Jim wasn’t the only one who disliked the bull, for Mrs. Meadows was very nervous concerning the big red animal. She was also home this particular Saturday. Her last words to her husband, before he and Jean left for town, had been about the mean-tempered bull.
“Carl, I wish you’d see Colonel Flesher and sell that ugly brute. When I stay home without you I’m always afraid that he’ll get loose.”
“I’ll get rid of him this fall,” Mr. Meadows had said, laughing. “He’s safe enough in the orchard and I’m certain there’s nothing you’ll want in there today.”
Jim lay thinking about the time he had been trapped in the tree. He was still angry about that and wished he could think of some way of evening the score. Besides, that orchard would certainly make a nice private pasture for the horse. Grazing in the yard was not too satisfactory. His mother had objected at first on the grounds that Ticktock would eat or trample her flowers. They had finally compromised by agreeing that the mustang could graze on the strip between the drive and the orchard fence. As Jim disliked tethering his horse, he had to watch carefully; but it was worth it. The pony was near and each mouthful he ate was that much less lawn to be mowed.
Jim was turning over the weighty problem of whether to go for a ride now or to try arguing his mother out of another cookie, when he noticed the bull coming through the orchard gate. Either the gate had been insecurely fastened or else the latch had been broken. He jumped to his feet in alarm.
“Mother, the bull’s loose!” he shouted.
His mother came through the door onto the porch just as Jim started down the steps. She made a frantic grab and caught her son by his overall suspenders. She pulled him, kicking and struggling, back to the center of the porch.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“Ticktock is in the yard,” pointed out Jim, almost beside himself with fear for his precious horse.
“The bull won’t bother a horse,” Jim’s mother reassured him.