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The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, August 24, 1945, Image 7

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j!f7 l^ndetitead^
head, or the OobUn aa he la commonly
known, la the only white horae ever born
on the Goote Bar ranch In Wyoming.
He growa from an ngly, misshapen colt
to a powerful yearling, showing more
and more characteristics of his great
grandstre, a wild stallion called the Al
bino. One day the Goblin wanders
southward Into the mountains. An eagle
attacks him, and he runs home In terror.
Soon, however, he goes back, and finds
a valley In which wild horses live. He
encounters the Albino, and barely es
capes with his life. Meanwhile his
mother, Flicka, Is bearing her next foal.
The birth Is premature, and the veter
inarian Is In attendance.
“Sacrifice the foal,” said Mc-
Laughlin, “the mare won’t stand
much more.”
“May not have to,” said Doc.
“I’m not stumped yet.”
They fastened a block and tackle
to the wall and ran the rope through
it. Then Doc fetched an instrument
like a pair of ice tongs, and to Ken’s
horror, thrust the points into the
foal’s eye sockets. Then they all
pulled together.
It moved a little. Flicka heaved
and struggled convulsively. The men
hauled until they were red in the
face. And suddenly the whole little
body slid out.
Instantly the men undid the ropes
and Gus went to prepare a hot mash
for Flicka.
The doctor kneeled over the foal,
which was barely alive.
“Is it premature?” asked Nell.
, “It might be a little. The teeth
are just through. When was the mare
1 “We don’t know exactly.”
i “Will it live?” asked Ken.
The doctor did not answer. He
wiped the foal dry and clean, mas
saged it and gave it a hypodermic
Injection. It was a very small tut
neatly made filly. It had a short
back, long spidery legs close to
gether and a small fine head with
a dish face. It was a pinkish yel
low with blond tail and mane.
“Just like Flicka!” exclaimed
“Will it live?” insisted Ken.
“Can’t say for sure, it’s pretty
weak. But sometimes these little
fellows surprise you. It’s just touch
and go.”
They were all astonished to see that
the terrible hooks had not injured
the foal’s eyes at all.
Nell noticed Ken’s face. It was
white and drawn. When Flicka suf
fered he suffered. She wondered if,
after all the suffering, there would
ever be any good thing come from
the Albino’s blood. Would it be, per
haps, this tiny filly?
• Soon Flicka was able to get to her
feet and eat her mash. The filly
showed signs of life and struggled
to rise. Doc and McLaughlin lifted
it and held it up underneath its dam
to nurse. When the teat touched
its lips it opened its mouth and' be
'gan to suck, and everyone watching
smiled and relaxed.
When it had had enough, it was
put down on the hay again and the
veterinarian prepared to leave.
At this moment, a shadow at the
door blocked out the sunlight. They
turned to look and saw the Goblin
standing there.
If Ken had seen someone returned
from the dead he could hardly have
felt a more violent shock. Over his
whole body there poured a wave of
heat, followed by such bliss that he
could not see clearly.
Then Gus’s voice exclaimed,
“Yiminy Crickets! Luk at him! He’s
tore to pieces!” And Ken’s eyes
cleared and he saw the wounds and
scabs on Goblin’s white coat and
rushed to him.
Goblin was startled and fled
around the corral. He did not, how
ever, go out of the open gate, but
circled and came hesitatingly back.
McLaughlin reprimanded Ken
sharply, then, himself, went quietly
toward the colt, his eye running over
him. “Steady, old boy! Gosh! Look
at that ear! That’s a nice fellow—
what a rip in the shoulder—”
“And there’s a piece chewed out
of his fanny!” said Howard.
: “That colt’s sure been in a fight,”
said the vet, eyeing the swollen
shoulder wound. “That was done by
a hoof, and a mighty big one.
I’d better take a look at it while
I’m here.”
“Get a bucket of oats, Howard,”
said McLaughlin, “and Ken, bring
the halter.”
The Goblin was ravenous for the
oats. They haltered him and Mc-
Laughlin and the vet examined his
“Look here,” "said Doc, “here are
some other wounds that are nearly
healed. He’s been in two fights.
Look at the mark of claws here on
the other shoulder—might have been
a wildcat—”
“And,” said Howard excitedly,
“look at the little scars all over the
underside of his neck and belly—
what did that?”
They were scattered snags, nearly
healed. Doc was puzzled. He shook
his head. “Might be wire snags,"
he said doubtfully.
Every time the Goblin lifted his
nose out of the bucket he turned
his head toward Nell. She smoothed
his lace, wondering if this ended
all their future hopes. That shoul
der wound looked deep. If it had
reached the bones or tendons—
Rob voiced her thought. ..“This
shoulder wound, Doc—will it hint
his speed?”
I “I don’t think so,” said Doc. “It
was a glancing blow.”
“What gets me,” said McLaugh
lin, “is how did he get in here?
There’s a four-strand barbed-wire
fence between this pasture and the
county road.”
Doc laughed as he pulled on his
shirt. “My guess is, you’ve got a
“I’ve seen plenty of wooden fences
in the east jumped.” Rob shook his
head. “But horses don’t jump these
wire fences. No—there must be
some gates open somewhere up the
“Train him for a hunter,” said
Doc, “and send him east to a hunt
club. You’d get a big price for him.
He’s a husky—how old is he? A
long yearling?"
“A short yearling,” said Ken
proudly. “He was foaled last Sep
“By Jinks!” said the vet. “He’s
a baby elephant.”
“He’s made a good beginning as a
stallion,” said McLaughlin dryly.
“He’ll carry these scars all his life.”
“Gee! It must have been some
fight!” exclaimed Howard excited
ly. “Do you think he mixed it up
with Banner, Dad? Banner’s the only
stallion around here.”
“It might have been one of the
other yearlings,” said Nell. “They
might have been fighting—”
“Not a hoof of that size,” said
Rob, indicating the shoulder wound.
“It could only be Banner. If Gob
lin has started fighting Banner—but
I can’t understand Banner’s giving
him such punishment—the colt must
have done something to deserve it.”
They exchanged a flurry of blows.
But Ken didn’t have the colt for
long. He had been put into the
home pasture, to be close at hand
in case his wounds needed tending.
Flicka and her filly were put there
too as soon as the little foal could
run at her mother’s side. There
sprang up between Goblin and his
little sister one of those strange at
tachments that exist between horses.
When he was near, she must leave
her dam’s side and wander to him.
He would stand, his high head
curved and bent to her. She would
reach up her little muzzle to touch
his face and neck.
The boys carried oats to them
morning and evening. One morning
the Goblin was not there. Rob ex
amined all the fences. “I’m begin
ning to think Doc must have been
right, and that he can jump these
fences,” he said frowning. “Unless
he rolled under that place on the
south side where there’s a little hol
The boys saddled up and rode out
to hunt for him. He was not with
the yearlings, nor brood mares, nor
the two-year-olds. He was nowhere
to be seen.
This time Ken was not so un
happy. The colt had come back
once—he probably would again. The
new fortitude was sufficient for this
strain upon it, although when he was
ready to say his prayers that night,
it did cross his mind to ask the Al
mighty if He thought it was quite
fair to be an Indian giver? He sup
pressed this impulse as being not
entirely respectful and, possibly,
prejudicial to future favors.
The little filly grew and thrived.
Her hoofs and bones hardened. She
came to know the family, the dogs,
the cats, and te be interested in all
their comings and goings.
Nell named her Touch And Go.
Rob McLaughlin was crazy about
her. She meant something to him—
the justification of his theory of line
breeding. His eyes were very keen
and blue and narrow as he looked at
“Now there’s a litle filly that’s
got points!” he said. “Look at those
perfect legs!”
He began to feed her oats almost
from the start. He would let her
mouth a few grains at a time. With
plentiful feeding she would over
come the handicap of her premature
; birth—she had it in her. What she
had in her would come out. They
• halter-broke and handled her early
without any trouble at all.
"I always had a hunch that if
: Flicka was bred back to Banner I’d
get something out of the ordinary.”
i They were sitting on the terrace
after supper, Flicka and the filly
near the fountain in the center of
i the Green. Suddenly they heard the
thunder of hoofs from below in the
calf pasture and saw, rounding the
shoulder of the hill, the Goblin com
ing at a canter. Rob rose to his
feet, astonished—how could the colt
have got into the calf pasture?
In a moment they all knew. There
was a four-strand barbed wire fence
between the Green and the calf pas
ture. Goblin cantered easily up to
it—swerved to aim at the gate post,
and cleared it easily. He came can
tering to Flicka and the filly, neigh
ing a greeting.
“Well I’m damned,” said Rob,
then put his pipe back slowly into
his mouth. “If he’s started fighting
Banner and jumping all the fences,
there’s going to be hell to pay from
now on. This means he can come
and go as he pleases.”
The boys rushed down to the Green
chattering excitedly.
Nell followed them with Rob.
Goblin and his little sister were in
an ecstasy of reunion.
“He’s kissing her!” shouted Ken.
“Look Mother! Look at Goblin!”
“It’s simply ridiculous to call him
Goblin,” said Nell. “That’s not a
Goblin. That’s Thunderhead.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Ken felt his mother’s words go right
through him. It had come at last—
The white foal seemed inches taller.
He had grown in all his parts so
that he had still that appearance of
maturity and strange precocity—like
a boy carrying a man’s responsibil
Nell looked up at her husband.
“Don’t you see, Rob? He’s com
pletely changed. He’s been changed
ever since he was lost the first time,
when he got those awful cuts.”
“How do you mean—changed?”
demanded Howard. i
“Well—sort of grown-up. More
dignified. Something has come into
him that was never there before,
and it’s ironed out a lot of his awk
wardness and meanness. We must
call him by his right name from
now on—he deserves it.”
“The Goblin is dead—long live
Thunderhead,” shouted Howard.
Ken got a bucket of oats and fed
the wanderer. Then Flicka. Then
offered the bucket to the tiny filly.
She jabbed her inquisitive little nose
into it, took it out with a few grains
sticking to it and jumped away,
mouthing them, tossing her head
up and down.
“Dad,” said Ken, “where does he
go when he goes off—Thunderhead,
I mean?” Ken almost blushed with
embarrassment when he gave his
colt the great title.
“I wish I knew,” said Rob slowly.
“And that jumping of wire fences —
he’s had no training—he’s inherited
that—straight from the Albino. He’s
an absolute throwback. That fel
low was a great jumper. No fence
could hold him.”
When it grew darker they put the
three horses down into the calf pas
r'Not that it will do much good,”
said Rob dryly. “That bronc’ll come
and go as he pleases.”
They sat on the terrace again for
a while in the dark. Across the
Green two hoot owls were calling to
each other.
Rob said at last thoughtfully,
“Well Thunderhead can jump.
Thunderhead can buck. Thunder
head can fight. But none of these
accomplishments are important to a
racer. It remains to be seen if
Thunderhead can run.”
Thunderhead could run, but an
other year passed before they knew
it for certain. The boys had come
home from school for their summer
vacation again, and the colt, being
now a two-year-old, was started on a
course of intensive training.
He had had his freedom all win
ter. There had been times when,
Rob and Nell knew, he was no
where on the Goose Bar ranch. He
went south—that much had been dis
covered. He stayed away awhile.
He came back. But now that Ken
was home and had begun training
him in earnest, he was to be kept in
all summer. No more gallivanting.
Ken worked with the colt for a
fortnight. He went through the drill
with halter, grooming, blanketing all
over again. He rode him bareback,
then with saddle. He rode him in
the corral, neck-reining him, doing
figure eights, making him back and
advance, stand. Seldom was a day
that he was not bucked off. He final
ly took him out of the corral and
struggled with him in the open. The
colt wheeled, lunged, balked—gal
loped a little, then fought and backed
and refused—refused—then bucked.
Ken remounted him and the fight
began again.
Thunderhead didn’t like his mas
ter. Often he seemed animated by
a definite spirit of hatred. He gal
loped at a big tree and tried to
scrape the boy off. Ken yanked his
head around just in time. Then
Thunderhead learned how to take the
bit in his teeth and run away. It
was a rough, fighting gallop, with the
weight of the horse’s head so heavy
I in Ken’s hands that he was racked
j to pieces.
First Warlord. Here are some
American terms of surrender. Let
us reject them at once.
Second Warlord. Why so fast?
Wouldn’t it be well to think them
First Warlord.—lf we start think
ing at this point all is lost.
Third Warlord. Are the terms
really bad?
First Warlord. I never realized
Japan’s position was so terrible until
I read them.
Fourth Warlord. Just what is
the ultimatum?
First Warlord. lf we don’t give
up now we will get into trouble!
Second Warlord. That is the
understatement of the war.
Third Warlord.—Does it not mean
that by rejecting the terms we will
be leaping from the frying pan into
the fire?
Fourth Warlord (emphatically).—
What Halsey is using on us is no
frying pan! How did we ever permit
him to bring his fleet in so close?
First Warlord.—lt was easy!
Fifth Warlord (entering with pa
per).—Here’s another one!
Third Warlord.—Another what?
Fifth Warlord. Another daily
communication from the Yankee air
force announcing the batteries, the
team signals and the program for
the day, play by play.
Fourth Warlord. Where is our
air force?
First Warlord. lt is busy in its
suicide campaign.
Second Warlord. How is the
suicide campaign going?
First Warlord. Excellent. It is
terrorizing everybody but the
Fourth Warlord. ls it perhaps
about time the honorable Japa
nese faced facts, took stock and con
sidered the prospect of losing the
honorable Japanese shirt?
First Warlord. Honorable Japa
nese can get along without a shirt.
Fourth Warlord. We may get a
chance to prove it.
Third Warlord. Let us be of
brave hearts. Remember we have
the Japanese honorable ancestors
with us.
Fifth Warlord. I had a dream
about honorable ancestors last night.
I dreamed they were so overworked
backing us up that they had inaugu
rated a night shift.
• • •
Help Wanted Ads
For War Time
excels in making the worst of a
bad situation preferred; must lack
any desire to satisfy the customer
and be a slave to the belief that any
dish is appealing, provided it has
a little succotash, string beans and
creamed cheese on it.
own acids, tongs, sickles, hole
punchers, ripping devices and button
busters; good money and lots of
SALESMEN: No conception of
salesmanship required; preference
given to men and women who
are not interested in selling any
thing anyhow; we provide most com
fortable chairs in town, also Rac
ing Form.
OFFICE BOY: One willing to
start at $75 a week; SIOO to $125 as
soon as you remember to fill the
paste pots; use of the boss’s office
for crap games provided. Three
hours for lunch.
MAN TO MOW LAWN: $5 an hour |
and no criticism from employer; !
will give $2 an hour extra if you
trim around the mintbed; only those
who never remove a rock from
path of lawn mower need apply.
kinds. Do you want big money? Do
you wish to get ahead? Write today,
stating your lack of experience, giv
ing details concerning your general
lack of ability and naming the last
three places where you exasperated
the customers.
• • •
Two people, one a railroad ticket win
dow clerk, convicted of a black market
traffic in Pullman reservations in time of
war, have been fined SIOO and given a year
in prison with sentence suspended. This
means that they can close the books at a
fine profit, escape any time behind bars
and find comfort in the thought that they
couldn’t have done better if they had been
able to get a lower for the judge.
• • •
“Eighteen Billion Tax Cut Possi
Wanna bet?
• • •
Remember when the waiter used
to come around, smile tolerantly
and inquire if everything was okay?
Now he stomps to the table in the
manner of a Nazi with an ultima
tum, slaps down a dinner check that
looks like a federal budget estimate
and almost demands “What’s delay
, ing your exit? Doncha know you’ro
holding up new business.”
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A couple of doorstops, screwed
into the legs of a table facing a
wall, will prevent the table from
bumping the wall and marring it.
Empty salt bags, after being
washed in hot suds, can be used
as individual shoe bags for stor
ing evening slippers. Or, they can
be slipped over shoes to be packed
for a journey.
A teaspoon of lemon juice added
to each quart of water in which
rice is cooked, will make the rice
whiter and more fluffy.
Water hanging plants with ice
cubes to prevent spattering. But
do not place cube near center of
—• —
Screens are comfortable, but
they don’t afford much privacy.
Fool the neighbors. Paint the in
side of the screens with a thin
white enamel. You can see out but
they can’t see in.
To clean artificial flowers with
out using water, place them in a
paper bag with a handful of salt
and shake well.
Store peanut butter in the re
frigerator where the oil will not
separate. The jar is kept upside
down until opened so the top but
ter will not become hard.
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