TINKLE THE TRICK PONY

HIS MANY ADVENTURES

BY

RICHARD BARNUM

Author of “Squinty, the Comical Pig,” “Mappo, the Merry Monkey,” “Tum Tum, the Jolly Elephant,” “Don, a Runaway Dog,” “Flop Ear, the Funny Rabbit,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

WALTER S. ROGERS

PUBLISHERS BARSE & HOPKINS NEW YORK, N. Y. NEWARK, N. J.

Copyright, 1917 by Barse & Hopkins

Tinkle, The Trick Pony

Printed in the United States of America

ILLUSTRATIONS

[7]

TINKLE, THE TRICK PONY

CHAPTER I TINKLE IN THE SWAMP

Tinkle stopped nibbling the sweet, green grass of the meadow, blew a long breath from his nose, raised his head and looked around. Then he blinked his eyes slowly, turned to look first on one side, then on the other, and to himself he said:

“I’m going to run away!”

He did not say this aloud for fear some of the other ponies or the horses would hear him. Oh! I forgot to tell you that Tinkle was a little pony, that lived in the big green meadow; and, being a pony, of course Tinkle ate grass, and liked it, too.

So, as I said, Tinkle stopped eating the grass and said to himself once more:

“I’m going to run away!”

The reason Tinkle did not want the other ponies and the horses to know what he was[8] going to do was because his mother and father were over in one corner of the meadow, and if they knew he intended to run away, they would not let him do it; any more than your mother or father would let you run away.

Of course I know that horses sometimes run away when they are frightened by something, and I suppose ponies, too, may, once in a while, trot off when they ought not. But that isn’t saying it is right.

“Yes,” said Tinkle to himself, “I’m going to run away. I’m tired of staying in this meadow all the while. Why, I’ve been here over a year now, and there hasn’t a thing happened except a thunder storm now and then, or a rain shower. I want to see something more than that. I want to have some fun, and go off to a big city, such as the other horses tell about.

“Why, there’s Dapple Gray,” went on Tinkle, looking at an old horse who had come to the green meadow for a long rest. “I’ve heard Dapple tell stories about drawing a big shiny wagon that spouted fire and smoke just like the chimney on the house where The Man lives. That was great! I’d like to pull the kind of wagon Dapple tells about, and hear the bells ring and see the sparks fly and the water spout out on the fire. I wonder what kind of wagon it was?”

[9]

Of course you have guessed. It was a fire engine that Dapple Gray had pulled, and he never tired of telling the other horses about it.

Tinkle used often to listen to the stories Dapple Gray and the other horses told as they gathered in the shade of the clump of trees in the green meadow after their dinner or their breakfast of sweet, green grass.

For Tinkle lived on what is called a stock farm, not far from a big city. The farm was owned by a person whom the horses called “The Man.” Really his name was John Carter and he raised horses and ponies to sell to other men.

Mr. Carter liked his horses very much, and was very kind to them, and he loved his little ponies, of whom Tinkle was one. The ponies and the horses lived in a warm barn in the Winter, but in the Summer they were “turned out to grass,” and could walk or run all over the big meadow, and do almost as they pleased.

Sometimes men would come to the stock farm to buy horses. They might want one to pull a coal wagon or a wagon from which vegetables were sold. Some of the horses, like Dapple, were used to haul fire engines, while others pulled fine carriages in which rode men and women. The ponies were sold, too, but they were only put to such easy work as carrying[10] boys and girls around on their backs, or pulling little carriages in the parks.

“But nothing like that ever happened to me,” said Tinkle as he began slowly to walk away. “So I’m going to run off, as far as I can go, and maybe I’ll have some adventures like Dapple Gray.”

Tinkle had eaten plenty of the sweet, green grass, so he was no longer hungry. He did not need to take anything to eat with him when he ran away. In the first place ponies have no pockets in which to carry anything, though, of course, if they are hitched to a wagon, that would hold corn, hay or oats which ponies like to eat.

But, as for that, all round in the meadow where Tinkle lived was grass to eat. He had only to stop and nibble some when he was hungry, so he had no need to carry anything with him.

“There is more here than I could eat all Summer,” thought the little pony. “And when I get tired of running away I can just rest myself, eat grass and then run on some more.”

Though Tinkle called it “running away” he was really walking. Just as some children do when they start to run away, they don’t run at all, but walk.

One reason why Tinkle did not care to run was that he did not want his father, mother or[11] the other ponies or the horses to see him. They might not notice him if he just walked, but if he started to run some one would be sure to ask:

“Why, where is that Tinkle pony going now?”

And then Tinkle’s mother would look up and say:

“Oh, dear! That silly little pony will get into trouble! I must go and bring him back.”

Then she would run after Tinkle, and all his fun would be spoiled. Of course the ponies and horses in the meadow used often to run about, kick up their heels and roll over and over on their backs in the soft grass. But this was only because they felt so good and frisky and lively that they simply could not do anything else.

But when the colts ran that way, they nearly always went around in a circle, like a merry-go-round, only bigger, and the father and mother horses thought nothing of that.

“I’m not going to run that way,” said Tinkle to himself. “I’m going far off.”

By this time he was quite away from the other horses. But, as he looked back, he saw them all standing in a circle with their noses close together. Dapple Gray was in the center of the ring, and Tinkle’s father and mother were among those on the outside.

[12]

“Dapple is telling another story about how he drew the funny wagon with the chimney on,” thought Tinkle. “I don’t want to hear that again.”

Ponies and horses, you know, can talk among themselves and think, just as we can, only, of course, they can’t think quite as much perhaps, nor as hard. But if they could not talk among themselves how could the mother pony tell the little pony what was good to eat and what not? So, though horses and ponies can’t talk to us in words as we talk to one another, they do speak among themselves.

You have often heard horses and ponies whinny, I suppose; and perhaps that is when they are trying to talk to us, though I must say I never could understand what they were trying to say. Perhaps some day I may.

At any rate Tinkle was thinking to himself, as he slowly wandered across the meadow. He was thinking what wonderful things might happen to him—adventures and travels.

On and on he wandered, looking back now and then to make sure neither his father nor his mother nor any of the others saw him. But they were listening to Dapple Gray tell of once falling down in the street while drawing the fire engine and how nearly a trolley car ran over him.

[13]

And the other horses liked the story so much that none of them thought of Tinkle, or looked at him. They listened to Dapple Gray.

The other young ponies, many of whom were about the size of Tinkle, were down at the far end of the meadow, having a game of what you would, perhaps, call tag, though what the ponies called it I do not know. Probably they had some funny name among themselves like “hoof-jump” or “tail-wiggle,” or something like that.

Anyhow, they were having so much fun among themselves that none of them paid any attention to Tinkle.

“They won’t see me at all,” thought the little pony. “I’ll run away where they can never find me.”

Of course Tinkle was not doing this to be bad, but he was just tired of staying in one place so long, and he wanted to have adventures.

On and on he wandered, and finally he came to a fence. Now the fence was put around the meadow to keep the horses and the ponies from getting out. But Tinkle had heard stories of horses jumping fences so he thought he would try it; for he was not strong enough to push down the fence, as he had once heard of Bellow, the big black bull, doing.

Standing off a little way from the fence Tinkle[14] ran toward it, gave a jump up in the air, and then—he did not get over the fence. Instead he fell against it and hurt himself.

“Ha! that is no fun!” thought Tinkle. “I must jump higher next time.” And the next time he did jump high enough to go over the fence, coming down on the other side, kerplunk!

“At last I have really run away,” thought the little pony.

He found himself in another green meadow, but it was not as nice as the one he had left. The grass was longer, but it was hard and tough, and hurt Tinkle’s mouth and tongue when he chewed it.

“But I don’t have to eat it,” said the little pony. “I can wait until I get to where there is better grass. I’m not very hungry.”

So he walked on a little farther, and pretty soon he came to some trees. In and out among them he wandered, and when he stopped to look back he found that he could no longer see the meadow in which he had lived so long with his father, his mother and the other ponies and the horses.

“And they can’t see me, either,” thought Tinkle. “They won’t know where I’ve gone, so they can’t find me. I’m going to have a good time all by myself, and there’ll be nobody to say:[15] ‘Don’t do this. Don’t do that’; as they always do when I’m in the green meadow.”

On and on went Tinkle and soon he was quite a long distance from what had been his home. Then he noticed that the ground, instead of being hard and firm under his hoofs, was getting soft and springy, and that his feet sank down in it a little way. He saw, too, that when he lifted his hoofs from the marks they left little pools of water in the holes they made.

“This is queer,” thought Tinkle. “I must be getting near the lake I have heard my father tell about. I wonder if I can swim?”

Tinkle looked about, and just ahead he saw a puddle of water. It was too small for a lake, but there was enough of it for him to splash in, and, as he was now thirsty, he ran on to get a drink. And then a queer thing happened.

Just before Tinkle reached the water he felt his legs and hoofs sinking down in the soft ground. He tried to lift his left front foot, but could not. And his right hind foot was also stuck fast.

“Oh, dear! What has happened to me?” cried poor Tinkle. “I can’t move!”

And really he could not. Tinkle was caught fast in the sticky mud of a big swamp!

[16]

CHAPTER II TINKLE MAKES TROUBLE

Dapple Gray had just finished telling the story of his being caught under the trolley car, the time he was drawing the fire engine.

“And so,” went on the old horse, “men came and pushed the car off my legs. The firemen loosened my harness and then I could get up.”

“Weren’t you hurt?” asked Mrs. Chestnut, who was called that because she was colored brown.

“Well, my legs were a bit scratched, and I had some bruises on my side, but I could still run and pull the engine. You see we horses couldn’t stop whenever we wanted to. We had to pull the funny chimney-wagon to where the fire was blazing so the men could squirt water on it.

“Men are queer,” went on Dapple Gray. “They’ll build a big fire in a house so the house almost burns up, and then they’ll make us horses run like mad to draw water to put it out. I never could understand it.”

[17]

Of course Dapple Gray did not know that the house caught fire by accident and that it had to be put out for fear other houses near it might burn.

“And so you ran on, even if your legs were cut?” asked Tinkle’s father.

“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Dapple Gray. “The cuts hurt me, but when I got back to the stable the firemen put some cooling salve on the wounds and bound my legs up with white rags so they felt better.”

“Well, I don’t believe I’d like that,” said Tinkle’s mother. “Life is too exciting in the city. I like it best in this quiet country meadow, where you can eat grass whenever you like, or rest in the shade when you are tired.”

“Look at those ponies having fun down there,” said another horse, pointing with his nose toward the group that was playing tag. “I remember when I was young I liked to play that way.”

“Is Tinkle there?” asked the pony’s father. “He is one of the best taggers I’ve ever seen. When he grows a little bigger he’ll be a fine racer, I think.”

Tinkle’s mother looked toward where the ponies were running about, touching one another with their hoofs or noses, or switching at one another with their frisky tails.

[18]

“I don’t see Tinkle,” she said.

“Oh, he must be there,” said Tinkle’s father. “I’ll go and look.”

Off he trotted to where the other colts were playing. He looked at them for a little while, but he did not see Tinkle among them.

“That’s queer,” thought the father pony. “Tinkle likes tag so much, I wonder why he isn’t here?”

He stood still, looking more closely, to make sure he had not missed the little pony; but no, Tinkle was not there.

“I’ll ask some of them,” said the father pony to himself. So, giving a loud whinny, to make himself heard above the noise the tag-playing ponies were making, the father pony asked:

“Have any of you seen our Tinkle?”

“No, I haven’t,” said a little brown pony.

“Nor I,” added one who was speckled brown and white.

“I saw him a while ago, eating grass,” answered a third.

“He hasn’t been playing tag with us this morning,” added a fourth pony, who had a very long tail.

“I wonder where Tinkle can be,” murmured his father.

Then up spoke a little pony with a white spot on his back.

[19]

“I saw Tinkle going over that way,” he said, and he raised his hoof and pointed toward a fence on the far side of the field.

“Did you really see him going that way?” asked the father pony.

“I really did,” answered the little pony.

“Oh my! That’s too bad!” thought Tinkle’s father to himself, but he did not say this to the ponies, for he did not want to frighten them. Well did the older pony know of the dangerous swamp that was on the other side of the fence.

“If he is in the sticky bog-mud we’ll have trouble getting him out,” said the father pony to himself. “I must go back and tell some of the others. But I don’t want Tinkle’s mother to know. What shall I do?”

The father pony trotted back to where Dapple Gray and the others stood.

“Well, was he there?” asked Tinkle’s mother.

Tinkle’s father shook his head.

“Where is he then?”

“Oh, he probably went off for a little walk by himself. I’ll go and find him,” and he tried to speak easily.

“But I don’t see him anywhere!” and the mother pony looked anxiously about the big green meadow. She could see every corner of it, and Tinkle was not in sight.

“Now you just stay here, and I’ll bring him[20] back,” said Tinkle’s father quietly. At the same time he nodded his head at Dapple Gray and one or two of the other men-horses, and two or three of his closest friends among the men-ponies. They moved away together. Tinkle’s mother looked at them as if to say:

“I wonder if anything could have happened?”

“What’s the matter?” asked Dapple Gray in a low voice of Tinkle’s father, speaking in horse-talk, of course.

“I’m not sure, but I’m afraid Tinkle has jumped the fence and has gone over to the big swampy bog,” was the answer. “If he has, and is stuck fast, we’ll have to go and get him out. But I don’t want his mother to know it.”

The men-animals walked over toward the fence. Tinkle’s father looked down at the ground. He saw little hoof marks.

“Yes, Tinkle has been here,” he said. “I can see where he ran to get a good start so he could jump over the fence.”

“He is a good jumper to do that,” remarked one of the horses.

“Yes, Tinkle is a good jumper, for a colt,” said his father. “I think he will be very smart when he grows up. But he should not jump fences into the swamp. That is not right.”

“How are we going to get over the fence to help him if he is stuck?” asked Dapple Gray.

[21]

“Can’t we jump?” another horse inquired.

“Maybe you can, but I can’t,” returned Dapple Gray. “One of my legs is stiff, where I was hurt by the trolley car. Once I could easily have jumped over that fence, but I’m afraid I can’t do it now.”

“I don’t know whether I can either,” observed Tinkle’s father. “I’m not so young as I once was. But if we all push together I think we can knock the fence down. Then we can get through to see what has happened to my pony boy. We want you to come along, Dapple, because you have been in the big city where all sorts of things happen to horses. You’ll know what is best to do.”

“Thank you,” whinnied Dapple Gray. “I’ll do my best.”

Together the big horses and the ponies pushed at the fence. Tinkle’s mother watched them, and when she saw what was being done she became frightened.

“Something dreadful must have happened to Tinkle,” she said. “I can’t stay here. I’m going to see what it is.”

So she began to run toward the men-animals. By this time they were giving a second push to the fence, and, as they were very strong, they knocked off some boards so they could get through.

[22]

“Now we’ll see what has happened to Tinkle,” said his father. “Tinkle! Tinkle! Where are you?” he called.

But Tinkle did not answer, for he was far away in the swamp, and just then he was splashing around in the mud and water trying to pull loose his feet from the sticky place.

“We’ll have to go farther on into the swamp,” said Dapple Gray, when they had waited a minute to see if Tinkle would answer.

“But we must be careful,” said one horse, slowly picking his steps. “This is soft ground here. See how deep my hoofs sink.”

“Indeed it is a bad place,” agreed Tinkle’s father. “I hope nothing happens to us. Be careful, every one.”

Slowly the horses and the ponies walked along, picking out the hardest and firmest ground they could find on which to step, especially the horses, for they were, of course, heavier than the most grown-up pony. Now and then all stopped to listen, and Tinkle’s father would call the pony’s name. At last one of the horses said:

“Hark! I think I heard something.”

They all listened. Through the trees of the swamp came a call:

“Help me! Help me!”

“That’s Tinkle!” cried his father. “We’re coming, Tinkle. Where are you?” he asked.

[23]

[24]

“I’m over here, and I’m stuck in the swamp. I can’t get my feet out of the mud!”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Dapple Gray. “Just like a foolish little pony! Now we must get him out.”

So anxious was he to help his little pony that Tinkle’s father galloped on ahead. Some of the others did the same. They did not listen to Dapple calling:

“Wait! Be careful! Look out or you’ll be caught in the swamp yourselves!”

On and on ran Tinkle’s father and the others. They could tell which way to go by hearing Tinkle’s voice calling to them, just as your dog can tell where you are, even though he can not see you, when he hears you whistling to him.

“There he is! I see him!” cried Tinkle’s father as he came in sight of the pool of water, on the edge of which the pony was stuck in the mud.

“We’re coming! We’re coming, Tinkle!” he cried.

Then something dreadful happened. Tinkle’s father, and four or five of his friends, became stuck in the swamp mud also. Their feet sank away down, for they were heavier than Tinkle, and, try as they did, they could not lift themselves out.

[25]