Billy Blow, the clown, woke up just as the wagon reached the tent site at Clifton. It was nearly midnight.
His sleep did not seem to have refreshed him much. He got down from the vehicle like a man half-awake, and as if the effort hurt him. He had to shake himself to get the stiffness out of his limbs.
"Dis vos dot poy I told you aboud, Billy," said the musician.
"Oh, yes, yes," answered the clown in a preoccupied way, with a quick look at Andy. "I'll take him under my wing until Marco comes along. This way, kid. I've some baggage to look after. Then we'll bunk."
Andy bade Hans Snitzellbaum adieu with reluctance. He liked the bluff-hearted old German with his fatherly ways.
"Goot py for dot bresent times," said the fat musician. "Vhen I sees you mit dose tumblers, I gives some big bang-bang, boom-boom, hey?"
"I hope you will," responded Andy with a cheery laugh.
He followed Billy Blow. The latter finally found the wagon he was after. He bundled its contents about and got a small wooden box and a big wicker trunk to one side.
"Wish you'd mind these till I see if I can't make quick sleeping quarters," Blow said to Andy.
"Yes, sir, I'll be glad to," answered Andy willingly, and the clown hurried off in his usual nervous fashion.
Andy was kept keenly awake for the ensuing hour. It did not seem to be night at all. The scene about him was one of constant activity.
Andy caught a glimpse of real circus life. Its details filled him with wonderment, admiration and keen interest.
The scene was one of constantly increasing hustle and bustle. There was infinite variety and excitement in the occasion. For all that, there was a system, precision and progress in all that was done that fascinated Andy.
The boy was witnessing the building of a great city in itself within the space of half-a-dozen hours.
The caravan wound in, section by section. The wagons moved to set places as if doing so automatically, discharged their cumbersome loads, and retired.
First came the baggage train, then the stake and chain wagons, the side shows, paraphernalia, and the menagerie cages.
The circus area proper had been all marked out, the ring graded, sawdust-strewn, and straw scattered to absorb dampness.
The blacksmiths' wagons, cooks' caravan and the minor tents all removed to the far rear. The naphtha torches were set every twenty feet apart to illuminate proceedings. Workers were hauling on the ground great hogsheads of water. Near the dining tents half-a-hundred table cloths were already hanging out on wire clothes lines to dry.
Some men were washing small tents with paraffin to season them against the weather. Finally the great forty-horse team lumbered up with its mighty load. The boss canvasman with half-a-hundred assistants began the construction of "the main top," or performing tent, holding fifteen thousand people.
Andy, absorbed in every maneuver displayed, was completely lost in the deepest interest when a voice at his side aroused him.
"Tired waiting?" asked Billy Blow.
"Oh, no," answered Andy, "I could watch this forever, I think."
"It would soon get stale," declared the clown, with a faint smile. "Give us a hand, partner—one at a time, and we'll get my togs and ourselves under cover."
Andy took one handle of the box, the clown the other. They carried it to the door of one of twenty small tents near the cook's quarters. They brought the wicker trunk also, and then carried box and trunk inside the tent.
Andy looked about it curiously. A candle burned on a bench. Beyond it was a mattress. Near one side, and boxed in by platform sections as if to keep off draughts, was a second smaller mattress.
On a stool near it sat a thin-faced, lady-like woman. She was smiling down at a little boy lying huddled up in shawls and a comforter.
"This is my boy, Wildwood," spoke Billy Blow. "New hand, Midge—if he makes good."
The little fellow nodded in a grave, mature way at Andy. According to his size, he resembled a child of four. That was why they called him Midget. Andy learned later that he was ten years old. He had an act with the circus, going around the ring perched on the shoulders of a bare-back rider. He also sometimes had a part with "the Tom Thumb acrobats," doing some clever hoop-jumping with a trick Shetland pony.
He seemed to be just recovering from a fit of sickness. His face, prematurely old, was pinched and colorless.
"Our Columbine in the Humpty Dumpty afterpiece," was the way the clown introduced the lady. "I don't know how to thank you for all your trouble, Miss Nellis."
"Don't mention it, Billy," responded the woman. "Any of us would fight for it to help you or the kid, wouldn't we, Midge?"
"I don't know why," answered the lad in a weary way. "I ain't much good any more."
"Now hear that ungrateful boy!" rallied Miss Nellis. "Billy, the doctor says his whole trouble was poisoned canned stuff, bad water and a cold. He's broken the fever. Here's some medicine. Every hour a spoonful until gone, and doctor says he'll be fit as ever in a day or two."
"That's good," said the clown, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "I wish I could afford the hotel for the lad, instead of this rough-and-tumble shack life, but my wife's hospital bills drain me pretty well."
"Never mind. Better times coming, Billy. Don't you get disheartened," cheered the little woman. "Remember now, don't miss that medicine."
Miss Nellis went away. Andy heard poor Billy sigh as he adjusted the larger mattress.
"There's your bunk," he said to Andy. "Marco will see you early in the morning."
Andy took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the rude bed. He watched Midget tracing the outlines of a picture with his white finger in a book Miss Nellis had brought him.
Andy saw the clown go over to a stool and place a homely, old-fashioned watch and a spoon and medicine bottle Miss Nellis had given him upon it.
Then Blow came back to the big mattress and sat down on it. He bent his face in his hands in a tired way. Every minute he would sway with sleepiness, start up, and try to keep awake.
"The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his worries," thought Andy. "Mr. Blow," he said aloud, sitting up, "I can't sleep a wink. This is all so new to me. I'll just disturb you rustling about here. Please let me attend to the little fellow, won't you, and you take a good sound snooze? Come, it will do you lots of good."
"No, no," began the clown weakly.
"Please," persisted Andy. "Honest, I can't close my eyes. Now don't you have a care. I'll give Midget his medicine to the second."
Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay down. He was asleep in two minutes. Andy went over to the stool.
"I'm going to be your nurse," he told Midget. "Suppose you sleep, too."
"I can't," answered the little fellow. "I've been asleep all day. Wish I had another book, I've looked this one through a hundred times."
"I could tell you some stories," Andy suggested. "Good ones."
"Will you, say, will you?" pleaded the clown's boy eagerly.
"You bet—and famous ones."
Andy kept his promise. He ransacked his mind for the brightest stories he had ever read. Never was there a more interested listener. Andy talked in a low voice so as not to disturb the clown.
Midget seemed most to like the real stories of his own village life thatAndy finally drifted into.
"That's what I'd like," he said, after Andy had told of some boyish adventures back at Fairview.
"Oh, I'm so tired of moving on—all the time moving on!"
"Strange," thought Andy, "and that's just the kind of a life I'm trying to get into."
Midget became so animated that Andy finally got him to tell some stories about circus life. All that, however, was "shop talk" to the little performer, but Andy learned considerable from the keen-witted little fellow, who appeared to know as much about the ins and outs of show life as some veteran of the ring.
He enlightened his auditor greatly in the line of real circus slang. Andy learned that in show vernacular clowns were "joys," and other performers "kinkers." A pocket book was a "leather," a hat a "lid," a ticket a "fake," an elephant a "bull." Lemonade was "juice," eyes were "lamps," candy peddlers were "butchers," and the various tents "tops," as, for instance: "main top," "cook top," and the side shows were "kid tops."
Finally little Midge went to sleep. Andy woke him up each hour till daybreak to take his medicine. After the last dose Andy went outside to stretch his limbs and get a mouthful of fresh air.
He saw men still tirelessly working here and there. Some were housing the live stock, some unpacking seat stands, some fixing the banners on the main tent.
Andy did not go far from the clown's tent. It was fairly dawn. Happening to glance towards the chandelier wagon he came to a dead stand-still, and stared.
"Hello!" said Andy with animation. "There's that Jim Tapp, and the man with him—yes, it's the fellow, Murdock, I saw with Daley in the old hay barn."
As he stood gazing Tapp caught sight of him. He started violently and spoke some quick words to his companion, pointing towards Andy.
"That's the man who cut the trapeze," murmured Andy. "I'll rouse the clown and tell him. He's a dangerous man to have lurking around."
"Hey! hey!" called out Tapp at just that moment.
Both he and his companion started running towards Andy. There was that in their bearing that warned Andy they meant him no good. Andy did not pause.
"Stop, I tell you!" shouted the man, Murdock.
Andy made a bee-line for the clown's tent. As he neared it he glanced back over his shoulder.
Tapp was still putting after him. His companion had stooped to pick up an iron tent stake from the ground.
This he let drive with full force. It took Andy squarely between the shoulders, and he dropped like a shot.
The breath seemed clear knocked out of Andy's body. The shock of the blow from the stake deprived him of consciousness.
Andy opened his eyes in about two minutes. He found himself lying on the ground, half-a-dozen circus employees gathered around him.
"Help me up," said Andy in a confused way. "I mustn't miss giving Midge his medicine."
"Eh—the clown's boy?" spoke one of the men sharply.
"Oh," said Andy, regaining his senses more completely, "have I been here long?"
"About two minutes."
"Then Midge is all right—oh, dear!"
Andy, trying to arise, gasped and tottered weakly. The man who had addressed him seemed to be a sort of boss of the others. He held Andy firmly as he said:
"Belong with Billy Blow? All right, we'll take you to his tent. But, say—what did those fellows knock you out for?"
"Did you see the fellows?" inquired Andy.
"I was way over near the big bunk top. I heard some one holler, saw you running. Two fellows were after you. One let drive that stake. It took you between the shoulders like a cannon ball. An ugly throw, and a wicked one. Wonder it didn't fetch you for good."
"One of the fellows was a boy named Jim Tapp," said Andy.
"That rascal, eh?" spoke the man. "Thought he'd quit us. Was going to.Borrowed all he could, and salary tied up on an attachment."
"The other was a man named Murdock. He's the fellow who cut the trapeze on Benares Brothers last night."
"What!" cried the man, with a jump. "Hey, men—you hear that? Go for both! Get them! They're wanted for these crooked jobs."
Those addressed started on a chase, pursuant to directions of their leader who had seen Murdock and Tapp run away as he came up to the prostrate Andy.
The man himself helped Andy to the clown's tent. Their entrance aroused Billy Blow, who sprang up quickly as he noticed that Andy walked in a pained, disabled fashion. He was quite another man for his long, refreshing sleep.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked.
Andy's companion explained. The clown expressed his sympathy and indignation in the same breath. He urged that the show detectives be aroused at once.
"I heard Harding say last night he'd spend a thousand dollars, but he'd get Daley and Murdock behind the bars for attempted murder," declared the clown.
The man who had assisted Andy went away saying he would consult with Mr.Giles Harding, the owner of the circus, at once.
"You see, Murdock ventured here to find out how his wicked plot succeeded, never suspecting that he was found out," theorized the clown. "That fellow, Tapp, was always his crony. They're a bad lot, you can guess that from the stake they threw at you. No bones broken? Good! Hurts? I'll soon fix that. Strip, now."
"All right."
The clown had felt all over Andy's back as the latter sat down on the bench. Now he made Andy take off his coat and shirt. Then he produced a big bottle from his wicker trunk.
"Ever hear of the Nine Oils?" he asked, as he poured a lot of black, greasy stuff out of the bottle into the palm of his hand.
"No," said Andy.
"This is it," explained the clown, beginning to rub Andy's back vigorously. "You've got quite a bruise, and I suppose it pains. Just lay down. When I get through, if the Nine Oils don't fix you up, I'll give you nine dollars."
The clown rubbed Andy good and hard. Then he made him lie down on the big mattress. The Nine Oils had a magical effect. Andy's pain and soreness were soon soothed. He fell into a doze, and woke up to observe that Marco was in the tent conversing with the clown.
"Hi, Wildwood," hailed Andy's friend. "Having quite a time of it, aren't you?"
Andy got up as good as ever. His back smarted slightly—that was the only reminder he had of Murdock's savage assault.
Billy Blow had been telling Marco about Andy's latest mishap. Marco was greatly worked up over it. He said the attempted trick on old Benares's partner had become noised about, and if the two plotters were arrested and brought anywhere near the circus, they stood a good show of lynching.
"I'll step down with you to the hotel about ten o'clock, Wildwood," saidMarco. "Miss Starr has some word for you."
Andy simply said "Thank you," but his hopes rose tremendously. He accompanied Marco to the big eating tent and at the man's invitation had breakfast. The food was good and everything was scrupulously clean.
Marco got a big tin tray, and he and Andy carried a double breakfast toBilly Blow's tent.
The clown had got rested up and was bright and chipper, for little Midge seemed on the mend, and was as lively as a cricket. The little fellow ate a hearty meal, and then expressed a wish for an airing. Marco borrowed one of the wagons used by some performing goats, and Andy rode Midge around the grounds for half-an-hour.
At about eight o'clock Andy went to the principal street of the town. He bought himself a new shirt and a cap. Going back to the clown's tent he washed up, and made himself generally tidy and presentable for the coming interview at the Empire Hotel.
Andy had a full hour to spare before the time set for that event arrived. He took a stroll about the circus grounds, meeting jolly old Hans Snitzellbaum, and Benares and his partner, Thacher.
His part taken in the impromptu arenic performance of the evening previous had become generally known. Andy was pointed out to the watchmen and others, and no one hindered him going about as he chose.
Andy viewed another phase of show detail now. It was the picturesque part, the family side of circus daily life.
He saw women busy at fancy work or sewing, their children playing with the ring ponies or petting the cake-walking horse.
Some of the men were mending their clothes, others were washing out collars and handkerchiefs. What element of home life there was in the circus experience Andy witnessed in his brief stroll.
He was on time to the minute at the Empire Hotel. A bell-boy showed him up to the ladies' parlor on the second floor.
Miss Stella Starr was listening to some members of the circus minstrel show trying over some new airs on the piano.
The moment she saw him she came forward with hand extended and a welcome smile on her kindly face.
She made Andy feel at home at once. She insisted on hearing all the details of his experience since the evening he had saved her from disaster during the wind storm.
"I think now just as I thought night before last, Andy," she said finally. "You do not owe much of duty to that aunt of yours. I think I would fight pretty hard to get away, in your place, with the reform school staring me in the face. Well, Andy, I have spoken to Mr. Harding."
"Can—can I join?" asked Andy, with a good deal of anxiety.
"Yes, Andy. I had a long talk with him about you, and—here he is now."
A brisk-moving, keen-faced man of about fifty entered the parlor just then.
"Mr. Harding, this is the boy, Andy Wildwood, I told you about," saidMiss Starr.
"Oh, indeed?" observed the showman, looking Andy all over with one swift, comprehensive glance. "They tell me you can do stunts, young man?"
"Oh, a little—on the bar and tumbling," said Andy.
"Well, I suppose you don't expect to star it for awhile," said Harding."You must begin at the bottom, you know."
"I want to, sir."
"Very good. I will give you a card to the manager. He will make you useful in a general way until we have our two days' rest at Tipton, I'll look you up then, and see if you've got any ring stuff in you."
Andy took the card tendered by the showman after the latter had written a few words on it in pencil.
Andy made his best bow to Miss Starr. He was delighted and fluttered. He showed it so much that the showman was pleased out of the common.
"Come back a minute," he called out. "My boy," he continued, placing a friendly hand on Andy's shoulder, "you have made a good start with us in that Benares matter. Keep on the right side always, and you will succeed. Never swear, quarrel or gamble. Assist our patrons, and be civil and obliging on all occasions. The circus is a grand centre of fraternal good will, properly managed, and the right circus stands for health, happiness, virtue and vigor. Its motto should be courage, ambition and energy, governed by honest purpose and tempered by humanity. I don't want to lecture, but I am giving you the benefit of what has cost me twenty years experience and a good many thousands of dollars."
"Thank you, sir, I shall not forget what you have told me," said Andy.
For all that, Andy's mind was for the present full only of the pomp and glitter of his new calling. One supreme thought made his heart bubble over with joy:
At last he had reached the goal of his fondest wishes. Andy Wildwood had "joined the circus."
Andy hurried back to the circus grounds the happiest boy on earth. He went straight to the clown's tent.
Billy Blow was making up for the morning parade. Dressed up as a way-back farmer, he was to drive a hay wagon, breaking into the procession here and there along the line of march. Finally, when he had created a sensation, he was to drop his disguise and emerge in his usual popular ring character.
While Billy was putting the finishing touches to his toilet he conversed with Andy, congratulating him on his success in getting a job with the show.
"Wait about half-an-hour till the parade gets off the grounds," he advised Andy. "Scripps, the manager, will be busy till then. You'll find him in the paper tent."
Andy knew what that was—the structure containing the programmes and general advertising and posting outfits of the show. He had noticed it earlier in the day. A wagon inside the tent, with steps and windows, comprised the manager's private office.
Little Midge was sitting up playing with some show children who had brought in a lot of toys. Andy went outside with Billy.
"See here," said the clown, as he hurried off to join the parade. "TellScripps that you bunk with me. Any objection?"
"I should say not."
"You're welcome. The general crowd they'd put you with is a bit too rough for a raw recruit. Just stand what they give you till we reach Tipton. You've got friends enough to pull you up into the performers' rank. We'll fix you out there."
"Thank you," said Andy.
He strolled about with a happy smile on his face. Prospects looked fine, and Andy's heart warmed as he thought of all the good friends he had made.
"They're a nice crowd," he thought—"Miss Starr, Marco, the BenaresBrothers, the clown. How different, though, to what I used to think!It's business with them, real work, for all the tinsel and glare. It's apleasant business, though, and they must make a lot of money."
There was a shrill, whistling shriek from the calliope wagon. The various performers scampered from their dressing rooms at the signal.
Each person, vehicle and animal fell into line in the morning caravan with a promptness and ease born of long practice.
Soon there was a fluttering line of gay color, rich plush hangings, bullion-trimmed uniforms, silken flags and streamers.
Zeno, the balloon clown, eating "redhots," i.e. peanuts, led the procession, bouncing up and down on a rubber globe in the advance chariot. The bands began to play. The prancing horses, rumbling wagons, screaming calliope, frolicking tumblers, tramp bicyclists weaving in and out in grotesque costumes, often on one wheel, the Tallyho stage filled with smiling ladies, old Sultan, the majestic lion, gazing in calm dignity down from his high extension cage—all this passed, a fantastic panorama, before Andy's engrossed gaze.
"It's grand!" decided Andy—"just grand! A fellow can never get lonesome here, night or day. I'm going to like it. Now for the manager. Hope I don't have any trouble."
When Andy came to the paper tent he found a good many people inside.There were several performers and canvas men on crutches or bandaged up.There were village merchants with bills, newspaper men after free passesand persons seeking employment.
They were called in turn up the steps of the wagon that constituted the manager's office.
Mr. Scripps was a rapid talker, a brisk man of business, and he disposed of the cases presented in quick order.
Andy saw four or five dissipated looking men discharged at a word. The applicants for work were ordered to appear at Tipton, two days later.
Several were after an advance on their salary. Some farmers appeared with claims for foraging done by circus hands. Finally Andy got to the front and tendered the card Mr. Harding had given him.
"All right," shot out Scripps sharply, giving the lad a keen look. "You're the one who blocked the game on Benares? Good for you! We'll remember that, later."
Scripps glanced over a pasteboard sheet on his desk, first asking Andy his name and age, and writing his answers down in a big-paged book.
"Half-a-dollar a day and keep, for the present," he said.
"All right," nodded Andy—"it's a start."
"Just so. Let me see. Ah, here we are. Report to the Wild Man of Borneo side top at twelve."
"Yes, sir."
"Hammer the big triangle there till two. Then—let me see again. Know how to ride a horse?"
"Oh, yes," replied Andy eagerly.
"All right, at two o'clock report for the jockey ring section at the horse tent. They'll hand you a costume."
Scripps wrote a number on a red ticket and handed this to Andy—his pass as an employee. Just then a newcomer bundled up the steps unceremoniously, a red-faced, fussy old fellow.
"Mail's in," he announced. "Give me the O.K."
Scripps fumbled in a drawer of his desk and brought out a rubber stamp and pad.
"Mind your eye, Rip," he observed, casting a scrutinizing look over the intruder.
"Which eye?" demanded the old fellow.
"The one that sees a bottle and glass the quickest."
"H'm!" grumbled Ripley, or "Rip Van Winkle," as he was familiarly known by the show people. "My eyes are all right. Don't fret. I've been twenty years with this here show, man and boy—"
"Yes, yes, we know all about that," interrupted Scripps. "You're seasoned, right enough. Don't leave the rig to come home without a driver, though, and money letters aboard, as you did last week. Here is a new hand. Break him in to keep his time employed."
Ripley viewed Andy with some disfavor. Evidently he regarded him as a sort of guardian.
Andy, however, silently followed him outside. Ripley soon reached a close vehicle, boarded up back of the seat and with two doors at the rear.
A big-boned mottled horse, once evidently a beauty, was between the shafts. As Andy lifted himself to the seat beside Ripley, the latter made a peculiar, purring: "Z-rr-rp, Lute!"
He did not even take up the reins. The horse, with a neigh and a frisky dance movement of the forefeet, started up.
"Right, left, slow, Lute. Turn—now go"—Ripley gave a dozen directions within the next five minutes. He was showing off for Andy's benefit. The latter was, in fact, pleased. The animal obeyed every direction with a precision and intelligence that fairly amazed the boy.
Finally getting to a clear course outside the circus tangle, Ripley took up the reins.
He set his lips and uttered two sharp whistles, ending in a kind of hiss.
Andy was very nearly jerked out of his seat He had to hold on to its side bar. For about five hundred yards the horse took a sprint that knocked off his cap and fairly took his breath away.
"Say, he's great!" Andy exclaimed irrepressibly, as Ripley slowed down again.
"I guess so," nodded the latter, aroused out of his crustiness by Andy's enthusiasm. "That Lucille was famous, once. Past her prime a little now, but when her old driver has the reins, she don't forget, does she?"
Ripley took a turn into a side street and finally halted, giving Andy the reins.
"Got to order something," he said.
Andy saw him enter a store, but only to leave it by a side door and cross an alley into a saloon.
Ripley tried to appear very business-like when he came back to the wagon, but Andy caught the taint of liquor in his breath.
Twice again the circus veteran made stops in the same manner. He became quite chatty and confidential.
Ripley explained to Andy that he went regularly for the circus mail at each town where the show stopped.
"Postmasters kick, with five hundred strangers calling for their mail," he explained, "so we always forward a list of the employees. This mail, just before pay day, when the crowd is usually hard up, brings a good many money letters from friends. That rubber stamp you saw the manager give me O.K.'s all the registered cards at the post office. Once the wagon was robbed. The looters made quite a haul. Not when I was on duty, though."
At a drug store Ripley got several packages and some more at a general merchandise store. Finally they reached the post office, and Ripley drove around to a sort of hitching alley at its side.
"Come with me to see how we do things," he invited Andy. "Bring along those two mail bags."
Andy had already noticed the bags. One was quite large. It was made of canvas, with a snap lock. The other was of leather, and smaller in size.
Swinging these over his shoulder, Ripley entered the post-office. He showed his credentials from the circus, and was admitted behind the letter cases of the places.
Andy watched him receive over a hundred letters and packages, receipting for the same on registry delivery cards. This lot he placed in the small leather bag.
The ordinary mail lay sorted out for the circus on a stamping table.This went into the big canvas pouch.
The circus newspaper mail was ready tagged in a hempen sack. Ripley carried this out to Andy.
"Toss it in the wagon," he ordered, following with the letter pouches.
Andy opened the back doors of the wagon and tossed in the newspaper bag.
"Say, back in a minute," observed Ripley, depositing his own burdens on the front wagon seat.
Andy stood watching him. Ripley rounded a corner in the alley where a wooden finger indicated a side entrance to a hotel bar. Ripley's failing was manifest, and Andy decided that he did, indeed, need a guardian.
The wagon stood on a space quite secluded from the street. Near the entrance to the alley several men were lounging about.
Andy carried the leather pouch with him as he went around to the open doors at the rear of the wagon.
He climbed in, and stowed the newspaper bag and what packages they had already collected in a tidy pile. Ripley had indicated that there was quite a miscellaneous load to pick up about town before they returned to the circus.
Andy was thus employed when the rear doors came together with a sharp snap.
They shut him in a close prisoner, for they were self-locking, on the outside only.
Andy, in complete darkness, now groped back to the doors. He heard quick, suppressed tones outside.
The vehicle jolted. Some one had jumped to the front seat. A whip snapped. Old Lute started up with a bound, throwing Andy off his footing. "Send her spinning!" reached him in a muffled voice from the front seat.
"Jump with the bag when we turn that old shed," answered other tones."Why, say! There's only one mail bag."
"I saw them bring out two. I am dead sure of it."
"And this is only common letters."
"How do you know?"
"Jim Tapp described them—'get the leather one,' he says. 'It's got the money mail in it.'"
"Then where is it?"
"The kid must have it."
"Inside the wagon?"
"Yes."
"Whoa."
With a sharp jerk the horse was pulled to a halt.
Andy heard the two men on the seat jump to the ground. He knew that their motive was robbery. He knew further that this was another plot of bad Jim Tapp, the friend and associate of criminals.
In another minute the men would open the wagon doors, pull him out, perhaps assault him, take the registered mail and fly.
Andy had only a second to act in. He theorized that the wagon, following the alley, was now probably halted in some secluded side lane.
To escape the clutches of the would-be robbers was everything. Andy, having no weapon of defence, was no match for them.
"If the rig once reaches the crowded streets, I'm safe," thought Andy.
Then he carried out a speedy programme. Forming his lips in a pucker, as he had seen Ripley do, Andy uttered two sharp whistles, then a clear, resounding hiss.
"Thunder!" yelled a voice outside.
"Ouch!" echoed a second.
The horse had given one wild, prodigious bound at hearing the familiar signal.
The vehicle must have grazed one of the thieves. Its front wheels knocked the other down.
"My! I'm in for it," instantly decided Andy.
For, swayed from side to side, he realized that the circus wagon was dashing forward at runaway speed.
Andy Wildwood found himself in a box, in more ways than one.
Judging from the sounds he had heard, the men bent on securing the registered mail pouch had been baffled. The old circus horse had started on a sudden and surprisingly swift sprint. From the feeling of turns, jerks and swings, Andy decided that within four minutes the rig had left the post-office fully half-a-mile to the rear.
"I've started the horse all right," said Andy. "Old Ripley's signal has acted like a charm. How to stop the animal, though. That is the present question?"
Andy ran at the two rear doors of the wagon. He steadied himself, arms extended so as to touch either side of the box. Then he gave the doors a tremendous kick with the sole of his shoe.
The doors did not budge. He felt over their inner surfaces where they came together. The lock was set in the wood. They could be opened only from the outside.
The wagon box had one aperture, Andy discovered. This was a small ventilating grating up in one corner above the seat.
He sprang up on the newspaper bag. This brought his eyes on a level with the grating. It was about four by six inches, with slanting slats. Andy could see down at the horse and ahead along the road.
He grew excited and somewhat uneasy as he looked out. Lute was a sight for a race track. Her head down, mane flowing, tail extended, she was covering the ground with tremendous strides.
Farther back on the route Andy had felt the wagon collide with curbs and with other vehicles. Once there was a crash and a yell, and he felt sure they had taken a wheel off a rig they passed. Now, however, they appeared to be quite clear of the town proper.
The road ahead was a slanting one. A steep grade fully half-a-mile long led to a stone bridge crossing a river. It was so steep that Andy wondered that Lute did not stumble. The wagon wheels ground and slid so that the vehicle lifted at the rear, as if its own momentum would cause a sudden tip-over.
"We'll never reach the bottom of the hill," decided Andy. "My! we're going!"
He shouted out words of direction to the horse he had heard Ripley employ. Lute did not hear, at least did not heed. Andy remembered now that in stopping the horse Ripley had used the reins.
He held his breath as, striking a rut, the wagon bounded up in the air. He clung for dear life, with one hand clutching the ventilator bars as the vehicle was flung sideways over ten feet, threatening to snap off the wheels, which bent and cracked on their axles at the terrific strain.
Contrary to Andy's anticipations they neared the bottom of the hill without a mishap. Suddenly, however, he gave a shout. A new danger threatened.
The bridge had large stone posts where it began. Then a frail wooden railing was its only side protection. The roadway was not very broad. Two full loads of hay could never have passed one another on that bridge.
"There's a team coming," breathed Andy. "We'll collide, sure. Whoa! whoa!" he yelled through the grating. "No use. It's a smash, and a bad one."
Andy fixed a distressed glance on the team half-way across the bridge. A collision was inevitable. Lute, striking the level, only increased her already terrific rate of speed.
Andy took heart, however, as she swerved to one side.
The intelligent animal appeared to enjoy her wild runaway, and wanted to keep it up. Apparently she aimed to keep precisely to her own side of the road and avoid a collision.
The driver of the team coming had jumped from his seat and pulled his rig to the very edge of the planking. All might have gone well but for a slight miscalculation.
As Lute's feet struck the bridge plankway, she pressed close to the right. The wagon swerved. The front end of the box landed squarely against the stone post.
The shock was a stunning one. It tore the wagon shafts, harness and all, clear off the horse. With a circling twist the vehicle reversed like lightning. The box struck the wooden rail. This snapped like a pipe stem.
Lute, dashed on like a whirlwind, the driver of the other team staring in appalled wonder, the box slid clear of the plankway and went whirling to the river bed fifteen feet below.
Andy was thrown from side to side. Then, as the wagon landed, a new crash and a new shock dazed his wits completely. He was hurled the length of the box, his head fortunately striking where the newspaper bag intervened.
Judging from the concussion, Andy decided that the wagon box had landed on a big rock in the river bed. There it remained stationary. He struggled to an upright position. One arm was badly wrenched. His face was grazed and bleeding.
"If I don't get out some way," he panted, "I'll drown."
It looked that way. He felt a great spurt of water, pouring in rapidly when the ventilator dipped under the surface. Then, too, the crash had wrenched the box structure at various seams. Water was forcing its way in, bottom, sides and top.
From ankle-deep to knee-deep, Andy stood helpless. Then, locating the door end of the vehicle, he drew back and massed all his muscle for a supreme effort. Shoulders first Andy posed, and then threw himself forward, battering-ram fashion. He felt he must act and that quickly, or else the worst might be his own.
The doors at the rear of the wagon box gave way as Andy's body met their inner surface with full force. He stood now on a slant, his body submerged to the waist.
The box had crashed on top of one big flat rock in the river bed, and had tilted on this foundation against another upright rock. But for this it might have gone clear under water or floated down stream, and Andy might have been drowned.
All through his stirring runaway experience Andy had kept possession of the registered mail pouch. It was still slung from his shoulder as he gazed around him. He was careful lest he disturb the equilibrium of the wreck. He found out now that the door hinges had been knocked clear off and the frame badly wrenched in its fall.
"Hello! hello!" shouted an excited voice overhead.
"Hello yourself," sang back Andy, looking up.
The driver of the team into which the runaway had so nearly dashed stood looking down from the bridge planking. His eyes stared wide as Andy suddenly appeared like a jack-in-the-box.
"Was you in there?" gulped the man.
"I was nowhere else," answered Andy. "Say, mister, where's that horse?"
"Oh, he's all right. See him?"
The man pointed along the other shore of the river bank. Lute had crossed the bridge. She had now taken herself to some marshy grass stretches, and was grazing placidly.
Andy was about twenty feet from the shore. He could nearly make it by jumping from rock to rock, he thought. At one or two places, however, the current ran strong and deep, and he saw that he might have to do some swimming.
"See here," he called up to the man on the bridge, "have you got a rope?"
"Yes," nodded the man.
"Long enough to reach down here?"
"I guess so. Let's try. Wait a minute."
He went to his wagon. Shortly he dropped a new stout rope used in securing hay loads. It had length and to spare.
Andy tied the mail pouch to its end. Then he groped under water in the wagon box. He managed to fish out the various parcels it held, including the newspaper bag.
These he sent up first. Then the man at the other end braced the cable against a railing post. Andy came up the rope with agility.
He stamped and shook the water from his soaked shoes and clothing. The mail bag he again suspended across his shoulders.
"Hi, another runaway!" suddenly exclaimed his companion.
Andy traced an increasing clatter of a horse's hoofs and wagon wheels to a rig descending the hill at breakneck speed.
"No," he said. "It's Ripley."
"Who's he?"
"The man who drove that wagon. Stop! stop!" cried Andy, springing into the middle of the bridge roadway and waving his arms.
The rig came up. It was driven by a man wearing a badge. Andy decided he was some local police officer. Ripley was fearfully excited and his face showed it.
"What did you do with that wagon?" sputtered Ripley, jumping to the plankway.
Andy pointed down at the river bed and then at the distant horse.Briefly as he could he narrated what had occurred.
Ripley nearly had a fit. He instantly realized that whoever was to blame for the runaway, it was not Andy.
"Where's the mail?" he asked.
"There's the newspaper bag," said Andy; "here's the registered mail pouch. Those thieves took the other bag of mail."
"They did? Do you hear, officer? Get after them quick, won't you? Never mind us. Describe them, kid."
"How can I, when I never saw them?" said Andy.
Ripley groaned and wrung his hands. He was in a frenzy of distress and indecision.
"See here," spoke the officer to him. "You had better go after that horse. Your wagon isn't worth fishing up. Got all there was in it, lad?"
"Yes, sir," answered Andy.
"Very well, bundle that bag and those packages in here, and come with me. It's good you held on to that registered stuff."
Ripley started after the runaway horse. The officer hurried townwards, questioning Andy closely. He stopped at the post-office and made some inquiries among the crowd loitering about its vicinity. Then he drove to the town hall, went into his office, jumped in the buggy again, and they proceeded toward the circus.
"I've got a vague description of your two men," he told Andy, "but that isn't much, with so many strangers in town. You think they are partners of that Rapp, whom the circus people know?"
"Tapp—Jim Tapp," corrected Andy. "Yes, they mentioned his name."
"The circus detectives ought to handle this case, then," said the village officer. "I'd better see them right away."
The manager of the show regarded Andy in some wonderment as he and the officer unceremoniously entered his presence. His excitement increased as Andy recited his story.
"I warned Ripley," he exclaimed. "Well, he shan't play the spoiled pet any longer. As to you, Wildwood, you deserve credit for your pluck. I'll have a talk with you when we get to Tipton. Too shaken up to do a little general utility work, till I can arrange for something better?"
"Not at all, sir," answered Andy promptly.
Andy saw that he had made a good impression on the manager. The latter was pleased with him and interested in him. Andy waited outside the tent. Soon the village officer and two of the circus detectives sought him out. These latter questioned him on their own behalf.
"Daley, Murdock and Tapp are in this," one of them remarked definitely. "They haven't got much, this time. The next break, though, may be for the ticket wagon. They've got to be squelched."
Andy put in a busy, pleasant day. He was getting acquainted, he was becoming versed in general circus detail.
For an hour he hammered the huge triangle in front of a side show, as directed. At the afternoon rehearsal he was one of twenty dressed like jockeys in the ring parade.
Afterwards Andy was making for the clown's tent, when a fat, red-faced, perspiring fellow, aproned as a cook, hailed him.
"Belong to show?" he asked, waving a frying pan.
"Sure, I do," answered Andy, proudly.
"Help me a little, will you?"
"Glad to. What can I do?"
"Open these lard and butter casks and carry them in. I haven't time.There's a hatchet. My stuff is all burning up inside."
A hissing splutter of his ovens made the cook dive into his tent. Andy picked up a chisel dropped by the cook. He opened six casks standing on the ground and carried them inside.
The cooking odor pervading the place was very pleasing. The cook's assistants were few, some of the regulars were absent, Andy guessed from what he heard the cook say. The latter was rushed to death, and jumping from stove to stove and utensil to utensil in a great flutter of excitement and haste for he was behind in his work.
Andy caught on to the situation. In a swift, quiet way he anticipated the cook's needs. He dipped and dried some skillets near a trough of water. He sharpened some knives. He carried some charcoal hods nearer to a stove needing replenishing.
After awhile the cook began to whistle cheerily. His perplexities were lessening, and he felt good humored over it.
"Things in running order," he chirped. "You're a game lad. Hold on a minute."
The cook emptied out a smoking pan into which he had placed a mass of batter a few minutes previous.
"Don't burn yourself—it's piping hot," he observed, tendering Andy a tempting raisin cake, enough for two meals.
"Oh, thank you," said Andy.
"Thank you, lad. Whenever you need a bite between meals, just drop in."
Andy came out of the tent passing the cake from hand to hand. He caught a newspaper sheet fluttering by, wadded it up, and surmounted it with the hot cake.
"That's better," he said. "My, it looks appetizing. Beg pardon," addedAndy, as rounding a tent he ran against a boy about his own age.
At a glance he saw that the stranger did not belong to the show. He was poorly dressed, but clean-faced and bright-eyed, although he limped like a person who had walked too far and too long for comfort.
"My fault," said the stranger. "I've done nothing but gape since I came here. Say, this circus is a regular city in itself, isn't it?"
"Yes," answered Andy. "Stranger here?"
The boy nodded. He studied Andy's face quite anxiously.
"Look here," he said, "you look honest. Some lemonade boys I asked sent me astray with all kinds of wrong information. You won't, will you?"
"Certainly not," said Andy. "What's the trouble?"
"Is it hard to get a talk with the circus manager?"
"Why, no."
"Is it hard to join the show?"
"I have just joined," said Andy.
"Is that so?" exclaimed the stranger, brightening up. "Was it hard to get in?"
"Not particularly. What did you expect to do?"
"Anything for a start," responded the other eagerly. "Only, my ambition is to be an animal trainer."
Andy became quite interested.
"Why that?" he inquired.
"Because it seems to be my bent. My name is Luke Belding. I'm an orphan. Been brought up on a stock farm, and know all about horses. And say," added the speaker with intense eagerness, "if they'll take me on I'll throw in a great curiosity."
He held out what looked like a wooden cage covered with a piece of water-proof cloth.
"Got it in there, have you?" asked Andy.
"Yes. I've trained it, and it's cute. Honest, it's better as a curiosity, and to make people laugh, than a lot of the novelties they have in the side, tents."
"Why," said Andy, with increasing interest, "what may it be, now?"
"Well," answered Luke, "it's a chicken."
"Oh. Two-headed, three-legged, I suppose, or something of that sort?"
"Not at all. No," said Luke Belding, "this is something you never saw before. It's a chicken that walks backward."
Andy burst out laughing,—he could not help it.
"That's strange," he said. "A chicken that walks backward?"
"Yes," answered Luke Belding, soberly.
"Really does it?"
"Oh, sure. All the time. I've got it here. I'll show you."
Luke made a move as if to remove the cloth cover from the box under his arm, but Andy stopped him.
"Hold on," he said. "Come with me till I get rid of this cake, and then you shall show me."
"H'm!" observed Luke, smacking his lips with a longing look at the cake, "it wouldn't take me long to get rid of it!"
"Hungry?" insinuated Andy.
"Desperately. I'd be almost tempted to sell a half-interest in the chicken for a good square meal."
"You shall have one without any such sacrifice," declared Andy. "Come along."
They found the clown's tent empty.
"Billy Blow is probably giving Midget an airing," said Andy, half to himself.
"Who's Billy Blow?" inquired Luke.
"The clown."
"Do you know a real live clown? Say, that's great!" said Luke. "Must keep a fellow laughing all the time."
"I thought so until yesterday," answered Andy. "But no—they have their troubles, like other people. This poor, sorrowful fellow has his fill of it. He don't do much laughing outside of the ring, I can tell you. There, we'll enjoy the cook's gift together."
Andy drew up the bench and handed Luke fully three-quarters of the toothsome dainty. It pleased him to see the half-famished boy enjoy the feast. Luke poked a good-sized piece of the sake under the cage cover. There was a gladsome cluck.
"Two of us happy," announced Luke, with a smile that won Andy's heart.
Andy decided that his new acquaintance was the right sort. Luke had a clear, honest face, and there was something in his eye that inspired confidence.
"Now, then," said Andy, as his companion munched the last crumb of the cake, "let's see your wonderful curiosity."
"I'll do it," replied Luke with alacrity. "Find me a little stick or switch, will you?"
Andy went outside to hunt for the required article. As he returned with a stake splinter he observed that Luke had uncovered and set down the cage, which was a rude wooden affair.
Near it, with a pertly cocked head and magnificently red feathers, stood a small rooster. Luke took the stick from Andy's hand.
"Walk, Bolivar!" he ordered.
Andy began to laugh. It was a comical sight. The rooster went strutting around the tent backwards as rapidly and steadily as a normal chicken. It was ludicrous to watch it proceed, pecking at the ground and turning corners.
"Now, then, Bolivar!" said Luke.
He used the stick to direct the rooster, which kept time first with one foot and then the other to a tune whistled by its owner, ending with a triple pirouette that was superb.
"Well, that's fine!" commented Andy with enthusiasm. "How did you ever train it?"
"Didn't," responded Luke frankly—"except for the dancing. I've done that with crows and goats, many a time. See here," and he picked up the chicken and extended its feet.
"Why," cried Andy, "it was born with its claws turned backwards!"
"That's it," nodded Luke. "See? A regular freak of nature. Odd enough to put among the curiosities?"
"It certainly is," voted Andy. "The circus wouldn't use it, though—just a side show."
"I don't care," said Luke, "as long as I get started in with the show.Can you help me?"
"I'll try to," declared Andy. "Wait here. I want to find Billy Blow and tell him about this."
Andy went about the circus grounds until he discovered the clown. Billy was quite taken with the chicken, and finally decided to try and place the boy with his freak.
He and Luke went away together. When he came back the clown was alone. He told Andy that one of the side shows had agreed to try Luke and his wonderful chicken for at least a week for the food and keep of both.
Andy went on with the jockey riders in the evening performance. The last performance at Clifton was the next forenoon. He had only a glimpse of Marco and others of his acquaintance meantime, with everything on a rush.
"You see, Tipton is a regular vacation for us folks," Billy Blow explained to him. "Country around isn't populous enough for more than one day's performances, and then only when the county fair is on. We rest two days, and play Saturday. Then is your chance. There's a good deal of shifting and taking on new hands. We'll watch out for you. You'll see some fun, too. All the new aspirants have been told to show up at Tipton."
"Are there many?"
"About five to every town we've played in," declared Billy. "They all want to break in, and it's policy to give them a show."
Andy was sent off by the manager to the superintendent of the moving crew about noon. There was considerable lifting to do. Andy was tired when, about six o'clock in the evening, he climbed up on a loaded wagon for the well-earned ride to Tipton.
He had met one of the circus detectives that morning, who told him they had so far discovered no trace of Jim Tapp, or his colleagues, or the stolen mail bag.
They got to Tipton about eight o'clock in the evening. Andy was "told off" to help in the construction work the next morning, and had now twelve hours of his own time.
He was hungry, and knowing that it would be difficult to get much to eat until late, when the cook's quarters had been re-established, he left the wagon as it reached the principal street in Tipton.
Andy went to a restaurant and got a good meal. He decided to stroll about a bit, and then join the clown in his new quarters.
Andy had been to Tipton before. His aunt had some acquaintances there. He walked up and down the principal street, looking in the store windows, and studying the country people who had come to visit the county fair.
Suddenly Andy drew back into the shadow of a doorway. Leaning against a curb hitching post was a person who enchained his attention.
"It's Tapp—Jim Tapp," said Andy. "I'd know that slouch of his shoulders anywhere."
The person under his inspection was swinging a light bamboo cane and smoking a cigarette. He wore a jet black moustache and a jet black speck of a goatee. Moustache and goatee were unmistakably of the variety Andy had seen a circus fakir selling for twenty-five cents, back at Clifton.
Their wearer kept his back to the lighted windows, so that his face was in partial shadow. He also kept taking sidelong glances up and down the curb, as if expecting some one.
Andy watched him for fully five minutes, made up his mind, and at last stealthily glided up behind him.
Seizing both the fellow's arms, he whirled him around face to face, let go of him, and with two quick movements of one hand tore the false moustache and the false goatee from his face. His surmises were correct. It was Jim Tapp.
The latter gave Andy a quick, startled glance.
"Wildwood!" he said, and switched his cane towards Andy's face.
"No, you don't!" cried Andy, grasping his arms again. "Jim Tapp, the circus people want you."
"Let go. Nobody wants me. I've done nothing."
"Call Benares Brothers, the stake your partner hit me with, the stolen mail bag, nothing?" demanded Andy. "You'll come along with me or I'll call the police."
Tapp glanced sharply about. So far nobody seemed to particularly notice them. He threw out his own arms and grasped Andy in turn. Thus interlocked, he threw out a foot. Andy was taken off his guard. He went toppling, but he never let go of his antagonist. Both landed with a crash on the board sidewalk.
There was a vacant lot just next to a brilliantly lighted store. As they took a roll, they landed nearly at the inner edge of the walk.
"There!" panted Andy, "you won't trip me again."
He was the stronger of the two, and got Tapp on his back. Sitting astride of him, Andy caught both hands at the wrists.
"Let go!" panted Tapp. "Say, don't draw a crowd. I'll go with you."
"You'll go with a policeman," declared Andy, glancing along the walk."There'll be one here soon, for the crowd's coming."
"Fight! fight!" yelled three or four urchins, dashing up to the spot.
Others came hurrying along from inspecting the store windows.
"What's the row?" demanded a man.
"Fair fight. Let him up. Give him a chance," growled a low-browed fellow, also approaching.
"What is it? what is it?" inquired a fussy old lady, craning her neck towards the combatants.
"Say," ground out Tapp, vainly endeavoring to free himself, "let me up.It will pay you. Say, I can tell you something great."
"Can you?" smiled Andy calmly. "Tell it to the police."
"Hold on," proceeded Tapp. "I'm not fooling. I know something. I can put you on to something big."
"How big?" insinuated Andy, disbelievingly.
"I can, I vow I can! I'm in dead earnest. Say, Wildwood, nobody knows it but me—you're an heir—"
"Eh? Bosh! I guess your heir is all hot air. Ah, here comes the policeman—oh, gracious! My aunt!"
Andy Wildwood let go his hold of Jim Tapp. With startled eyes, in sheer dismay he stared at a woman approaching them, her curiosity aroused by the crowd.
It was his aunt, Miss Lavinia Talcott.