The first day passed rapidly. The second morning Jim was stiff from riding all the previous day, but the soreness soon wore off. Noon found the two near Briggs Woods, a heavily wooded area about six miles from home. Jim’s route was such that the shortest way took him along the one road leading through the center of the forest. It was lonely and silent once the high trees closed behind him, but the semi-gloom appealed to the boy. He stopped beside a small stream in the middle of the forest to eat his lunch. As he munched his sandwiches he could see narrow trails which led back into the trees and hinted of mystery and excitement. There must be pools in the depths of the woods, decided Jim, for the air was filled with the croaking of frogs. A turtledove was giving its plaintive, mournful coo in the distance and there were rustling sounds in the underbrush that hinted of wild animals passing near by on their mysterious errands. Jim inhaled deeply of the odor of pine needles and moulding leaves. This would be a secret rendezvous belonging to him and Ticktock. When he had finished this job, they would explore the forest together until they knew it well. Somewhere, back up one of these little winding trails, they would find a perfect spot for a hidden camp.
After lingering so long in the woods, Jim was late in covering the area he had mapped out for the day. He delivered the last bill and turned Ticktock impatiently in the direction which he thought home to be. After going several miles, he not only recognized no landmarks, but the farms looked increasingly unfamiliar. He stopped and puzzled over his map. That didn’t help a great deal. He made a grimace and unsuccessfully tried to figure out his bearings from the rapidly setting sun. Very crestfallen, he had to admit that he was lost.
Knowing that he could stop in at any farmhouse and ask directions, Jim was not worried. However, he felt that to do so was to admit defeat. He and Ticktock were a self-reliant team, and it would hurt his pride to admit that they couldn’t handle any situation. Also he knew these Missouri farm women. They were kind—too kind to suit his purposes. They would give him very complete directions and then insist that he have something to eat. That would be fine, for he certainly was hungry, but matters wouldn’t stop there. They would promptly call his parents to keep them from worrying. That was the last thing Jim wanted. Not only had he boasted to his mother about not getting lost, but both she and his father might forbid his delivering circulars again the following day if they were afraid of his losing his way. No, there had to be a better way out.
Ticktock looked around at his rider with a question in his eyes. He was hungry too and couldn’t quite understand what they were waiting for.
“O.K., boy,” said Jim suddenly. “You figure it out. Take us home.” He let the reins go loose.
Ticktock set out confidently at a brisk trot. He turned right at the first corner without hesitation. He was going somewhere, there was no doubt of that. Jim hoped that it was in the right direction. After three or four miles, Jim’s confidence in Ticktock was justified, for the countryside began to look familiar.
“You’re the smartest horse in the world,” said Jim, patting Ticktock fondly on the neck. “There’s nothing we can’t do. We’ll really explore that woods now. At least you won’t get lost.”
Mr. Meadows was reading the Gazette when Jim arrived. The boy rushed in the house full of the news of this fresh evidence of the mustang’s brilliance.
“I didn’t mean to be late to help with the chores,” he explained, “but after I got ready to come home I was all twisted up in my directions and was going to ask the way, but instead I just let Ticktock go and he brought us right home.”