Dimples laughed heartily.
"It will take more than a stampede to upset him. He'll make a showman if he ever settles down to the work in earnest."
"He has settled down, Mrs. Robinson," answered Phil with some dignity.
"My, my! But you needn't growl about it. I was paying him a compliment."
Thus she chattered on until they reached the paddock. They had been there but a few moments before the expected summons for Phil was brought.
Phil responded rather reluctantly. He would have much preferred to sit out in the paddock talking circus with Little Dimples.
He found Mr. Sparling striding up and down in front of the elephant enclosure.
"I hope nothing very serious happened, Mr. Sparling," greetedPhil, approaching him.
"If you mean damages, no. A few people knocked down, mostly due to their own carelessness. I've got the claim-adjuster at work settling with all we can get hold of. But we'll get it all back tonight, my boy. We'll have a turn-away this afternoon, too, unless I am greatly mistaken. Why, they're lining up outside the front door now."
"I'm glad for both these things," smiled Phil. "Especially so because no one was killed."
"No. But one of our bareback riders was put out of business for a time."
"Is that so? Who?"
"Monsieur Liebman."
"Oh, that's too bad. What happened to him?"
"Someone ran him down. He was thrown and sprained his ankle. He won't ride for sometime, I reckon. But come over here and sit down. I want to have a little chat with you."
Mr. Sparling crossed the tent, sitting down on a bale of straw just back of the monkey cage. The simians were chattering loudly, as if discussing the exciting incidents of the morning. But as soon as they saw the showman they flocked to the back of the cage, hanging by the bars, watching him to find out what he was going to do.
He made a place for Phil beside him.
"Sit down."
"Thank you."
"I was just running up in my mind, on my way back, that, in actual figures, you've saved me about ten thousand dollars. Perhaps it might be double that. But that's near enough for all practical purposes."
"I saved you—" marveled Phil, flushing.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Well, you began last year, and you have started off at the same old pace this season. Today you have gone and done it again. That was one of the nerviest things I ever saw. I wouldn't have given a copper cent for your life, and I'll bet you wouldn't, either."
"N-o-o," reflected Phil slowly, "I thought I was a goner."
"While the rest of our crowd were hiking for cover, like a lot of 'cold feet,' you were diving right into the heart of the trouble, picking up my principal equestrienne. Then you sent her away and stopped to face the herd of bulls. Jumping giraffes, but it was a sight!"
By this time the monkeys had gone back to finish their animated discussion.
"I do not deserve any credit for that. I was caught and I thought I might as well face the music."
"Bosh! I heard you calling for Emperor, and I knew right away that that little head of yours was working like the wheels of a chariot in a Roman race. I knew what you were trying to do, but I'd have bet a thousand yards of canvas you never would. You did, though," and the showman sighed.
Phil was very much embarrassed and sat kicking his heels into the soft turf, wishing that Mr. Sparling would talk about something else.
"The whole town is talking about it. I'm going to have the press agent wire the story on ahead. I told him, just before I came in, that if he'd follow you he'd get 'copy' enough to last him all the rest of his natural life. All that crowd out there has come because there was a young circus boy with the show, who had a head on his shoulders and the pluck to back his gray matter."
"Have you talked with Mr. Kennedy?" asked Phil, wishing to change the personal trend of the conversation.
"Yes; why?"
"Did he say what he thought was the matter with Jupiter?"
"He didn't know. He knew only that Jupiter had been 'off' for nearly two days. Kennedy said something about a bad stomach. Why do you ask that question?" demanded the showman, with a shrewd glance at the boy.
"Because I have been wondering about Jupiter quite a little since morning. I've been thinking, Mr. Sparling."
"Now what are you driving at? You've got something in your head.Out with it!"
"It may sound foolish, but—"
"But what?"
"While Jupiter was bad, he showed none of the signs that come from a fit of purely bad temper—that is, before the stampede."
"That's right."
"Then what brought it on?" asked Phil looking Mr. Sparling squarely in the eyes.
For a few seconds man and boy looked at each other without a word.
"What's your idea?" asked the showman quietly.
"It's my opinion that somebody doctored him—gave him something—"
The showman uttered a long, low whistle.
"You've hit it! You've hit it!" he exclaimed, bringing a hand down on the lad's knee with such force that Phil winced. "It's one of those rascally canvasmen that I discharged. Oh, if ever I get my hands on him it will be a sorry day for him! You haven't seen him about, have you?"
"I thought I caught a glimpse of him on the street yesterday during the parade, but he disappeared so quickly that I could not be sure."
Mr. Sparling nodded reflectively.
"You probably heard how Emperor ducked him and—"
"Yes; you remember I came up just after the occurrence.I'll tell you what I want you to do."
"Yes?"
"I'll release you from the parade for tomorrow, and perhaps longer, and I want you to spend your time moving around among the downtown crowds to see if you can spot him. If you succeed, well you will know what to do."
"Want me to act as a sort of detective?" grinned Phil.
"Well, you might put it that way, but I don't. You are serving me if—"
"Yes; I know that. I am glad to serve you in any way I can."
"I don't have to take your word for that," laughed Mr. Sparling. "I think you have shown me. I have been thinking of another matter. It has been in my mind for several days."
Phil glanced up inquiringly.
"How would you like to come out front?"
"You mean?"
"To join my staff? I need someone just like you—a young man with ideas, with the force to put them into execution after he has developed them. You are the one I want."
"But, Mr. Sparling—"
"Wait till I get through. You can continue with your acts if you wish, just the same, and give your odd moments to me."
"In what capacity?"
"Well, for the want of a better name we'll call it a sort of confidential man."
"I appreciate the offer more than I can tell you, Mr. Sparling.But—but—"
"But what?"
"I want to go through the mill in the ring. I want to learn to do everything that almost anyone can do there."
The showman laughed.
"Then you would be able to do what few men ever have succeeded in doing. You would be a wonder. I'm not saying that you are not that already, in your way. But you would be a wonder among showmen."
"I can do quite a lot of things now."
"I know you can. And you will. What do you say?"
"It's funny, but since you told me of the accident to your bareback man, I was going to ask you something."
"What?"
"Rather, I was going to suggest—"
"Well, out with it!"
"I was going to suggest that you let me fill in his place until he is able to work again. It would save you the expense of getting a new performer on, and would hold the job for the present man."
"You, a bareback rider?"
Phil nodded.
"But you can't ride!"
"But I can," smiled the lad. "I've been at it almost ever since we started the season. I've been working every day."
"Alone?"
"No. Mrs. Robinson has been teaching me. Of course, I am not much of a rider, but I can manage to stick on somehow."
The manager was regarding him thoughtfully.
"As I have intimated strongly before this, you beat anything I ever have seen in all my circus experience. You say you can ride bareback?"
"Yes."
"I should like to see what you can do. Mind you, I'm not saying I'll let you try it in public. Just curious, you know, to see what you have been doing."
"Now—will you see me ride now?"
Mr. Sparling nodded.
"Then I'll run back and get ready. I'll be out in a few minutes," laughed the boy, as, with sparkling eyes and flushed face, he dashed back to the dressing tent to convey the good news to Little Dimples.
"I knew it," she cried enthusiastically. "I knew you would be a rival soon. Now I've got to look out or I shall be out of a job in no time. Hurry up and get your working clothes on. I'll have the gray out by the time you are ready."
Twenty minutes later Phil Forrest presented himself in the ring, with Little Dimples following, leading the old gray ring horse.
"Come up to ring No. 2," directed the owner. "They haven't leveled No. 1 down yet. How's this? Don't you use the back pad to ride on?" questioned Mr. Sparling in a surprised tone.
"No, sir. I haven't used the pad at all yet."
"Very well; I'm ready to see you fall off."
Phil sprang lightly to the back of the ring horse while Dimples, who had brought a ringmaster's whip with her, cracked the whip and called shrilly to her horse. The old gray fell into its accustomed easy gallop, Phil sitting lightly on the animal's hip, moving up and down with the easy grace of a finished rider.
After they had swept twice around the ring, the boy sprang to his feet, facing ahead, and holding his short crop in both hands, leaning slightly toward the center of the ring, treading on fairy feet from one end of the broad back to the other.
Next he varied his performance by standing on one foot, holding the other up by one hand, doing the same graceful step that he had on both feet a moment before.
Now he tried the same feats riding backwards, a most difficult performance for any save a rider of long experience.
Mrs. Robinson became so absorbed in his riding that she forgot to urge the gray along or to crack the whip. The result was that the old horse stopped suddenly.
Phil went right on. He was in a fair way to break his neck, as he was plunging toward the turf head first.
"Ball!" she cried, meaning to double oneself up into as near an approach to a round ball as was possible.
But Phil already had begun to do this very thing. And he did another remarkable feat at the same time. He turned his body in the air so that he faced to the front, and the next instant landed lightly on his feet outside the ring.
Phil blew a kiss to the amazed owner, turning back to the ring again.
By this time Mrs. Robinson had placed the jumping board in the ring—a short piece of board, one end of which was built up about a foot from the ground. Then she started the ring horse galloping again.
Phil, measuring his distance, took a running start and vaulted, landing on his feet on the animal's back, then, urging his mount on to a lively gallop about the sawdust ring, he threw himself into a whirlwind of graceful contortions and rapid movements, adding some of his own invention to those usually practiced by bareback riders.
Phil dropped to the hip of the gray, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes sparkling.
"How is it, Mr. Sparling?" he called.
The showman was clapping his hands and clambering down the aisle from his position near the top row of seats.
"You don't mean to tell me you have never tried bareback riding before this season?" he demanded.
"No, sir; this is my first experience."
"Then all I have to say is that you will make one of the finest bareback riders in the world if you keep on. It is marvelous, marvelous!"
"Thank you," glowed the lad. "But if there is any credit coming to anyone it is due to Mrs. Robinson. She taught me how to do it," answered Phil gallantly.
Little Dimples shook a small, brown fist at him.
"He knows how to turn a pretty compliment as well as he knows how to ride, Mr. Sparling," bubbled Dimples. "You should just hear the nice things he said to me back in the paddock," she teased.
Phil blushed furiously.
"Shall I ride again?" he asked.
"Not necessary," answered the owner. "But, by the way, you might get up and do a somersault. Do a backward turn with the horse at a gallop," suggested Mr. Sparling, with a suspicion of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
"A somersault?" stammered Phil, somewhat taken back. "Why—I—I—I guess I couldn't do that; I haven't learned to do that yet."
"Not learned to do it? I am surprised."
Phil looked crestfallen.
"I am surprised, indeed, that there is one thing in this show that you are unable to do." The manager broke out into a roar of laughter, in which Little Dimples joined merrily.
"May I go on?" asked the lad somewhat apprehensively.
"May you? May you? Why, I—"
At that moment Teddy Tucker came strolling lazily in with a long, white feather tucked in the corner of his mouth.
The showman's eyes were upon it instantly.
"What have you there?" he demanded.
"Feather," answered Teddy thickly.
"I see it. Where did you get it?"
"Pulled it out of the pelican's tail. Going to make a pen of it to use when I write to the folks at Edmeston," answered the boy carelessly.
"You young rascal!" thundered Mr. Sparling. "What do you mean by destroying my property like that? I'll fine you! I'll teach you!"
"Oh, it didn't hurt the pelican any. Besides, he's got more tail than he can use in his business, anyway."
"Get out of here!" thundered the manager in well-feigned anger."I'll forget myself and discharge you first thing you know.What do you want?"
"I was going to ask you something," answered Teddy slowly.
"You needn't. You needn't. It won't do you any good. What is it you were going to ask me?"
"I was going to ask you if I might go in the leaping act."
"The leaping act?"
"Yes, sir. The one where the fellows jump over the elephants and—"
"Ho, ho, ho! What do you think of that, Phil? What do you—"
"I can do it. You needn't laugh. I've done it every day for three weeks. I can jump over four elephants and maybe five, now. I can—"
"Yes, I have seen him do it, Mr. Sparling," vouched Phil. "He is going to make a very fine leaper."
The showman removed his broad sombrero, wiped the perspiration from his brow, glancing from one to the other of the Circus Boys.
"May I?"
"Yes, yes. Go ahead. Do anything you want to. I'm only the hired man around here anyhow," snapped the showman, jamming his hat down over his head and striding away, followed by the merry laughter of Little Dimples.
"Bareback riders out!" shouted the callboy, poking his head into the dressing tent.
"Get out!" roared a clown, hurling a fellow performer's bath brush at the boy, which the youngster promptly shied back at the clown's head, then prudently made his escape to call Little Dimples in the women's dressing tent.
Phil Forrest, proud and happy, bounded out into the paddock, resplendent in pink tights, a black girdle about his loins, sparkling with silver spangles.
Little Dimples ran out at about the same time.
"How do I look?" he questioned, his face wreathed in smiles.
"If you ride half as well as you look today, you will make the hit of your life," twinkled Dimples merrily. "There, don't blush. Run along. The band is playing our entrance tune. Mr. Ducro will be in a fine temper if we are a second behind time."
For that day, and until Phil could break in on another animal, Little Dimples had loaned her gray to him, for Phil did not dare to try the experiment of riding a new horse at his first appearance. Altogether too much depended upon his first public exhibition as a bareback rider to permit his taking any such chances.
Dimples owned two horses, so she rode the second one this day.
As Phil walked lightly the length of the big top, which he was obliged to do to reach ring No. 1 in which he was to ride, his figure, graceful as it was, appeared almost fragile. He attracted attention because of this fact alone, for the people did not recognize in him the lad who had that morning stayed the stampede of the herd of huge elephants.
"Now keep cool. Don't get excited," warned Dimples as she left him to enter the ring where she was to perform. "Forget all about those people out there, and they will do the rest."
Phil nodded and passed on smiling. Reaching his ring he quickly kicked off his pumps and leaped lightly to the back of his mount, where he sat easily while the gray slowly walked about the sawdust arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen," announced the equestrian director. "You see before you the hero of the day, the young man who, unaided, stopped the charge of a herd of great elephants, saving, perhaps many lives besides doing a great service for the Sparling Combined Shows."
"What did you do that for?" demanded Phil, squirming uneasily on the slippery seat where he was perched.
"Unfortunately," continued the Director, "our principal male bareback rider was slightly injured in that same stampede. The management would not permit him to appear this evening on that account, for the Sparling Combined Shows believe in treating its people right. Our young friend here has consented to ride in the regular rider's place. It is his first appearance in any ring as a bareback rider. I might add that he has been practicing something less than three weeks for this act; therefore any slips that he may make you will understand. Ladies and gentlemen, I take pleasure in introducing to you Master Phillip Forrest, the hero of the day—a young man who is winning new laurels on the tanbark six days in every week!"
The audience, now worked up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm by the words of the director, howled its approval, the spectators drumming on the seats with their feet and shouting lustily. Phil had not had such an ovation since the day he first rode Emperor into the ring when he joined the circus in Edmeston.
The lad's face was a few shades deeper pink than his tights, and nervous excitement seemed to suddenly take possession of him.
"I wish you hadn't done that," he laughed. "I'll bet I fall off now, for that."
"Tweetle! Tweetle!" sang the whistle.
Crash!
At a wave of the bandmaster's baton, the band suddenly launched into a smashing air.
The ringmaster's whip cracked with an explosive sound, at which the gray mare, unaffected by the noise and the excitement, started away at a measured gallop, her head rising and falling like the prow of a ship buffeting a heavy sea.
Phil was plainly nervous. He knew it. He felt that he was going to make an unpleasant exhibition of himself.
"Get up! Get going! Going to sit there all day?" questioned the ringmaster.
Phil threw himself to his feet. Somehow he missed his footing in his nervousness, and the next instant he felt himself falling.
"There, I've done it!" groaned the lad, as he dropped lightly on all fours well outside the wooden ring curbing, which he took care to clear in his descent.
"Oh, you Rube! You've gone and done it now," growled the ringmaster. "It's all up. You've lost them sure."
The audience was laughing and cheering at the same time.
Feeling her rider leave her back the gray dropped her gallop and fell into a slow trot.
Phil scrambled to his feet very red in the face, while Mr. Sparling, from the side lines, stood leaning against a quarter pole with a set grin on his face. His confidence in his little Circus Boy was not wholly lost yet.
"Keep her up! Keep her up! What ails you?" snapped Phil.
All the grit in the lad's slender body seemed to come to the front now. His eyes were flashing and he gripped the little riding whip as if he would vent his anger upon it.
The ringmaster's whip had exploded again and the gray began to gallop. Phil paused on the ring curbing with head slightly inclined forward, watching the gray with keen eyes.
Phil had forgotten that sea of human faces out there now. He saw only that broad gray, rosined back that he must reach and cling to, but without a slip this time.
All at once he left the curbing, dashing almost savagely at his mount.
"He'll never make it from the ground," groaned Mr. Sparling, realizing that Phil had no step to aid him in his effort to reach the back of the animal.
The lad launched himself into the air as if propelled by a spring. He landed fairly on the back of the ring horse, wavered for one breathless second, then fell into the pose of the accomplished rider.
"Y-i-i-i—p! Y-i-i-i-p!" sang the shrill voice of Little Dimples far down in ring No. 1.
"Y-i-i-i-p!" answered the Circus Boy, while the spectators broke into thunders of applause.
Mr. Sparling, hardened showman that he was, brushed a suspicious hand across his eyes and sat down suddenly.
"Such grit, Such grit!" he muttered.
Phil threw himself wildly into his work, taking every conceivable position known to the equestrian world, and essaying many daring feats that he had never tried before. It seemed simply impossible for the boy to fall, so sure was his footing. Now he would spring from the broad back of the gray, and run across the ring, doing a lively handspring, then once more vault into a standing position on the mare.
Suddenly the band stopped playing, for the rest that is always given the performers. But Phil did not pause.
"Keep her up!" Forrest shouted, bringing down his whip on the flanks of his mount and, in a fervor of excitement and stubborn determination, going at his work like a whirlwind.
Mr. Sparling, catching the spirit of the moment scrambled to his feet and rushed to the foot of the bandstand, near which he had been sitting.
"Play, you idiots, play!" shouted the proprietor, waving his arms excitedly.
Play they did.
Little Dimples, too, had by this time forgotten that she was resting, and now she began to ride as she never had ridden before, throwing a series of difficult backward turns, landing each time with a sureness that she never had before accomplished.
Tweetle! Tweetle!
The act came to a quick ending. The time for the equestrian act had expired, and it must give way to the others that were to follow. But Phil, instead of dropping to the ground and walking to the paddock along the concourse, suddenly brought down his whip on the gray's flanks, much to that animal's surprise and apparent disgust.
Starting off at a quicker gallop, the gray swung into the concourse, heading for the paddock with disapproving ears laid back on her head, Phil standing as rigid as a statue with folded arms, far back over the animal's hips.
The people were standing up, waving their arms wildly. Many hurled their hats at the Circus Boy in their excitement, while others showered bags of peanuts over him as he raced by them.
Such a scene of excitement and enthusiasm never had been seen under that big top before. Phil did not move from his position until he reached the paddock. Arriving there he sat down, slid to the ground and collapsed in a heap.
Mr. Sparling came charging in, hat missing and hair standing straight up where he had run his fingers through it in his excitement.
He grabbed Phil in his arms and carried him into the dressing tent.
"You're not hurt, are you, my lad?" he cried.
"No; I'm just a silly little fool," smiled Phil a bit weakly."How did I do?"
"It was splendid, splendid."
"Hurrah for Phil Forrest!" shouted the performers. Then boosting the lad to their shoulders, the painted clowns began marching about the dressing tent with him singing, "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."
"All out for the leaping act," shouted the callboy, poking his grinning countenance through between the flaps. "Leapers and clowns all out on the jump!"
Cool, confident a troop of motley fools and clean-limbed performers filed out from the dressing tent, on past the bandstand and across the arena to the place where the springboard had been rigged, with a mat two feet thick a short distance beyond it.
With them proudly marched Teddy Tucker.
Mr. Sparling, in the meantime, was patting Phil on the back.
"I'm in a quandary, Phil," he said.
"What about?" smiled the lad, tugging away at his tights.
"I want you out front and yet it would be almost a crime to take a performer like you out of the ring. Tell me honestly, where would you prefer to be?"
"That's a difficult question to answer. There is a terrible fascination about the ring, and it's getting a stronger hold of me every day I am out."
"Yes; I understand that. It's so with all of them. I was that way myself at first."
"Were you ever in the ring?"
"I clowned it. But I wasn't much of a performer. Just did a few simple clown stunts and made faces at the audience. Then I got some money ahead and started out for myself. If I'd had you then I would have had a railroad show long before this season," smiled the showman.
"On the other hand," continued Phil, "I am anxious to learn the front of the house as well as the ring. I think, maybe, that I could spend part of my time in the office, if that is where you wish me. If you can spare me from the parade, I might put in that time to decided advantage doing things on the lot for you," mused Phil.
"Spare you from the parade? Well, I should say so. You are relieved from that already. Of course, any time you wish to go out, you have the privilege of doing so. Sometimes it is a change, providing one is not obliged to go," smiled the showman.
"Most of the performers would be glad if they did not have to, though."
"No doubt of it. But let's see; you have how many acts now? There's the flying rings, the elephant act and now comes the bareback act—"
"Yes; three," nodded Phil.
"That's too many. You'll give out under all that, and now we're talking about doubling you out in front. I guess we will let the front of the house take care of itself for the present."
Phil looked rather disappointed.
"Of course, any time you wish you may come out, you know."
"Thank you; I shall be glad to do that. I can do a lot of little things to help you as soon as I learn how you run the show. I know something about that already," grinned the lad.
"If you wish, I will double somebody up on your flying rings act.What do you say?"
"It isn't necessary, Mr. Sparling. I can handle all three without any difficulty, only the bareback act comes pretty close to the grand entry. It doesn't give me much time to change my costume."
"That's right. Tell you what we'll do."
"Yes?"
"We'll set the bareback act forward one number, substituting the leaping for it. That will give you plenty of time to make a change, will it not?"
"Plenty," agreed Phil.
"How about the flying rings. They come sometime later, if I remember correctly."
"Yes; the third act after the riding, according to the new arrangement. No trouble about that."
"Very well; then I will notify the director and let him make the necessary changes. I want to go out now and see your young friend make an exhibition of himself."
"Teddy?"
"Yes. He's going on the leaping act for the first time, you know."
"That's so. I had forgotten all about it. I want to see that,too.I'll hurry and dress."
"And, Phil," said the showman in a more kindly voice, even, than he had used before.
"Yes, sir," answered the lad, glancing up quickly.
"You are going to be a great showman some of these days, both in the ring and out of it. Remember what I tell you."
"Thank you; I hope so. I am going to try to be at least a good one."
"You're that already. You've done a lot for the Sparling Combined as it is and I don't want you to think I do not appreciate it. Shake hands!"
Man and boy grasped each other's hand in a grip that meant more than words. Then Mr. Sparling turned abruptly and hurried out into the big top where the leaping act was in full cry.
Painted clowns were keeping the audience in a roar by their funny leaps from the springboard to the mat, while the supple acrobats were doing doubles and singles through the air, landing gracefully on the mat as a round off.
The showman's first inquiring look was in search of Teddy Tucker. He soon made the lad out. Teddy was made up as a fat boy with a low, narrow-brimmed hat perched jauntily on one side of his head. There was drollery in Teddy's every movement. His natural clownish movements were sufficient to excite the laughter of the spectators without any attempt on his part to be funny, while the lad kept up a constant flow of criticism of his companions in the act.
But they had grown to know Teddy better, by this time, and none took his taunts seriously.
"That boy can leap, after all," muttered Mr. Sparling."I thought he would tumble around and make some fun for theaudience, but I hadn't the least idea he could do a turn.Why, he's the funniest one in the bunch."
Teddy was doing funny twists in the air as he threw a somersault at that moment. In his enthusiasm he overshot the mat, and had there not been a performer handy to catch him, the lad might have been seriously hurt.
Mr. Sparling shook his head.
"Lucky if he doesn't break his neck! But that kind seldom do," the owner said out loud.
Now the helpers were bringing the elephants up. Two were placed in front of the springboard and over these a stream of gaudily attired clowns dived, doing a turn in the air as they passed. Teddy was among the number.
Three elephants were lined up, then a fourth and a fifth.
"I hope he isn't going to try that," growled Mr. Sparling, noting that the lad was waiting his turn to get up on the springboard. "Not many of them can get away with that number. I suppose I ought to go over and stop the boy. But I guess he won't try to jump them. He'll probably walk across their backs, the same as he has seen the other clowns do."
Teddy, however, had a different plan in mind. He had espied Mr. Sparling looking at him from across the tent, and he proposed to let the owner see what he really could do.
For a moment the lad poised at the top of the springboard, critically measuring the distance across the backs of the assembled elephants.
"Go on, go on!" commanded the director. "Do you think this show can wait on your motion all day? Jump, or get off the board!"
"Say, who's doing this you or I?" demanded Teddy in well-feigned indignation, and in a voice that was audible pretty much all over the tent.
This drew a loud laugh from the spectators, who were now in a frame of mind to laugh at anything the Fat Boy did.
"It doesn't look as if anyone were doing anything. Somebody will be in a minute, if I hear any more of your talk," snapped the director. "Are you going to jump, or are you going to get off the board?"
"Well," shouted Teddy, "confidentially now, mind you. Come overhere.I want to talk to you. Confidentially, you know. I'm going tojump,if you'll stop asking questions long enough for me to get away."
Amid a roar of laughter from spectators, and broad grins on the part of the performers, Teddy took a running start and shot up into the air.
"He's turning too quick," snapped Mr. Sparling.
Teddy, however, evidently knew what he was about. Turning a beautiful somersault, he launched into a second one with the confidence of a veteran. All the circus people in the big top expected to see the lad break his neck. Instead, however, Tucker landed lightly and easily on his feet while the spectators shouted their approval. But instead of landing on the mat as he thought he was doing, Teddy was standing on the back of the last elephant in the line.
His double somersault had made him dizzy and the boy did not realize that he had not yet reached the mat on the ground. Bowing and smiling to the audience, the Fat Boy started to walk away.
Then Teddy fell off, landing in a heap on the hard ground. He rose, aching, but the onlookers on the boards took it all as a funny finish, and gleefully roared their appreciation.
"Catch him! Catch him! Catch that man!"
The parade was just passing when Phil shouted out the words that attracted all eyes toward him. It was to a policeman that he appealed.
The lad had discovered a shock of red hair above the heads of the people, and was gradually working his way toward the owner of it, when all at once Red Larry discovered him.
Red pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared down an alleyway, the policeman to whom the boy had appealed making no effort to catch the man.
"What kind of a policeman are you, anyway?" cried Phil in disgust. "That fellow is a crook, and we have been on the lookout for him for the last four weeks."
"What's he done?"
"Done? Tried to poison one of the elephants, and a lot of other things."
"The kid's crazy or else he belongs to the circus," laughed a bystander.
Phil Forrest did not hear the speaker, however, for the boy had dashed through the crowd and bounded into the alley where he had caught a glimpse of a head of red hair a moment before.
But Larry was nowhere in sight. He had disappeared utterly.
"I was right," decided Phil, after going the length of the alley and back. "He's been following this show right along, and before he gets through he'll put us out of business if we don't look sharp."
Considerable damage already had been done. Horses and other animals fell ill, in some instances with every evidence of poisoning; guy ropes were cut, and the cars had been tampered with in the railroad yards.
All this was beginning to get on the nerves of the owner of the show, as well as on those of some of his people who knew about it. Things had come to a point where it was necessary to place more men on guard about the lot to protect the show's property.
At each stand of late efforts had been made to get the police to keep an eye open for one Red Larry, but police officials do not, as a rule, give very serious heed to the complaints of a circus, especially unless the entire department has been pretty well supplied with tickets. Mr. Sparling was a showman who did not give away many tickets unless there were some very good reason for so doing.
Phil, in the meantime, had been at work in an effort to satisfy his own belief that Larry was responsible for their numerous troubles. Yet up to this moment the lad had not caught sight of Red; and now he had lost the scoundrel through the laxity of a policeman.
There was no use "crying over spilled milk," as Phil told himself.
The lad spent the next hour in tramping over the town where the circus was to show that day. He sought everywhere for Red, but not a sign of the fellow was to be found.
As soon as the parade was over Phil hastened back to the lot to acquaint Mr. Sparling with what he suspected.
"Do you know," said Phil, "I believe that fellow and his companion are riding on one of our trains every night?"
"What?" exclaimed the showman.
"You'll find I'm right when the truth is known. Then there's something else. There have been a lot of complaints about sneak thieves in the towns we have visited since Red left us. You can't tell. There may be some connection between these robberies and his following the show. I'm going to get Larry before I get through with this chase."
"Be careful, Phil. He is a bad man. You know what to expect from him if he catches you again."
"I am not afraid. I'll take care of myself if I see him coming.The trouble is that Red doesn't go after a fellow that way."
Phil went on in his three acts as usual that afternoon, after having spent an hour at the front door taking tickets, to which task he had assigned himself soon after his talk with Mr. Sparling.
It was instructive; it gave the boy a chance to see the people and to get a new view of human nature. If there is one place in the world where all phases of human nature are to be found, that place is the front door of a circus.
The Circus Boys, by this time, had both fitted into their new acts as if they had been doing them for years—Phil doing the bareback riding and Teddy tumbling in the leaping act, both lads gaining the confidence and esteem more and more every day of their fellow performers and the owner of the show.
That night, after the performance was ended, Phil stood around for a time, watching the men at work pulling down the tent. He had another motive, too. He had thought that perchance he might see something of the man he was in search of, for no better time could be chosen to do damage to circus property than when the canvas was being struck.
Then everyone was too busy to pay any attention to anyone else. Teddy had gone on to pay his usual evening visit to the accommodation car and at the same time make miserable the existence of the worthy who presided over that particular car.
Phil waited until nearly twelve o'clock; then, deciding that it would be useless to remain there longer, turned his footsteps toward the railroad yards, for he was tired and wanted to get to bed as soon as possible.
He found the way readily, having been over to the car once during the morning while out looking for Red Larry. The night was very dark, however, and the yards, at the end from which he approached them, were enshrouded in deep shadows.
On down the tracks Phil could see the smoking torches where the men were at work running the heavy cages and canvas wagons up on the flat cars. Men were shouting and yelling, the usual accompaniment to this proceeding, while crowds of curious villagers were massed about the sides of the yard at that point, watching the operations.
"That's the way I used to sit up and watch the circus get out of town," mused Phil, grinning broadly, as he began hunting for the sleeper where his berth was.
All at once the lights seemed to disappear suddenly from before his eyes. Phil felt himself slowly settling to the ground. He tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound.
Then the lad understood that he was being grasped in a vise-like grip. That was the last he knew.
When Phil finally awakened he was still in deep, impenetrable darkness. The train was moving rapidly, but there seemed to the boy to be something strange and unusual in his surroundings. His berth felt hard and unnatural. For a time he lay still with closed eyes, trying to recall what had happened. There was a blank somewhere, but he could not find it.
"Funny! This doesn't seem like No. 11. If it is, we must be going over a pretty rough stretch of road."
He put out both hands cautiously and groped about him.Phil uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Good gracious, I'm on the floor. I must have fallen out of bed."
Then he realized that this could not be the case, because there was a carpet on the floor of No. 11.
This was a hard, rough floor on which he was lying, and the air was close, very different from that in the well-kept sleeping car in which he traveled nightly from stand to stand.
In an effort to get to his feet the lad fell back heavily.His head was swimming dizzily, and how it did ache!
"I wonder what has happened?" Forrest thought out loud. "Maybe I was struck by a train. No; that couldn't be the case, or I should not be here. But where am I? I might be in one of the show cars, but I don't believe there is an empty car on the train."
As soon as Phil felt himself able to sit up he searched through his pockets until he found his box of matches, which he always carried now, as one could not tell at what minute they might be needed.
Striking a light, he glanced quickly about him; then the match went out.
"I'm in a freight car," he gasped. "But where, where?"
There was no answer to this puzzling question. Phil struggled to his feet, and, groping his way to the door, began tugging at it to get it open. The door refused to budge.
"Locked! It's locked on the outside! What shall I do?What shall I do?" he cried.
Phil sat down weak and dizzy. There was nothing, so far as he could see, that could be done to liberate himself from his imprisonment. Chancing to put his hand to his head, he discovered a lump there as large as a goose egg.
"I know—let me think—something—somebody must have hit me an awful crack. Now I remember—yes, I remember falling down in the yard there just as if something had struck me. Who could have done such a cruel thing?"
Phil thought and thought, but the more he thought about it the more perplexed did he become. All at once he started up, with a sudden realization that the train was slowing down. He could hear the air brakes grating and grinding and squealing against the car wheels below him, until finally the train came to a dead stop.
"Now is my chance to make somebody hear," Phil cried, springing up and groping for the door again.
He shouted at the top of his voice, then beat against the heavy door with fists and feet, but not a sign could he get that anyone heard him.
As a matter of fact, no one was near him at that moment. The long freight train had stopped at a water tank far out in the country, and the trainmen were at the extreme ends of the train.
In a few moments the train started with such a jerk that Forrest was thrown off his feet. He sprang up again, hoping that the train might be going past a station there, and that someone might hear him. Then he began rattling at and kicking the door again.
It was all to no purpose.
Finally, in utter exhaustion, the lad sank to the floor, soon falling into a deep sleep. How long he slept he did not know when at last he awakened.
"Why, the train has stopped," Forrest exclaimed, suddenly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Now I ought to make somebody hear me because it's daylight. I can see the light underneath the door. I'll try it again."
He did try it, hammering at the door and shouting at intervals during the long hours that followed. Once more he lighted matches and began examining his surroundings with more care. Phil discovered a trap door in the roof, but it was closed.
"If only there were a rope hanging down, I'd be up there in notime,"he mused. I wonder if I couldn't climb up and hang to thebraces.I might reach it in that way. I'm going to try it."
Deciding upon this, the Circus Boy, after no little effort, succeeded in climbing up to one of the side braces in the car. >From the plates long, narrow beams extended across the car, thus supporting the roof. Choosing two that led along near the trap, Phil, after a few moments' rest, gripped one firmly in each hand from the underside and began swinging himself along almost as if he were traveling on a series of traveling rings, but with infinitely more effort and discomfort.
His hands were aching frightfully, and he knew that he could hold on but a few seconds longer.
"I've got to make it," he gasped, breathing hard.
At last he had reached the goal. Phil released one hand and quickly extended it to the trap door frame.
There was not a single projection there to support him, nor to which he might cling. His hand slipped away, suddenly throwing his weight upon the hand grasping the roof timber. The strain was too much. Phil Forrest lost his grip and fell heavily to the floor.
But this time he did not rise. The lad lay still where he had fallen.
When next Phil opened his eyes he was lying on the grass on the shady side of a freight car with someone dashing water in his face, while two or three others stood around gazing at him curiously.
"Whe—where am I?" gasped the boy.
"I reckon you're lucky to be alive," laughed the man who had been soaking him from a pail of water. "Who be ye?"
"My name is Phil Forrest."
"How'd ye git in that car? Stealing a ride, eh? Reckon we'd better hand ye over to the town constable. It's again the law to steal rides on freight trains."
"I've not stolen a ride. It's no such thing," protestedPhil indignantly.
"Ho, ho, that's a rich one! Paid yer fare, hey? Riding like a gentleman in a side-door Pullman. Good, ain't it, fellows?"
"Friends, I assure you I am not a tramp. Someone assaulted me and locked me in that car last night. I've got money in my pocket to prove that I am not a tramp."
The lad thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets, then a blank expression overspread his face. Reaching to his vest to see if his watch were there, he found that that, too, was missing.
"I've been robbed," he gasped. "That's what it was.Somebody robbed and threw me into this car last night.See, I've got a lump on my head as big as a man's fist."
"He sure has," agreed one of the men. "Somebody must a given him an awful clout with a club."
"What town is this, please?"
"Mexico, Missouri."
"Mexico?"
"Yes."
"How far is it from St. Joseph?"
"St. Joseph? Why, I reckon St. Joe is nigh onto a hundred and fifty miles from here."
Phil groaned.
"A hundred and fifty miles and not a cent in my pocket!What shall I do? Can I send a telegram? Where is the station?"
"Sunday. Station closed."
"Sunday? That's so."
Phil walked up and down between the tracks rather unsteadily, curiously observed by the villagers. They had heard his groans in the freight car on the siding as they passed, and had quickly liberated the lad.
"Do you think I could borrow enough money somewhere here to get me to St. Joseph? I would send it back by return mail."
The men laughed long and loud.
"What are you in such a hurry to get to St. Joe for?" demanded the spokesman of the party.
"Because I want to get back to the circus."
"Circus?" they exclaimed in chorus.
"Yes. I belong with the Sparling Combined Shows. I was on my way to my train, in the railroad yards, when I was knocked out and thrown into that car."
"You with a circus?" The men regarded him in a new light.
"Yes; why not?"
This caused them to laugh. Plainly they did not believe him.Nor did Phil care much whether they did or not.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Church time."
He knew that, for he could hear the bells ringing off in the village to the east of them.
"I'll tell you what, sirs; I have got to have some breakfast. If any of you will be good enough to give me a meal I shall be glad to do whatever you may wish to pay for it. Then, if I cannot find the telegraph operator, I shall have to stay over until I do."
"What do you want the telegraph man for?"
"I want to wire the show for some money to get back with. I've got to be there tomorrow, in time for the show. I must do it, if I have to run all the way."
The men were impressed by his story in spite of themselves; yet they were loath to believe that this slender lad, much the worse for wear, could belong to the organization he had named.
"What do you do in the show?"
"I perform on the flying rings, ride the elephant and ride bareback in the ring. What about it? Will one of you put me up?"
The villagers consulted for a moment; then the spokesman turned to Phil.
"I reckon, if you be a circus feller, you kin show us some tricks, eh?"
"Perform for you, you mean?"
"Yep."
"Well, I don't usually do anything like that on Sunday," answered the Circus Boy reflectively.
"Eat on Sunday, don't you?"
"When I get a chance," Phil grinned. "I guess your argumentwins.I've got to eat and I have offered to earn my meal. What do youwant me to do?"
"Kin you do a flip?"
Phil threw himself into a succession of cartwheels along the edge of the railroad tracks, ending in a backward somersault.
"And you ride a hoss without any saddle, standing up on his back—you do that, too?"
"Why, yes," laughed Phil, his face red from his exertion.
"Then, come along. Come on, fellers!"
Phil thought, of course, that he was being taken to the man's home just outside the village, where he would get his breakfast. He was considerably surprised, therefore, when the men passed the house that his acquaintance pointed out as belonging to himself, and took their way on toward a collection of farm buildings some distance further up the road.
"I wonder what they are going to do now?" marveled Phil. "This surely doesn't look much like breakfast coming my way, and I'm almost famished."
The leader of the party let down the bars of the farmyard, conducting his guests around behind a large hay barn, into an enclosed space, in the center of which stood a straw stack, the stack and yard being surrounded by barns and sheds.
"Where are you fellows taking me? Going to put me in the stable with the live stock?" questioned Phil, laughingly.
"You want some breakfast, eh?"
"Certainly I do, but I'm afraid I can't eat hay."
The men laughed uproariously at this bit of humor.
"Must be a clown," suggested one.
"No, I am not a clown. My little friend who performs with me, and comes from the same town I do, is one. I wish he were here. He would make you laugh until you couldn't stand without leaning against something."
"Here, Joe! Here, Joe!" their guide began calling in a loud voice, alternating with loud whistling.
Phil heard a rustling over behind the straw stack, and then out trotted a big, black draft horse, a heavy-footed, broad-backed Percheron, to his astonishment.
"My, that's a fine piece of horse flesh," glowed the lad. "We have several teams of those fellows for the heavy work with the show. Of course we don't use them in the ring. Is this what you brought me here to see?"
"Yep. Git up there."
"What do you mean?"
"Git up and show us fellers if you're a real circus man."
"You mean you want me to ride him?" said Phil.
"Sure thing."
"How?"
"Git on his back and do one of them bareback stunts you was telling us about," and the fellow winked covertly at his companions, as much as if to say, "we've got him going this time."
"What; here in this rough yard?"
"Yep."
Phil considered for a moment, stamping about on the straw-covered ground, then sizing up the horse critically.
"All right. Bring me a bridle and fasten a long enough rein to the bit so I can get hold of it standing up."
He was really going to do as they demanded. The men weresurprised.They had not believed he could, and now, at any rate, he wasgoingto make an effort to make good his boast.
A bridle was quickly fetched and slipped on the head of old Joe.In place of reins the farmer attached a rope to the bridle,Phil measuring on the back of the horse to show how long itshould be cut.
The preparations all complete, Phil grasped the rein and vaulted to the high back of the animal, landing astride neatly. This brought an exclamation of approval from the audience.
"Now git up on your feet."
"Don't be in a hurry. I want to ride him around the stack a few times to get the hang of the ring," laughed Phil. "It's a good, safe place to fall, anyway. Do I get some breakfast after this exhibition?" he questioned.
"That depends. Go on."
"Gid-dap!" commanded Phil, patting the black on its powerfulneck.Then they went trotting around the stack, the men backing off toget a better view of the exhibition.
On the second round Phil drew up before them.
"Got any chalk on the place?" he asked.
"Reckon there's some in the barn."
"Please fetch it."
They did not know what he wanted chalk for, but the owner of the place hurried to fetch it. In the meantime Phil was slowly removing his shoes, which he threw to one side of the yard. Bidding the men break up the chalk into powder, he smeared the bottoms of his stockings with the white powder, sprinkling a liberal supply on the back of the horse.
"Here, here! What you doing? I have to curry that critter down every morning," shouted the owner.
Phil grinned and clucked to the horse, whose motion he had caught in his brief ride about the stack, and once more disappeared around the pile. When he hove in sight again, the black was trotting briskly, with Phil Forrest standing erect, far back on the animal's hips, urging him along with sharp little cries, and dancing about as much at home as if he were on the solid ground.
The farmers looked on with wide-open mouths, too amazed to speak.
Phil uttered a shout, and set the black going about the stack faster and faster, throwing himself into all manner of artistic positions.
After the horse had gotten a little used to the strange work, Phil threw down the reins and rode without anything of the sort to give him any support.
Probably few farm barnyards had ever offered an attraction like it before.
"Come up here!" cried the lad, to the lighter of the men."I'll give you a lesson."
The fellow protested, but his companions grabbed him and threw him to old Joe's back. Phil grabbed his pupil by the coat collar, jerking him to his feet and started old Joe going at a lively clip.
You should have heard those farmers howl, at the ludicrous sight of their companion sprawling all over the back of the black, with Phil, red-faced, struggling with all his might to keep the fellow on, and at the same time prevent himself taking a tumble!
At last the burden was too much for Phil, and his companion took an inglorious tumble, head first into the straw at the foot of the stack, while the farmers threw themselves down, rolling about and making a great din with their howls of merriment.
"There, I guess I have earned my breakfast," decided the lad, dropping off near the spot where he had cast his shoes.
"You bet you have, little pardner. You jest come over to the house and fill up on salt pork and sauerkraut. You kin stay all summer if you want to. Hungry?"
"So hungry that, if my collar were loose, it would be falling down over my feet," grinned the lad.