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.
[Illustration: Runaway pig]
“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.