miss that watch. I know what I'm going to do. I'll callyou 'Ticktock' after my watch."