“What does all this mean?” thought Tinkle to himself as he got up off the pile of bags in the moving van, and tried to stand. But he found that the motion of the big wagon, as it was rapidly driven away, toppled him about so that it was easier to lie down than to stay on his feet.
So Tinkle stretched out on the bags and tried to think what it all meant. His eyes were getting used to the dark now, and he could see, dimly, that he was in some place like his box stall. Only it was not as nice, and Tinkle could not smell any sweet hay or oats.
“I wonder if they can be taking me where George is?” thought Tinkle, for he had greatly missed the little boy and his sister who were accustomed to ride him or drive him about.
On and on went the moving van with Tinkle locked inside. The horses pulling the big wagon of course did not know they were taking a little pony away from his home. Even if they had known there was nothing they could have done. Poor Tinkle felt very sad and lonely. It was the first time anything like this had ever happened to him.
Up on the seat the two men were talking.
“Well, we got that trick pony all right,” said the red-haired one.
“Yes, but if the folks who own him find out we have him they’ll have us arrested,” said the short man.
“Oh, they’ll never find out. No one saw us take him, nobody but us knows he’s in this van and we’ll soon be far enough away. We can make money on this pony.”
On and on the moving van rumbled, farther and farther away, and pretty soon Tinkle, locked inside, began to feel hungry. He got up, intending to go about looking for something to eat. But the van tossed and tilted about so on the rough road that Tinkle was thrown against the side and bruised.
“I guess I had better stay lying down,” he said. “But I am very thirsty!”