The rest of the oats and hay were sweet to my taste and I could have
wished there had been more; as for water, I must wait for that until
some friendly fount or trough appeared on the way.
Archie ate a few crackers, shook out his sweater and jacket and gave
the blanket a vigorous flouncing, but could do no more for me than to
shake off or pull away the damp leaves clinging to mane and tail. The
blanket was strapped to my back, and then to the road again.
It will always be my belief that that was the longest day of my life.
I was made to travel slowly from the start, and it was fortunate that
such was the case: otherwise I never could have accomplished such a
tramp. Archie, too, walked miles, for every little while he would
dismount and stride along beside me.
At noon, my legs began to ache, I did not breathe quite easily, and had
it not been for the belief that by night the hard journey would be over
I feel sure discouragement would have overtaken me. And an unlooked for
trial was before us.
Early in the afternoon, Archie stopped at a store where “hay, grain and
feed,” was on a sign over the door, and suddenly came face to face with
the man, Rondo.
“Ah, my fine, honest friend,” the man began, “so you thought to make
off with my pony, Don, did you? Well, you see I can travel by train
faster than you can pony-back. Now I’ll trouble you to get off, and let
me get on that sprightly Don.”
“No, I sha’n’t,” said Archie stoutly. “This pony belongs to Mr. Van Vim
of Greenpoint, and I’m going to take him home. He was stolen away last
July, and his name is Dexter, not Don at all.”
“You can’t prove that,” roared Rondo. “I’ll call a policeman and tell
him you are a young thief.”
“Call away,” said Archie. “This little hoss has been advertised for,
and I’ll ask Mr. Policeman to give the pony a scrub and see him turn
from rough black, to a smooth, handsome bay.”
At that, the gipsy said some very improper words but moved off
muttering:
“I wish I’d caught you in the night, you young cub!”
Archie made no reply, but I was glad Rondo had found out that we knew
how I came to be a trick pony in his unclean camp. We saw no more of
him. He had reason to be afraid of us, while we had no reason to be
afraid of him, seeing we were not alone or in the dark.
[Illustration: SUDDENLY CAME FACE TO FACE WITH THE MAN RONDO.]
Again, mile after mile was passed during the afternoon, and until
the early darkness fell. At last the way became familiar. Ah, how good
it seemed! Here were outlying places where I had galloped and romped,
first with Perley Bolt on my back, then with the lark-loving boys who
hired me from Van Vim’s. Tillings also had exercised me along these
smooth roads, and there was the great auto building and track where the
races had taken place.
Oh, joy! I could almost see the snug, warm box stall at Mr. Van Vim’s
livery, and smell the clover-laden hay as wearily, haltingly and nearly
spent, I reached the stable door.
There was Tillings taking in a great pitchforkful of bedding from a
side door, and at the boy’s sharp whistle he paused, a curious look of
inquiry on his ruddy face.
“Hulloo, Tillings,” Archie sung out in his blithest tones.
“Hulloo, yourself,” Tillings replied aghast: “thought you’d started out
to find your fortune, Archie Train. What forlorn little beast you got
there?”
“It’s Dexter, I’ve brought him home.”
Archie spoke quietly, yet I felt him quiver with satisfaction and
delight. Tillings replied in disgust,
“No, you don’t! That sorry little nag any relation to Dexter? No, oh,
no! You can’t come that over me!”
“Ah, but I’ve the great story to tell you, Tillings. First, though,
the poor little hoss wants everything the stable can do for him. He’s
cold, hungry, thirsty and footsore and lame from almost endless travel.
He’s been worked, half fed, and exposed, until he’s poor as a crow.
Then again he’s been painted black right over his natural coat of bay.”
Tillings by this time was standing open-mouthed, the pitchfork of straw
tilting ludicrously in mid-air.
“Where’s he been?” he gasped.
“Off in a gipsy tent. Gipsies stole him. They’ve taught him to dance
and show off. Come now, I tell you the poor little hoss is all used up.”
For answer, Tillings rushed into the stable, threw the bedding into a
stall, and called lustily:
“Misther Van Vim! Misther Van Vim! will ye be comin’ here, plaze.”
In a moment Mr. Van Vim appeared, and Tillings jabbered off the strange
story just heard as if only half believing it. Meantime Archie stood
holding me by the bridle.
“Take care of the poor little fellow,” Mr. Van Vim ordered. “And you,
Archie Train,” he added, “had better go and stay with Widow Hebble for
a few days; she will be glad of your help, I know; then something may
turn up for you to do. But I want to ask one thing: please say nothing
to anyone about Dexter’s return. I have my own reasons, for not wanting
it known at present. I hope you will oblige me in this respect.”
Archie promised to keep the matter strictly to himself, waved me a
cheery good-bye, and went his way, leaving me thankful at knowing he
had a good place awaiting him.
How could a pony describe the comfort and luxury of what followed for
me! Exhausted as I was, Tillings knew all about the refreshment and
renewing that would come through needed treatment.
First, I was watered, but not too freely, then fed, oh, how
delightfully! Never can I forget the satisfaction and healing of that
hot mash! It was only bran thoroughly scalded with a little meal added,
but it really gave me strength for what Tillings thought should be done
before letting me lie down for the night.
Next into the washing trough went pails of hot water. But before
washing, Tillings put some strong smelling stuff all over me. I know
now it was to make that colouring matter come off the more easily.
The man worked more than an hour, talking and scolding to himself as
spongeful after spongeful of dark, sticky stuff yielded to the vigorous
rubbing and was washed away.
Three times the trough was filled before Tillings considered me
cleansed. Then how good the curry comb and drying cloths felt. At last
I was all soft, glossy and _bay_!
Tillings, surveying his work, cried almost with a sob:
“Lean as a starved cat ye are and weak as a new baby; but it’s plump as
a patridge an’ sassy as a magpie we’ll be havin’ you in no time, that
we will, thin!”
He added more in his own jolly tones:
“Your oarn toasty blanket will cover ye all spick an’ span; now to bed
wid ye, an’ if there’s a claner, more promisin’ little hoss than you be
th’ night, jes’ trot him up, an’ I’ll be takin’ off me hat till him; I
will that!”
He led me to my beautiful, longed for stall. Then what glory! In my own
fine bay coat, clean, well-fed, and having been abundantly watered, I
laid me down to such sweet, untroubled sleep as I had not known for
many a long week.