It was hot, shut up inside the big wagon, and Tinkle thought longingly of the trough of cool drinking water in the stable yard and wished he were back there.
The men who had taken Tinkle away made the horses drawing the van hurry along, so they were soon out of the city where the Farleys lived. They drove along a country road and, just as night was coming on, they came to another city where they had their stable, and where they kept the van.
“Well, let’s see how the pony stood the trip,” said the red-haired man as he opened the big end doors.
“He seems to be all right,” replied the other. He held up a lantern and looked inside. Tinkle got up from his bed on the old bags. He saw the open doors and he smelled hay and oats, though the smell was not as good as that which came from his stable at home.
“Lift him out, and we’ll put him in one of the stalls,” said the red-haired man.
But Tinkle did not wait to be lifted out. He knew how to jump, and, giving a leap, he was quickly on the ground. Then, as he did not like the place where he was, nor the men who had taken him from his nice home, Tinkle tried to run away.
But the men were too quick for him. One of them caught him by the mane and the other by the nose, pinching so that it hurt Tinkle.
“Look out! He’s a lively chap!” cried the short man. “He wants to get away.”
“Yes. We must put a halter on him and tie him in the stall,” said the other.
Tinkle again tried hard to get away, but could not. If he had been a big, strong horse he might have broken loose from the men. But, as I have said, he was not much bigger than a large Newfoundland dog. The men easily held him and led him into the barn.