_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.”
[Illustration: Leading a bull]
“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.
Since there was nothing available from which to climb up on the mustang’s
back, Jim decided to walk the remaining short distance to the stockyards.
Moreover, it would be easier to keep the cattle under control with
himself on one side and Ticktock on the other. He started the cattle
moving once more. As they proceeded down the street, the spaniel
followed. At first, Jim tried to get the dog to return to his home,
fearing that the animal would start barking and stampede the cattle. But
the brown and white springer seemed determined to accompany him. He
turned out to be a very competent helper, trotting along on one side of
the herd very quietly until one of the cattle attempted to break from the
knot. Then the little dog would bark furiously and chase the offender
back into place.
With perfect teamwork such as this, the rest of the journey was
uneventful. When they arrived at the stockyard Ticktock was on one side
of the herd, the dog on the other, and Jim walked behind. Colonel Flesher
came out of his office, watching the last stage with open-mouthed
amazement.
“That certainly takes the prize,” he observed when the cattle were safely
penned. “You, that horse and the dog all working together like clockwork.
I hope you didn’t walk all the way to town.”
“No, just the last half-mile. It was simple out on the country road.
Going through town, I figured out this was the easy way to handle ’em.”
“Well, I have to admit you did it beautifully,” said the stock buyer in
admiration. “I forgot to tell you, but that little road over there west
of the yards comes in parallel to the railroad tracks. There are no
houses or yards along that. It might be a little longer in case you have
to circle town to get to it, but it would probably be less trouble in the
long run.”
“I’ll take that next time,” said Jim, who didn’t care to repeat his
recent experience.
“Where’d you pick up Doc Cornby’s dog?” asked Colonel Flesher, paying Jim
his two dollars.
“Oh, I just recruited him on the way,” said Jim very off-handedly.
“Well, it’s a mystery to me how you get these animals to work for you so
easily,” said the colonel, shaking his head. “I’ll have another job for
you in a few days.”
Thanking the stock buyer for the money, Jim climbed back on his horse and
whistled to the dog. He felt it was only fair to return the spaniel to
his home after the assistance the dog had given him. Arriving at the
bungalow, Jim dismounted and walked up to the door. His knock was
answered by a very pleasant-faced woman.
“How do you do, Mrs. Cornby,” he said politely. “I brought your dog back.
He was helping me drive cattle.”
“I saw what was happening from the window,” said Mrs. Cornby, smiling.
“It was a good thing Horace was here to help you. That steer was heading
straight for my flowers. If it had ruined my prize begonias, I would
never have forgiven you.”
“He’s certainly a smart dog. He was a big help.”
“He spent the last summer on my brother’s farm. Bert taught him to go
after the cows each evening, so I guess he enjoys helping herd cattle.”
Mrs. Cornby had solved the mystery of why the dog had helped herd so
intelligently, but Jim was slightly disappointed. He would have preferred
to think that animals instinctively knew what he wanted.
“If he likes to drive cattle, I’d be glad to take him along the next time
I bring some in,” volunteered Jim.
“Thank you very much, but I think not,” said Mrs. Cornby. “He runs away
too much as it is and if anything happened to him the children would be
heartbroken. I suppose you’re Jim Meadows of the Pony Express that we
have been reading about in the paper.”
“That’s right,” said Jim proudly. A sudden thought struck him. The editor
and Dr. Cornby were close friends. “Would you do me a favor, Mrs. Cornby?
Don’t let Mr. Arnold hear about the trouble I had with the cattle. He
might print it in his newspaper and bad publicity like that could ruin my
business. I’m going to drive cattle by a different route after this,
anyhow.”
Mrs. Cornby laughingly promised she would remain silent. Jim got back on
his horse and headed home for lunch. He would get a smart dog like Horace
some day, he decided. But first, before taking on any more liabilities,
he wanted to solve the problem of keeping Ticktock permanently. Mrs.
Cornby had been nice, agreeing to keep quiet about the incident. He was
glad the steer hadn’t ruined her begonias, though why anyone set such a
store by ugly waxy-leaved plants like begonias, he didn’t know. Women are
hard to understand, he decided.
After two more successful and uneventful trips driving cattle to town,
Colonel Flesher offered Jim an additional job.
“How would you like to work for me Saturday afternoons and evenings at
the sales barn?” asked the stock buyer with a wave of his fat hand toward
the huge auction barn near the stockyards.
“That sounds swell, sir,” said Jim. He had attended part of the auction
one afternoon with his father and had enjoyed it immensely.
“I’ll give you a dollar and a half and your supper. Since I don’t suppose
you’d consider a proposition that didn’t include your horse, I’ll throw
in feed for him too,” offered the colonel.
“It’s a deal,” said Jim, shaking hands. “When do I start?”
“Three o’clock this Saturday.”
Anything and everything was sold at the colonel’s Saturday sales. There
were horses, sheep, cattle, goats, pigs and poultry auctioned off in the
big barn. The farmers who always came to town Saturday afternoon or
evening to do their shopping brought whatever they wished to sell. You
could buy garden tools, tractors, chairs, setting hens or pianos.
Anything that was offered was put on the block and sold to the highest
bidder. There were items ranging from fifty cents to five hundred
dollars.
Each sale was as fascinating as a circus to Jim. There was always a huge
throng of people gathered under the big roof—men, women and children from
all over the surrounding countryside. There is some form of contagious
excitement at an auction. When the crowd surged forward to bid on some
choice item, the tenseness and excitement of the group would grip Jim
too. He would hold his breath as the colonel skillfully maneuvered the
bidding higher and higher.
Jim gained a new respect for Colonel Flesher at the auctions. He had
always wondered secretly how a man could be as fat as the stock buyer
unless he were lazy, but he changed his mind at the sales. The big man
was going from three in the afternoon, when the sale opened, until it
ended, usually about nine in the evening. It was a mystery to Jim how the
colonel’s voice managed to keep up its steady flow, hour after hour. He
never lost his enthusiasm either. He would shout as jovially and
interestedly while selling a fifty-cent used ironing board as he would
over a prize cow. The auctioneer was particularly adept at keeping the
crowd in a good humor. If the bidding were not progressing well, he could
always manage to bring up a joke or story to get the crowd laughing.
“Now look men,” he might say, while selling a used washing machine. “You
can’t let this washing machine go for a paltry ten dollars. No wonder the
divorce rate is rising. You tell a woman you love her, and then, after
you are married, you would rather let her break her back over a washboard
than spend more than ten dollars. Now let’s have a bid that will show
chivalry is not dead. Besides, I think with a little bit of trouble you
could hook an ice-cream freezer to this motor. What am I bid? Fifteen,
fifteen, fifteen, sixteen, sixteen, eighteen, who’ll make it twenty.
Twenty dollars by the man over there who loves his wife.
Twenty—twenty—going at twenty. Going, going, gone! Sold for twenty
dollars.”
In the beginning Jim was baffled by the methods used in bidding. During
the first few sales he jerked his head back and forth frantically trying
to locate the various bidders but he seldom saw more than half of them.
After a few experiences helping the colonel upon the platform, he began
to solve the mystery. Some men would lift a finger while others would
wink an eye or use a nod of the head. Whatever the signal, the colonel
seldom missed it. He seemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing who was a
likely bidder on each item, so that often it was unnecessary for a bidder
to announce himself as a party to the bidding even on his initial offer.
It seemed of particular importance on expensive items, such as large farm
machinery, that the bidders maintain secrecy.
“They don’t want the other bidders to know who their competition is,”
explained the colonel to Jim. “Everybody knows everybody else and about
how much money he has. If a man knows who’s bucking him at an auction, he
knows just about how high the other fellow is willing to go. That’s bad
at a sale. For example, if a good milk cow was being sold and everybody
knew old man Wilkins was bidding, they might get discouraged because they
know he’s wealthy and stubborn. On the other hand, he doesn’t want people
to know he’s in the race as someone might run up the price just to spite
him.”
Jim enjoyed his duties at the auction. He led out cows and horses to be
sold, handed small items to the colonel, or even held up an occasional
article for the inspection of the crowd while Colonel Flesher sold it.
When there was an unusually large amount of stock to be sold, part of it
was kept at the stockyard and driven over as required. Those instances
were the only times that Ticktock’s services were needed. However, Jim
always kept the pony tied in the stock barn during the sales. He liked
the mustang close by, and Ticktock seemed to enjoy the sale as much as
the boy.
There was a half-hour pause at six o’clock while the colonel and his
helpers ate a quick supper. The meal usually consisted of several hot
dogs or hamburgers, a piece of pie and coffee. The food was obtained at
the lunch counter just outside the main entrance to the sales barn and
was taken into the colonel’s office to be eaten. Jim always looked
forward to the brief meal. Not only did he like hot dogs and hamburgers,
but also he enjoyed the conversation.
“That big gray horse went dirt cheap, didn’t it?” the sales clerk, Carl
Mason, would say.
“Yeah, it was a steal,” Colonel Flesher would agree. “I tried my best to
get the price up on that. That tractor was way overbid though. Sold for
twice what it was worth.”
Jim began to have a very shrewd idea of what various articles were worth,
ranging from mops to gang plows.
At Jim’s fourth auction, a saddle was offered for sale. He saw it just
before the sale opened, stacked in a corner with a pile of miscellaneous
household articles. Climbing over two galvanized washtubs, he managed to
get close enough to inspect it carefully. It was a Western saddle with a
high horn and cantle. The pommel, the cantle and the leather leg
protectors were all covered with fancy tooling.
The saddle had been used just enough to deepen the color of the leather
to a beautiful dark brown. Nowhere was it worn, and apparently it had
been well cared for, as the leather was soft and pliable to the touch,
indicating that plenty of saddlesoap and elbow grease had been used by
the owner. It looked just right for Ticktock. Jim gazed at the saddle
with longing and admiration. He had looked at the prices of saddles in
the Montgomery Ward and Sears catalogs at home and knew a saddle such as
that must have cost at least a hundred dollars. Probably more, as he had
never seen a saddle with tooling such as this one.
In his mind he counted his money. He had only two dollars with him, but
the total of his earnings now amounted to nineteen dollars. The saddle
couldn’t conceivably go for such a price as that, he decided dismally,
even if it were an off day at the sale. Besides he didn’t have the money
with him and the sales were always for cash. Regretfully he stopped his
minute inspection and went about his duties.
In spite of being resigned about the saddle, Jim made certain that he was
present when it was sold. It seemed forever before it came up on the
block. For the first time Jim took little interest in the bidding on
various other articles offered. When the saddle was finally brought
forward, he stood on the edge of the crowd, tense with excitement.
“What am I offered for this fine saddle?” asked the colonel. “A
hand-tooled saddle in fine condition. None of your Eastern foolishness
about this. It’s a serviceable as well as a beautiful Western job.
There’s a good saddle blanket here that goes with it. What am I bid?
Who’ll make me an offer?”
Jim found himself criticizing the colonel’s sales methods for the first
time. He wished the auctioneer wouldn’t praise the saddle in such glowing
terms.
“Ten dollars,” came the first bid from somewhere in the crowd.
“I have an offer of ten dollars. Who’ll make it twelve?” boomed the
colonel.
“Twelve,” was the answer from another quarter of the room.
The bidding went to fourteen dollars and hung there for a moment. Jim
couldn’t bear the thought of that beautiful saddle going to someone else
for a mere fourteen dollars. He resolutely shoved his fears about money
for Ticktock’s winter feed into the background.
“Fifteen dollars,” he shouted in a high voice.
“I’m offered fifteen,” said the colonel, glancing quickly at Jim.
“Sixteen, sixteen, am I bid sixteen?” Someone gave the signal and the
offer went to sixteen. The auctioneer looked over at Jim questioningly.
Feeling very nervous and uncertain that he was doing the proper thing,
Jim nodded. His bid stood only a moment until the ante was raised to
eighteen. Again the colonel looked in his direction and Jim nodded.
“Nineteen, I’ve been offered nineteen; who’ll make it twenty, twenty,
twenty. Twenty it is. Who’ll make it twenty-one?”
Colonel Flesher looked questioningly at Jim, who had to shake his head
sadly. He had reached the limit of his means. The bidding went on briskly
until it reached twenty-five dollars. There it hung.
“Twenty-five, twenty-five, who’ll make it twenty-six? Going, going, gone.
Twenty-five dollars. Sold to the Pony Express Incorporated for
twenty-five dollars.”
Jim opened his mouth in astonishment. For a moment he doubted what he had
heard. He had stopped bidding at nineteen. He didn’t think he had made
any signal after that which the colonel could possibly interpret as a
bid. He started to shout out a denial and then thought better. He would
put the auctioneer in a bad spot if he denied the bid. He tried to think
of some way out of the delicate situation. The only solution was to see
Colonel Flesher as soon as he could and explain that not only had he not
bid any such sum as twenty-five dollars but that he couldn’t possibly pay
it anyhow.
All afternoon he worried about the matter. The sale seemed to drag on
forever. Finally it was time for supper. Jim collected his food at the
lunch wagon and headed for the auctioneer’s office. Troubled as he was,
his appetite still remained.
“There’s been a mistake, Colonel Flesher,” Jim said as the big man
entered. “I stopped bidding at nineteen dollars on that saddle.”
“I know you did. My eyesight isn’t failing yet.”
“I thought I heard you say it was sold to the Pony Express at twenty-five
dollars.”
“That’s right. I got to thinking how nice that saddle would be for your
horse. It’s worth seventy-five dollars easily. I looked over at Ticktock
and he seemed interested in it too. After you finished bidding I got
three separate and distinct winks from your horse. Since I understand
he’s a full partner of the firm I considered his bids binding and sold
him the saddle.”
Jim was still too troubled to worry whether the colonel was kidding him
or not. He wouldn’t put it past Ticktock to have winked at the
auctioneer. The idea that the mustang might bid on the saddle didn’t seem
at all absurd to Jim.
“But I have only nineteen dollars,” he protested weakly.
“Perfectly all right,” said the colonel jovially. “This is one exception
we’ll make to the rule of cash on the barrel head. I’ve already paid for
the saddle. I’ll take it out of your wages. Now quit worrying about the
matter.”
Jim quit worrying. He gulped down his piece of pie, thanked the colonel,
and rushed out of the sales barn. He found his newly acquired saddle and
blanket. He stroked the leather fondly. It certainly was a beauty.
Tenderly he carried it over to show Ticktock.
Chapter Seven
Horace
Ticktock was becoming sleek and fat by the end of June. Decked out in his
handsome new saddle he was enough to fill Jim with a reasonable pride and
all the other boys with envy. Mrs. Meadows made two sturdy saddlebags of
canvas which Jim had fitted out with straps and buckles at the
harness-maker. The completed outfit cost him a dollar and a half, which
he hated to spend from his slowly accumulating hoard of feed money, but
he felt the saddlebags were a necessary part of his business equipment.
He also squandered three dollars on a poncho which he felt any
self-respecting cowboy should own. Besides, who could tell when it would
rain and a poncho be vitally needed?
With his poncho rolled in a tight bundle behind the saddle, and his
saddlebags securely in place, Jim often rode into town. Whether he was
going on an errand for his mother or to work at the sales barn, he always
arranged his route so that he rode through part of the residential
district. The boys who lived in town and attended the Springdale School
always took an infuriatingly condescending attitude toward the pupils of
a tiny country school such as the one Jim attended. Their manner clearly
indicated that they thought boys such as Jim were country bumpkins. Jim
felt it his duty to enlighten these Springdale boys as to the advantages
of living in the country. While he wouldn’t admit that he was trying to
make them jealous, he felt he should display Ticktock and his beautiful
saddle as often as possible in order that his city acquaintances wouldn’t
get any exaggerated ideas concerning the worth of a shiny bicycle. Then
he would be starting to Springdale Junior High that fall and he thought
he might just as well start building up his reputation and fame. Now and
then he would stop to talk with friends or even take a boy for a short
canter. Other times his business would be pressing so he would gallop
through the streets with a brisk clatter, fully enjoying the envious eyes
that followed him.
Mr. and Mrs. Meadows had rather opposed Jim’s job at the sale at first on
the ground that it kept him out after dark. The sales often lasted until
nine o’clock and neither of Jim’s parents fancied his riding home in the
dark with automobiles on the road. Jim did his best to quiet their fears
by explaining that he always rode carefully along the shoulder of the
highway where no car would possibly hit him. However, to end the matter
he was forced to add another piece of equipment—a portable electric
lantern. He purchased a little dry-cell hand lantern that he at first
tied to his belt. After he acquired the saddle, the light was hung on the
saddle horn. He either left the lantern turned on continuously while he
was riding or flashed it on when cars approached. He objected to anything
as modern as an electric lantern for a cowboy, but, giving in to
progress, decided it was a very useful piece of equipment to own. The
problem of cars approaching from the rear was solved by fastening a small
round red reflector, such as is used on automobiles, to the rear of the
cantle. He felt that added to the appearance of the saddle.
Ticktock and his rider became so well known throughout the community that
Robert Morgan, the lawyer, decided to carry out the joking suggestion
that had been made in the Springdale _Gazette_ when the Pony Express was
first formed. Jim’s name and that of his horse were duly proposed to the
Rotary Club at one of its weekly luncheons. The members present, falling
in with the attorney’s facetious mood, voted unanimously to offer the two
partners of the Pony Express an honorary membership. A few days later Jim
received an important-looking letter through the mail.