Jean had long since gotten over her timidity concerning Ticktock and had ridden him occasionally before. Now she applied herself and obediently followed Jim’s instructions. She began riding Ticktock daily around the farm. Mr. Meadows was somewhat opposed to the idea, as he thought his daughter was too young to be riding Ticktock. Although small for a mustang and called a ranch pony, Ticktock was far from being any Shetland pony. Any fall from his back would be a long distance for such a small girl. Although he no longer had any worries about Jim and Ticktock, Mr. Meadows still considered the mustang to be rather high-spirited and apt to be vicious with anyone who didn’t know him too well. In spite of the parental disapproval, Jean spent more time each day learning to ride on the little horse.
Friday Jim had to help his father all day. At noon Jean asked to ride Ticktock; so Jim saddled the horse and then went back to the field with his father. After several hours of intermittent riding around the yard, Jean decided that the time had come for action. Casually she went into the house to find her mother.
“I think I’ll ride down the road a way,” she announced.
“Be careful,” warned her mother, who did not share her husband’s fears about Ticktock.
“Sure. I may be gone a little while so don’t worry.”
As soon as she was out of sight of the house, Jean urged the mustang to a faster pace and headed toward the woods. She knew the trail to the hide-out began somewhere near the middle of the forest. It was very gloomy in the heavy shade, but that just added to the excitement for her. Resolutely she rode on.
Had Jean allowed Ticktock to have his head once they were in the forest, he would have undoubtedly taken her straight to the hideaway, as he had Timothy. The way was old and familiar to him now. But Jean insisted on directing the little horse. While she had taken quite a few peeks on her blindfolded trip to the hide-out, she hadn’t seen quite enough. Jim had circled and doubled back, which misled her too. The woods were confusing, one trail or stream looking like another. She knew they had roughly followed a stream for a distance, so she chose one and boldly plunged into the woods.
It was difficult riding, trying to duck branches or push them out of the way. Jean couldn’t tell too well where she was going, and after some distance she began to be discouraged and tired. She was determined, however. Any trouble was acceptable if she could only show up her brother and find the hideaway. She was certain that if she found the place she would also solve the mystery of why he was now taking away perishable food.
Seeing nothing that looked familiar, Jean stopped for a few minutes to rest and get her bearings. As she did so, she saw a tree loaded with persimmons on the opposite bank of the stream. She dismounted and picked a spot to cross. It was a tiny rivulet, but it had deep steep banks from the spring floods. She walked upstream until she found a spot where she could cross. Returning to the tree, she began climbing. She was reaching out for a particularly large persimmon when she lost her balance and fell. She landed on her back with a breath-taking thump and then tumbled on down the bank of the stream. Her right foot hit a rock at the bottom and doubled under her. There was a wrench and a horribly sharp pain. Her scream of anguish brought Ticktock to the bank. He peered down at the huddled heap at the bottom.
