“Fire! Fire!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Mr. Meadows did not need the second alarm, as Jim’s first shout had been enough to jerk him out of bed. He had pulled on his trousers and shoes and was starting down the stairs when he heard the word “fire.”
Barefooted and in his pajamas, Jim raced toward the barn. Halfway there he saw Ticktock. The little mustang was lying helplessly on his side, screaming and kicking in terror and pain. Forgetting the fire, Jim raced toward the stricken horse. He felt a sickening sense of calamity as he approached Ticktock. He dreaded going nearer, yet he had to know what was wrong. Then in the wavering light from the fire, he saw his worst fears realized; Ticktock’s leg was hanging limp and useless, broken between the fetlock and the knee.
Few people ever have to face sudden stark tragedy. There is usually some warning or preparation that makes the shock more bearable. Jim was not so fortunate. Out of a happy sleep he had awakened to this. There was no bottom to the depths of his despair. This was a tragedy beyond his most horrible dreams. A terrible numbing agony swept over him, leaving him nauseated, blinded and stricken. There was a huge leaden mass where his heart and stomach had been. He shed no tears but threw himself in a hopeless heap on the ground beside the horse. Not knowing what he was doing, he took Ticktock’s head in his lap and began to stroke the mustang’s forehead. He mumbled softly and unintelligibly to the trembling, terror-stricken horse.
Mrs. Meadows, who had dressed by this time, came out into the yard carrying Jim’s shoes, shirt and trousers. She had turned on the yard light; so she saw the horse and boy immediately. There was no need to ask what was wrong. The crumpled leg was only too evident. Tears of sympathy and grief started to her eyes, both for the little horse and for her son. She glanced hesitantly toward the fire, feeling she should rush to her husband’s aid, but she knew what sickening grief was shaking her son. She had to comfort him, if only for a moment. Saying nothing, she walked over to put her hand on his shoulder. Jim looked up at her dumbly as if struggling for recognition. Slowly he brought his mind out of its numbness.
“Broken,” he said in a hopeless, tired voice. “Broken.”
“I know.”
“The fire,” he said slowly. “I ought to help.”
“No, you stay—” she started to say and then thought better. His help was needed and anything that would take his mind off Ticktock would help. “Yes, Jim, there are other horses that are trapped in the barn. You’d better help.”
“You help carry water,” she warned him as he pulled on his clothes over his pajamas. “Stay out of the barn unless your father tells you that you can go in.”
Jean came out to drop beside Ticktock in sorrow almost as great as Jim’s. While the girl comforted the pony, Jim and his mother rushed off to help Mr. Meadows. With misgivings, Jim’s father permitted him to go into the smoke-filled barn, for help was needed desperately. The terrorized animals were threshing about in their stalls so violently that it was dangerous work to get near them in the smoky interior to untie them. Choking and blinded, Jim led out one cow, only to plunge back in again after another. Mr. Meadows was racing in and out of the barn like a madman, leading out the huge work horses. Mrs. Meadows ran back and forth from the watering tank to the fire carrying water while anxiously trying to keep tabs on both her husband and son to see that neither was gone too long, perhaps lost and overcome by the smoke. Finally all the stock was safely out in the yard and the two, coughing and sputtering, turned to help Mrs. Meadows fight the still growing fire.