They carried water until they were at the point of exhaustion and the big water tank was almost empty. Mr. Meadows was the only one strong enough to throw water onto the roof of the lean-to, which by this time was burning fiercely. He scorched his face and arms while his hair and eyebrows became singed and frizzled. With his face blackened with soot, he continued to fight the fire with the water that Jim and his mother pantingly lugged to the scene. At last they began to make headway and the boards no longer blazed but smoldered. The lean-to was almost destroyed, while one end of the barn was badly scorched and charred. When finally there were no more bright blazes but only embers, Mrs. Meadows turned to her son.
“Go on back to your horse. We’ll finish here.”
Jim returned to his stricken mustang. During the fire, excitement had replaced much of his grief, but now it returned with all its former force. Dejectedly he sat down beside Jean to stroke the horse’s quivering head. He was still dumbly patting Ticktock’s neck when Mr. Meadows came to stand beside him some minutes later. Jim looked up at his blackened, begrimed father.
“He broke his halter rope and kicked down the door,” said the older man. “Why he jumped the fence into the yard we’ll never know. I guess horses can do a lot more thinking than we realize. He may have wanted to warn us. If that was his idea, he succeeded, although he had to break his leg to do it. I suppose it’s small consolation, son, but your pony saved the barn and all the other stock.”
Ticktock had calmed down somewhat now that Jim was stroking his head again. He was still trembling, but he no longer tried to struggle futilely to his feet. The pain, while not the first horrible jabbing agony, was still present. He rolled his eyes in fright and only Jim’s comforting hand kept him from writhing about on the ground. Mr. Meadows knelt down, examining the leg carefully. He straightened up with a grim expression on his face.
“It’s broken, son,” he said. “I suppose you know that. It’s pretty high; so there isn’t a chance. You better go in the house and let me put him out of his pain.”
“No!” cried Jim, coming suddenly out of his stupor. “You can’t shoot him.”
“I don’t want to,” said his father gently. “But it’s the only thing we can do. The only thing that’s fair to Ticktock.”
“Call Dr. Cornby,” said Jim with a faint glimmer of hope in his voice. “Maybe he can fix it.”
“If the break were lower, there might be some possibility of saving him,” said Mr. Meadows. “I hate to disappoint you Jim, but Dr. Cornby won’t be able to do anything.”