Jim promptly accepted, sliding from Ticktock’s back. His host looked at the circular casually and then stuffed it in his pocket. He examined Jim and the mustang much more closely.
“Right pert-looking horse you got there, son,” he observed finally.
“Smartest horse in the country,” boasted Jim. “He can do anything.”
“That so?” asked the man. “Reckon he could catch that shoat over there?”
Jim looked in the direction of the pointing finger. A small black and white pig was wandering loose around the yard, stopping to root in the earth here and there.
“I reckon so,” answered Jim. “I don’t know why a horse would be needed to catch a pig though.”
“That shows how little you know about pigs,” said the old man. “That shoat is part razorback, part snake and the rest deer as near as I can figure it out. Leastwise you’d think so if you tried to catch it. Been loose three days now. Not that I mind pigs being loose around the yard—they’re sort of company to an old bachelor like me. But this little thing is the orneriest critter I ever run across. Yesterday it went over there where those beehives are and knocked three of them over. Today I dropped my plug of chewin’ tobacco and hanged if that shoat didn’t eat it before I could lean down. It’s started killin’ chickens too. Nothin’ worse than a hog that kills chickens; never did know one to be cured.”
“Where’s its pen?” asked Jim.
“Over there,” said the old man, pointing to an open gate. “I fixed the fence so it’ll hold if I can ever catch the dad-blamed pig. I guess I’m too old to catch a pig like that. Too lazy too. I retired twenty years ago and aside from a few chores, I been mighty happy doin’ nothin’ for years, and now this fool shoat has to come along to upset my peace of mind. If I don’t catch it, I’ll find it in my bed one of these nights. Already found it in the kitchen once.”