Chapter X

The rest of the oats and hay were sweet to my taste and I could have wished there had been more; as for water, I must wait for that until some friendly fount or trough appeared on the way.

Archie ate a few crackers, shook out his sweater and jacket and gave the blanket a vigorous flouncing, but could do no more for me than to shake off or pull away the damp leaves clinging to mane and tail. The blanket was strapped to my back, and then to the road again.

It will always be my belief that that was the longest day of my life. I was made to travel slowly from the start, and it was fortunate that such was the case: otherwise I never could have accomplished such a tramp. Archie, too, walked miles, for every little while he would dismount and stride along beside me.

At noon, my legs began to ache, I did not breathe quite easily, and had it not been for the belief that by night the hard journey would be over I feel sure discouragement would have overtaken me. And an unlooked for trial was before us.

Early in the afternoon, Archie stopped at a store where “hay, grain and feed,” was on a sign over the door, and suddenly came face to face with the man, Rondo.

“Ah, my fine, honest friend,” the man began, “so you thought to make off with my pony, Don, did you? Well, you see I can travel by train faster than you can pony-back. Now I’ll trouble you to get off, and let me get on that sprightly Don.”

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Archie stoutly. “This pony belongs to Mr. Van Vim of Greenpoint, and I’m going to take him home. He was stolen away last July, and his name is Dexter, not Don at all.”

“You can’t prove that,” roared Rondo. “I’ll call a policeman and tell him you are a young thief.”

“Call away,” said Archie. “This little hoss has been advertised for, and I’ll ask Mr. Policeman to give the pony a scrub and see him turn from rough black, to a smooth, handsome bay.”

At that, the gipsy said some very improper words but moved off muttering:

“I wish I’d caught you in the night, you young cub!”

Archie made no reply, but I was glad Rondo had found out that we knew how I came to be a trick pony in his unclean camp. We saw no more of him. He had reason to be afraid of us, while we had no reason to be afraid of him, seeing we were not alone or in the dark.

Again, mile after mile was passed during the afternoon, and until the early darkness fell. At last the way became familiar. Ah, how good it seemed! Here were outlying places where I had galloped and romped, first with Perley Bolt on my back, then with the lark-loving boys who hired me from Van Vim’s. Tillings also had exercised me along these smooth roads, and there was the great auto building and track where the races had taken place.

Oh, joy! I could almost see the snug, warm box stall at Mr. Van Vim’s livery, and smell the clover-laden hay as wearily, haltingly and nearly spent, I reached the stable door.

There was Tillings taking in a great pitchforkful of bedding from a side door, and at the boy’s sharp whistle he paused, a curious look of inquiry on his ruddy face.

“Hulloo, Tillings,” Archie sung out in his blithest tones.

“Hulloo, yourself,” Tillings replied aghast: “thought you’d started out to find your fortune, Archie Train. What forlorn little beast you got there?”

“It’s Dexter, I’ve brought him home.”

Archie spoke quietly, yet I felt him quiver with satisfaction and delight. Tillings replied in disgust,

“No, you don’t! That sorry little nag any relation to Dexter? No, oh, no! You can’t come that over me!”

“Ah, but I’ve the great story to tell you, Tillings. First, though, the poor little hoss wants everything the stable can do for him. He’s cold, hungry, thirsty and footsore and lame from almost endless travel. He’s been worked, half fed, and exposed, until he’s poor as a crow. Then again he’s been painted black right over his natural coat of bay.”

Tillings by this time was standing open-mouthed, the pitchfork of straw tilting ludicrously in mid-air.

“Where’s he been?” he gasped.

“Off in a gipsy tent. Gipsies stole him. They’ve taught him to dance and show off. Come now, I tell you the poor little hoss is all used up.”

For answer, Tillings rushed into the stable, threw the bedding into a stall, and called lustily:

“Misther Van Vim! Misther Van Vim! will ye be comin’ here, plaze.”

In a moment Mr. Van Vim appeared, and Tillings jabbered off the strange story just heard as if only half believing it. Meantime Archie stood holding me by the bridle.

“Take care of the poor little fellow,” Mr. Van Vim ordered. “And you, Archie Train,” he added, “had better go and stay with Widow Hebble for a few days; she will be glad of your help, I know; then something may turn up for you to do. But I want to ask one thing: please say nothing to anyone about Dexter’s return. I have my own reasons, for not wanting it known at present. I hope you will oblige me in this respect.”

Archie promised to keep the matter strictly to himself, waved me a cheery good-bye, and went his way, leaving me thankful at knowing he had a good place awaiting him.

How could a pony describe the comfort and luxury of what followed for me! Exhausted as I was, Tillings knew all about the refreshment and renewing that would come through needed treatment.

First, I was watered, but not too freely, then fed, oh, how delightfully! Never can I forget the satisfaction and healing of that hot mash! It was only bran thoroughly scalded with a little meal added, but it really gave me strength for what Tillings thought should be done before letting me lie down for the night.

Next into the washing trough went pails of hot water. But before washing, Tillings put some strong smelling stuff all over me. I know now it was to make that colouring matter come off the more easily. The man worked more than an hour, talking and scolding to himself as spongeful after spongeful of dark, sticky stuff yielded to the vigorous rubbing and was washed away.

Three times the trough was filled before Tillings considered me cleansed. Then how good the curry comb and drying cloths felt. At last I was all soft, glossy and _bay_!

Tillings, surveying his work, cried almost with a sob:

“Lean as a starved cat ye are and weak as a new baby; but it’s plump as a patridge an’ sassy as a magpie we’ll be havin’ you in no time, that we will, thin!”

He added more in his own jolly tones:

“Your oarn toasty blanket will cover ye all spick an’ span; now to bed wid ye, an’ if there’s a claner, more promisin’ little hoss than you be th’ night, jes’ trot him up, an’ I’ll be takin’ off me hat till him; I will that!”

He led me to my beautiful, longed for stall. Then what glory! In my own fine bay coat, clean, well-fed, and having been abundantly watered, I laid me down to such sweet, untroubled sleep as I had not known for many a long week.