“Don’t do that, Dad,” Jim pleaded. “He asked me if I was sure it would be all right with you.”
“Well that is about as low a piece of swindling as I’ve ever encountered,” said the older man, “taking advantage of a boy!”
“He wasn’t a swindler. Besides, he said he’d be back this fall and if I wasn’t satisfied, he’d trade back.”
“Back this fall,” scoffed his father. “Why he’ll have that watch in the first pawn shop he finds. He’s probably laughing now at how he got rid of such a broken-down old plug.”
Miserable as he was, Jim was not going to let anyone make remarks about Ticktock. “He isn’t broken-down and he isn’t old either. Only six years old.”
“Six years old!” said Mr. Meadows scornfully. “Why he’s closer to sixteen. Did you look at his teeth?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ll show you something about your valuable horse!” said Carl Meadows, advancing toward Ticktock.
The mustang had been watching and listening to the argument with interest. He couldn’t understand the words, but there was little else that he missed. The frequent looks of contempt that Carl Meadows had given him hadn’t passed unnoticed. Ticktock was a horse of considerable independence. He wanted people to like him, but if they didn’t, he wasted little time in trying to win their favor. Affection was a two-way affair with him. Mrs. Meadows and Jean were neutral and puzzled respectively, so Ticktock reserved judgment on them. But the mustang definitely did not like the tall man. When Mr. Meadows reached out confidently to open his jaws, Ticktock promptly took a nip at one of the outstretched hands. It wasn’t a savage bite—just a moderate bite, as the mustang didn’t hate the strange man. He merely didn’t want to be handled by anyone who disliked him. However, the nip was enough to take the skin off one finger and draw blood.
Mr. Meadows jerked his arm back and really cursed this time. He shook the injured hand and glared with hatred at the pony.