When they arrived at the clearing, Ticktock was standing near the brush hut. The man walked up to him and began patting him on the neck.
“How are you, old fellow?” he asked in a soft persuasive tone. Ticktock seemed to like the man. He looked over and winked at Jim as if he were putting the stamp of approval on the stranger.
“Nice horse you got here, son,” said the man.
“He sure is,” agreed Jim. He always warmed toward anyone who appreciated the mustang. Yes, this whole thing certainly was a puzzle.
“Why did you let him loose?” he asked.
“You don’t think I’m a horse thief, do you?” asked the other indignantly. “I could see that someone was taking awful good care of this pony and must like him. So I turned him loose.”
“Look here,” said Jim, “I can’t figure this out. Why should you be so scared just because you were riding on a freight? Lots of people do that.”
“In some states they put them in a chain gang or jail too, when they catch them.”
“That would explain your running off with Ticktock,” said Jim, reasoning out loud, “but it doesn’t account for your staying here in the woods. You look peaked and hungry to me. Why don’t you go some place where you can get something to eat? And where are your clothes?”
