"I've lost my egg! I've lost my egg!"
Teddy Tucker's shrill voice was heard from one end to the other of the "Fat Marie." An hour had elapsed since his mishap in Mr. Sparling's cabin, during which time the lads had been sitting on the after deck of the boat.
Phil had been very thoughtful. Perhaps he had not done right in keeping his real suspicions from Mr. Sparling. Yet he was firm in his purpose not to say who he thought the men were. He was not at all certain, in his own mind, that his eyes had not deceived him.
There could be no doubt, however, that some person or persons had pricked Jupiter on a tender part of his anatomy just as Teddy Tucker was patting the trunk of the great beast.
Teddy had gone to his cabin for a moment, and no sooner had he opened the door than he discovered that all was not as it should be there.
"What's this? What's all this fuss about?" questioned Phil.
"My egg! My egg!"
"What about your egg?"
"It's gone, it's gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes, yes."
"But I thought you locked it in your trunk?"
"That's what I did."
"Then how can it be gone?"
"It is, I tell you. Come and see, if you don't believe me."
"Of course I believe you, but I do not see how it would be possible for your egg to be taken when it was locked in your trunk," objected Phil.
Teddy grasped his companion by the arm and rushed him to the cabin.
"There, look!" exclaimed Teddy, pushing Phil into the room.
Teddy's trunk was open, most of its contents lying in a confused heap on the cabin floor.
Phil's face grew serious.
"Now, let's understand this. Was your trunk in that condition when you came in here a little while ago?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, some of the stuff was sticking out, but the cover was down."
"The trunk was unlocked?"
"Sure it was."
"You are positive that you locked it?"
"I know it was locked."
"Is anything missing—have you looked to make sure?"
"I tell you my egg has been taken."
"I know. Has anything else been taken?"
"I was so excited that I didn't look."
"Then, do so now."
Teddy dropped down beside his trunk, and began going over his belongings, most of which were lying heaped on the floor. He examined everything closely.
"How about it?"
"I—I guess it is all here—but my egg is not, Phil."
"So I heard you say before."
"Where is it—where is it?"
"How do you suppose I know? You are lucky that nothing else was taken. Is the lock broken?"
"No. Somebody had a key."
"Almost any key made for an ordinary trunk will fit these steamer trunks." Phil proved this by selecting and trying three keys on his own key ring, each of which locked and unlooked Teddy's steamer trunk with ease.
"I'll bet you took my egg for a joke."
"Teddy Tucker, how can you say so," demanded Phil indignantly."Did I ever do a thing like that?"
"No, I guess you didn't," admitted the boy. "But it's gone."
"It is evident that we have a thief on board. Mr. Sparling must be informed of this at once," decided Phil firmly. "You remain here and I will go and fetch him."
In a few moments the Circus Boy returned with Mr. Sparling. The showman made a careful examination of the room and the trunk on his own account. His face was flushed and angry.
He went over the same ground with his questions that Phil already had done.
"Do you suspect anyone, Phil?"
"I do not. Whom should I suspect? Nothing like this has ever happened in the Sparling show since I have been connected with it."
"You are right. It won't be healthful for the man who is responsible for this, if I catch him," growled the showman. "Somebody must be unusually fond of ostrich eggs to go to this length for one. If anyone in this show chances to dine on ostrich egg in the next twenty-four hours we shall know whom to accuse of the theft."
"I do not think you will get the opportunity," said Phil, with a peculiar smile.
"What do you mean by that remark?"
"That it was not taken because the thief wanted to eat it.He would not be foolish enough to do that."
"Then why?"
"Probably to get even with Teddy."
Mr. Sparling eyed him sternly.
"You mean somebody had a grudge against Teddy?"
Phil nodded.
"Who?"
"I do not know."
"Teddy, who is it in this show who has a grudge against you?"
Teddy pondered.
"I don't know of anybody unless it's January," he made solemn reply.
"The fool donkey? Bah!"
"I guess the donkey did not unlock your trunk and steal your egg,Teddy," answered Phil, a half smile curling his lips.
"I am not going to ask you again whom you suspect. I take it for granted that you will keep your eyes open from now on."
"I certainly shall, Mr. Sparling."
"If you are unable to find out who is responsible for certain things I am sure there is no use in my trying to do so."
"I do not know about that, Sir. I shall try. If I find out anything worthwhile I shall come to you and tell you."
"I shall expect you to do so. And, Teddy!"
"Yes, sir."
"You are to say nothing of this occurrence to anyone on the boat. Do not mention that your precious egg has been lost or stolen, nor appear as if anything out of the ordinary had occurred."
Teddy nodded his understanding.
Mr. Sparling understood his boys better than they knew. He was confident that Phil Forrest had a shrewd idea as to who had aroused the anger of the elephant, Jupiter, as well as to the identity of the person who had stolen the egg from Teddy Tucker's trunk.
The Circus Boy, however, kept his own counsel.
He made a trip down to the lower deck and had a long conversation with Mr. Kennedy, the elephant trainer, while Teddy Tucker moped in his cabin, mourning over the loss of his egg.
The show reached Milroy shortly before dark that evening, after a most delightful trip down the river. The horse tents were unloaded and pitched on the circus lot and the stock stabled in them so the animals could get their rest and food.
Some of the show people strolled out through the little town, while others remained on board the boat and went to bed. All hands slept aboard that night. Bright and early, on the following morning, the boats were unloaded and the tents pitched, the men working much better for their day on the river.
Everyone appeared to be in high good humor and the wisdom of Mr. Sparling's methods was apparent. The tents went up more quickly that morning than at any time that season.
Breakfast under the cook tent was a jolly meal. Teddy had nearly forgotten the loss of the ostrich egg, but Phil Forrest had not. Phil, while not appearing to do so, was watching certain persons in the dressing tent, among them being Diaz, the Spanish clown.
During the dressing hour before the afternoon performance the clown had his trunk open to get out some costumes which were at the bottom, beneath the lower tray.
Phil's trunk, it will be remembered, was close by that of the clown's. The Circus Boy took advantage of the opportunity to peep into the open trunk while Diaz was rummaging over its contents. So absorbed did Phil become in his own investigation that he forgot for the moment that the owner of the trunk might resent such curiosity.
All at once Phil glanced down at the clown. He found the dark eyes of Diaz fixed upon him, and the lad flushed in spite of himself.
Diaz slowly rose to his feet. Thrusting his face close to that of the lad he peered into the boy's face.
"What you want?"
"Nothing, thank you."
"You look for something in the trunk of Diaz, eh?"
"Perhaps."
"What for you look?"
"Maybe I was looking for an egg. Maybe I thought the clown Diaz carried a supply of freshly laid eggs in his dressing-room trunk," said Phil in a tone too low for the others to catch, all the time holding the eyes of the clown in a steady gaze.
The eyes of the clown expressed surprise, but there was so much grease paint and powder on his face that the boy could not tell whether the fellow had flushed or not.
That Diaz was angry, however, was clear.
"What you mean?" demanded the clown, with a threatening gesture.
"If you do not know, I don't believe I care to explain just now."
"What you mean?" repeated the clown, his voice rising to a higher pitch. "You—you think I a thief?"
"If I thought so I might be too courteous to say so," was the calm retort. "What makes you imagine that I think you a thief? You must have some reason—you must believe there is some truth in your self-accusation, or you would not be so quick to resent it."
"Remember, I have not accused you of anything. You have accused yourself."
Perhaps there was method in Phil's nagging—perhaps he was trying to goad the Spaniard into an admission that could be used against him. If that were his purpose he had only partly succeeded.
Diaz, who had closed the cover of his trunk with a bang, now sprang to the trunk again, jerking up the cover with such force as to nearly wrench it from its hinges.
Two trays came out and were hurled to the ground as the owner dived deeper and deeper into the chest.
"What's the matter? Have you gone crazy?" questioned Phil, laughing in spite of himself. "Come on, now; don't lose your temper. If you will stop to consider, you will recall that I have said nothing at which you might possibly take offence."
To this the clown made no reply.
All at once he straightened up with a snarl that reminded Phil of the cough of the tiger out in the menagerie as the beast struck viciously at its keeper when the latter chanced to step too close to the bars of the cage.
Diaz stood all a-quiver.
"This looks like trouble of some sort," muttered Phil Forrest. "But I don't quite understand what he could have been hunting for in the trunk."
Phil's question was answered a few seconds later.
>From the folds of the clown's costume his hand suddenly shot upward. The hand held a knife. The hand shook from rage as the knife was brandished aloft.
"Hello, so that's the game, is it?"
The Circus Boy stood his ground unflinchingly. He did not appear to be disturbed in the least, though his situation at that moment was a critical one.
"Diaz! Diaz! Drop that knife!" ordered Phil sternly.
Instead of obeying the command the clown leaped upon him, or upon the spot where Phil had been standing a second before. The lad had sprung back far enough so that the descending knife cut only the empty air.
Again the knife flashed up. Just as it was being raised, the boy leaped again. This time he sprang toward the enraged clown, rather than away from him.
Ere the knife could be brought down, Phil gripped the wrist holding the weapon, giving the wrist a quick, sharp twist that brought a roar of pain from Diaz.
The knife dropped to the ground. Phil calmly stooped and picked it up, while the clown was nursing his wrist and groaning.
Several performers, realizing that something out of the ordinary was going on in that corner of the tent, hurried over.
"What's the matter here?"
"Diaz was showing me his knife. It's a beauty, isn't it?" answered Phil, with a pleasant smile. "I think, however, it is a little too pretty for a circus. Were I in your place, Diaz, I should keep it in my trunk else someone may steal it."
The lad coolly raised the lid of the trunk, dropping the knife in. The others, not noting that the clown was hurt, and that his wrist had been twisted by the Circus Boy almost to the breaking point, turned back to their own corners and continued their labors preparatory to entering the ring.
"Mr. Diaz," said Phil in a low voice, bending over the clown, "your temper is going to get you into serious trouble one of these fine days. I am sorry I had to hurt you. But let me tell you one thing. If you attack me again I shall be compelled to give you the worst licking you ever had in your life. Put that in one of your fool caps that you throw around the arena, so you won't forget it. Behave yourself and you will find that I am a pretty good friend."
"Well, Dimples, I hope you and I do not make sad exhibitions of ourselves this evening."
"I hope not, Phil. I am sure you will not, but I am not so sure of myself."
The afternoon performance had passed off without incident, save that the performers had given a much better show than usual. Everyone felt fresh and strong after his Sunday rest.
It was now evening. The band was playing its loudest, the clowns were fast and furious in their fun, and the animals out in the menagerie tent were doing their part toward raising a din that might have been heard at least half a mile away.
Phil Forrest had already been in for his trapeze act, and after changing his costume had come out again for the bareback riding number, to which he always looked forward with pleasurable anticipation.
At the same time Little Dimples, the star female bareback rider, had come up and joined him and the two fell to talking, as they always did whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Long ago the circus woman had constituted herself the "mother of the Circus Boys," as she expressed it. She always insisted on doing their sewing for them, helped them to plan their costumes and gave them friendly advice on all occasions.
The act which they were entering the ring to perform on this particular evening was a new one. The two had been practicing it since the beginning of the season—practicing in secret that they might put it on as a surprise to Mr. Sparling.
This was what is known as a "brother and sister act." That is, the strong man and woman proposed to perform on the back of the same horse, and at the same time.
The brother and sister act was not a new act by any means, but they had added ideas of their own to it until it had become novel. They had essayed some daring and sensational features which were sure to create a sensation with any audience before which the act was performed.
"It is a small town," said Dimples. "We don't care if we do fall off, do we, Phil, my boy?"
"We most certainly do care. At least,Ido. Where's your professional pride, Dimples?" demanded Phil, with an indulgent smile.
"In my feet, I guess," answered the woman, with a merry laugh."I am making my living with my feet. Were they not so sure,enabling me to stand on the slippery back of a ring horse,I should not be drawing the fine salary that I now have.Neither would you."
"Here we are at the ring," interrupted Phil. "The audience is applauding us before we begin. They must be expecting something out of the ordinary."
As a matter of fact, the two riders made a very pleasing appearance as they entered the ring. Phil, slender, athletic, manly; Dimples exquisitely dainty, looking almost as fragile as a piece of Dresden china, they were a pair to attract attention anywhere.
The spectators did not even dream that Little Dimples was a married woman, with a son almost as old as Phil Forrest himself.
They kicked off their slippers, chalked their feet, then Phil assisted his companion to the back of the horse.
The band struck up a lively tune, the ringmaster cracked his whip, and Phil leaped to the back of the ring horse beside Dimples.
"We are off," smiled the lad.
"I hope not," laughed the woman happily.
Further conversation for the moment was interrupted, for the time had arrived to begin their work in earnest. The two threw themselves into a series of graceful positions, neither very difficult nor very dangerous, but to Mr. Sparling, who was watching their performance from a seat directly opposite to them, their work was more attractive than anything of the kind he ever had seen.
The next time they started in, after the brief intermission, Phil and Dimples varied their performance by leaping from the ring horse, then, taking a running start, jumping to the back of the galloping animal. Only once did Phil miss, and Dimples not at all.
She greeted his failure with a merry laugh that goaded the lad to renewed efforts.
"Have you forgotten how to jump?" teased Dimples.
"I'll show you whether I have or not. Keep him up close to the ring curb and stand back as far as you can."
"What are you going to do?" she questioned suspiciously.
"Going to prove to you that I have not forgotten how to jump," answered Phil, with determination.
"Please don't do anything foolish," warned the dainty rider. "It is too early in the season to break your neck. Just think what you would miss were you to do so this early—think what I should miss. Come up here and be sensible—that's a good boy."
The ringmaster paid no attention to their chatter, which was in tones too low for the audience to catch.
Phil placed the little jumping board in place, upon which the riders step just as they are leaping to the back of the ring horses. Then the lad backed up.
"Keep him up lively," he said to the ringmaster.
All at once the lad started on a brisk run across the sawdust arena.
"Yip!" encouraged Dimples.
"Yip! Yip!" answered Phil.
The lad leaped up into the air just as if he had been hurled there on springs. As he leaped his legs were curled up under him, and his working mate saw that he was not going to land on the back of the horse at all. Still she dared not speak to him, now. She knew that to attract Phil's attention at that moment might mean a bad fall for him, for a performer must have his mind on his work when attempting any dangerous feat.
To the surprise of everyone who witnessed the act, Phil Forrest cleared the back of the ring horse, fairly flying past the astonished eyes of Little Dimples.
He landed lightly well outside of the ring curbing, on the soft turf.
The audience broke out into a roar of applause and a ripple of hand clapping ran over the arena from the appreciative performers. They wholly forgot themselves in their surprise and approval of the feat.
"Wonderful!" breathed Mr. James Sparling. "That boy is worth a thousand dollars a week to any show."
"Have I forgotten how to jump?" demanded the Circus Boy exultingly, as the ring horse slowed down to a walk, Phil stepping along by the side of it looking up into the eyes of Little Dimples.
"Indeed you have not. It was wonderful. Don't you ever dare try it again, however. Why, suppose you had dropped on an iron tent stake? You would have at least been disabled for life."
"I presume I should have been. I happened to know there were no stakes where I landed. I made sure of that before I made the leap."
"You are a wise boy, even if an imprudent one. We try the shoulder stand next, do we not?"
"Yes."
"I haven't the routine in my mind yet. Don't you dare let me fall."
"Supposing we save the shoulder stand until the last. Let's do the somersault first," suggested Phil.
"Very well; I don't care."
The music started and the little couple began their work again.
Dimples sprang up to the hip of the Circus Boy, leaning far out to one side, holding to one of Phil's hands, a very pretty though not perilous feat for a sure-footed ride.
This they varied by throwing themselves into several different poses.
"Now the turn," breathed Phil.
He deftly lifted the little woman down to the horse just in front of himself. Having done so, Phil grasped Dimples firmly about the waist with his strong, muscular young hands.
"If you drop me I'll never speak to you again."
"I shall not drop you. You know the cue?"
"Yes."
The lad nodded to the ringmaster, indicating that the latter was to urge the horse on to a faster gallop.
"Now what are those two children going to do?" wondered the owner of the show. "One is as daring as the other. It's a wonder they have gone along without knocking themselves out. I believe they are going to do a turn."
That was exactly what they were preparing. "Now," saidPhil sharply.
The pair rose from the back of the ring horse as one person. They leaped gracefully and deliberately into the air, doubled their legs under them and performed one of the most graceful somersaults that had ever been seen in the Sparling shows, landing lightly and surely on the resined back of the old ring horse.
Dimples sat down, and Phil, dropping lightly to the ground, threw a kiss to the audience.
The spectators, fully appreciating what had been done, went fairly wild in their enthusiasm.
Mr. Sparling was no less so. In his excitement he forgot time and place and ran into the ring, where he threw an arm about Phil Forrest, giving him a fatherly hug.
Dimples pouted prettily.
"That's what I call partiality," she complained.
Mr. Sparling promptly lifted her from the back of her horse, and stood the blushing little performer on the sawdust by the side of Phil.
How the spectators did applaud, many standing up in their seats waving hats and handkerchiefs in their excitement and enthusiasm!
Mr. Sparling was always doing these little, intensely human things, not with any idea of winning applause, but out of sheer big-heartedness. They did much toward spreading the reputation of the Sparling show and popularizing it as well.
"Ladies and gentlemen," announced the showman when quiet had once more been restored, "you will pardon me for interrupting the performance, but as the owner of the show I want to say a few words on behalf of my star performers, Little Dimples and Master Phil Forrest."
The audience interrupted him with a cheer.
"The act which you have just witnessed is as great a surprise to me as it could possibly have been to you. It is the first time these two performers ever attempted it in public. I might say, also, that it is the first time to my own knowledge that any performers in the world ever succeeded in getting away with a feat of that sort. I thank you for your approval. The performance will now proceed."
After the applause which this little speech elicited had died away the band once more began to play.
Phil and Dimples commenced a series of acts, jumping from and to the back of the horse whose speed was increased for the purpose.
In the next rest Dimples called the attention of her associate to the clown Diaz, who was not far from them at the moment.
Dimples had been in the show business so long that her intuition had become very keen. Nothing of consequence happened under the big top, or beneath the low-roofed dressing tents, that she did not know of, or at least surmise. Especially keen was she in all matters relating to Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker, and her interest had in many instances served to save the lads from unpleasant consequence.
"I don't like that fellow, Phil," Dimples remarked, referring to Diaz.
"Why not?"
"I think he is a bad man."
"I hope not. He is impulsive and—"
"Revengeful and ugly," finished Dimples.
"As I said, he is impulsive, like all of his race."
"What has been going on with you lately, Phil?"
"I don't understand what you mean?"
"Oh, yes, you do."
"You mean with regard to Diaz?"
"That's what I mean. Have you had any trouble?"
"We had a slight disagreement," admitted the lad.
"Tell me about it."
"Wait! There goes the music."
The ringmaster's whip cracked its warning and the gray horse started at a slow gallop. Phil was up beside his companion with agility and grace. The first round or two they stood poised on the horse, while Phil related briefly what had taken place between himself and Diaz.
"Come, aren't you two going to get to work?" demanded the ringmaster.
"You attend to your own work. We'll look out for ours," snapped Dimples.
"Yes, and if you think you can do better just come up and try," added Phil, with a good-natured laugh. "Up, Dimples!"
He threw her lightly to his shoulders, on which the woman stood poised, making as graceful and pretty a picture as had ever been seen in a circus ring. Fragile as she was, it seemed as if Phil were all too slender to support her weight.
The act brought a whirlwind of applause.
"You look out for him, Phil. I—"
"Jump, Dimples!"
The ring horse had suddenly stumbled, its nose plowing up the sawdust in a cloud.
Phil, with rare presence of mind, lifted the feet from his shoulders and hurled the girl far from him.
"Land on your feet!" he shouted, then Phil plunged off, head first.
Thanks to Phil's presence of mind, Dimples had landed lightly on her feet well outside the ring curbing. Had the lad held to her ankles even a second too long the result must have been serious, if not fatal, for Dimples would have been hurled to the ground head first.
As it was, Phil gave her a lift, enabling her to double and "ball," a circus term meaning to curl one's feet up under the body, then straighten them as needed to give the body balance either in turning a somersault or in falling.
In doing so, however, Phil had had no thought for his own safety. He plunged forward over the head of the ring horse, striking the ground on his head and face.
The force of his fall had been broken somewhat by his quickly throwing out his hands in front of him and relaxing the muscles of his body. Circus performers soon learn how to fall—how to make the best of every situation with which they are confronted. Despite this, his fall had been a severe and dangerous one.
"There, he has done it! I knew he would," cried Mr. Sparling, rushing to the ring. Quick as he was, Dimples was ahead of him. She leaped the ring curbing and dropped down beside him, not caring for the dust and the dirt that soiled her pretty costume.
"Phil! Phil!" she cried.
Phil did not answer at the moment.
"Is he hurt—is he killed?" demanded Mr. Sparling excitedly.
"Of course he is hurt. Can't you see he is?" answeredDimples testily.
She turned the boy over and looked into his face. The dirt was so ground into the handsome, boyish face as to make it scarcely recognizable.
"Lift him up. Get some of the attendants to carry him back!" commanded the woman impatiently.
"No, no!" protested Phil in a muffled voice, for his mouth was full of sawdust and dirt. "I'm all right. Don't worry about me."
"He's all right," repeated the showman. "I'll help you up, Phil."
Phil, like the plucky performer that he was, declined their offers of assistance and struggled to his feet. He was dizzy and staggered a little, but after a moment succeeded in overmastering his inclination to faint.
A fleck of blood on his lips showed through makeup and sawdust.
"I'm all right. Don't worry about me," he said, with a forced smile.
Dimples sought to brush the dirt from his face with her handkerchief, but he put her aside gently, and, with a low bow, threw a kiss to the audience.
Their relief was expressed in a roar of applause.
Phil staggered over to where the ring horse still lay near the center of the ring and knelt down beside it, examining the leg that was doubled up under the animal.
The ringmaster cracked his whip lash as a signal for the animal to get up, but the faithful old horse, despite its efforts to rise, was unable to do so.
"What is the matter with him?" demanded Mr. Sparling.
"Jim has broken a leg, I think," answered Phil sadly. "Too bad, too bad!"
The lad patted the head of the horse and ran his fingers through the grey mane. Tears stood in Phil Forrest's eyes, for he had ridden this horse and won most of his triumphs on its resined back during the past three years.
"Dimples, I guess we have ridden Jim for the last time," saidPhil in a low voice. "Hadn't you better start the other acts,Mr. Sparling. The audience will become uneasy."
"Yes, yes," answered the showman, waving his hand to the band, a signal that they were to play and the show to go on as usual. "Are you sure, Phil—sure Jim has not merely strained the leg?"
"I am sure. He never will perform again."
Dimples brushed a hand across her eyes.
"I shall cry when I get back to my dressing tent. I know I shall," she said, with a tremor in her voice that she strove to control.
Then Dimples smiled bravely, waving a hand at the audience, though her heart was sad.
"What had we better do with him, Phil?"
"We can do nothing at present—not until the show is ended.Then, there is only one thing to do."
"You mean he will have to be—"
"Yes, Dimples, he will have to be shot," answered Phil.
"But the audience?"
"Have a couple of attendants come in here and pretend to be working over Jim. That will make the audience think the animal's foot is injured rather than fatally hurt," suggested Phil Forrest.
"A good idea," said Mr. Sparling, giving the necessary orders.
Tell them not to disturb the spot, not trample it down.
"Why?" questioned the showman in surprise.
"I'll tell you later. I have my own reasons."
Phil motioned to Teddy to approach.
"Sit down here in the ring and watch the horse and the men around him," directed the Circus Boy. "I'll tell you why later."
The show went on with a snap and dash. Meanwhile, Phil, his clothes torn, his face grimy with dirt, started down the concourse toward the pad room, hand in hand with Little Dimples.
Their progress was a triumphal one so far as the audience was concerned, for the people cheered them all the way and until the slender riders had disappeared behind the crimson curtain just beyond the bandstand.
Phil quietly washed the dirt from his face, and pulling on his street clothes over his ring costume, started to reenter the arena.
At that moment Mr. Sparling came hurrying in. The two met in the pad room.
"Phil, how did that accident happen?" demanded the showman.
"You saw it, did you not, Mr. Sparling?"
"Yes. But I was unable to understand how it occurred."
"That is exactly what is bothering me," answered the lad, with a peculiar smile that the owner of the show was not slow to catch.
"You suspect something?"
"I suspect I got a bump that I shan't forget soon," laughed theCircus Boy. "It is a wonder I did not break my neck."
"You undoubtedly saved Dimples' life at the risk of your own. You are the pluckiest lad—no, I'll say the pluckiestmanI have ever known."
"Don't make me blush, Mr. Sparling."
"Nevertheless, I wish you wouldn't take chances on that act again. Give the audience the same old act and they will be satisfied with that."
"Didn't you like the act?"
"Like it?"
"Yes."
"It was the finest exhibition of its kind that I ever saw. I hope neither the Ringlings, nor Barnum and Bailey, nor any of the big shows get a peep at that act."
"Why?"
"Because were they to do so I would be sure to lose my little star performers right in the middle of the season," laughed the owner.
"Oh, I hardly think so. I do not wish to leave this show. Had it not been for you I should still be doing chores for my board and clothes back in Edmeston. Now wouldn't that be fine?"
"Very," grinned the showman.
"Whatever I have accomplished I have you to thank for."
"You mean you owe to your own brightness and cleverness.No, Phil, you are a boy who would have succeeded anywhere.They can't keep you down—no, not even were they to siton you."
"If Fat Marie, with her five hundred and odd pounds, were to sit on me, I rather think I would be kept down," answered the Circus Boy, with a hearty laugh in which Mr. Sparling joined uproariously.
"What is Teddy doing out in the ring?"
"I left him there to keep an eye on the injured horse."
"Why, Phil?"
"Until I could get back and make an examination."
"Very well; I want to see you after you have done so."
"I will look you up."
With that Phil hurried out into the arena. None of the spectators appeared to recognize the lad in his street clothes. Besides, he tried to avoid observation. He might have been one of the spectators, except that he picked his way, among the ropes and properties down through the center, where the public were not allowed to go.
"The rest of you may go," said Phil, reaching the ring whereJim lay breathing heavily. "Thank you for easing off old Jim.I know he appreciates it."
Jim looked up pleadingly as Phil bent over him, patting the animal on his splendid old gray head.
The attendants went about their duties.
"How'd this happen, Phil?" questioned Teddy.
"I fell off; that's what happened."
"Yes, I know you did, but there's more to it. I wonder if it's got anything to do with the loss of my egg?"
"I guess not."
"You guess not? Well, I know something, Phil."
"I should hope you do."
"I mean about this accident."
Phil gazed at his companion keenly.
"What do you know?"
"Look here," said Teddy, pointing to a depression in the sawdust arena.
Phil bent over, examining the spot closely. When he rose, his lips were tightly compressed and his face was pale.
"Don't mention this to anyone, Teddy. Promise me?"
" 'Course I won't tell. Why should I? But I found out about it, didn't I?"
"Yes; at least you have made a pretty good start in that direction. I shall have to tell Mr. Sparling. It would not be right to keep this information from him."
"N-n-o-o. Then maybe he'll organize a posse to hunt for my egg."
"Oh, hang your old egg!"
The Roman chariot races were on, the rattle of the wheels, the shouts of the drivers drowning the voices of the two boys.
"Teddy, you'll have to get back and change your clothes. The performance is about over. That makes me think. I have on my ring clothes under this suit and I must hurry back to my bath and my change."
The performance closed and the rattle and bang of tearing down the big white city had begun. The boys were engaged in packing their trunks now, as were most of their fellow performers.
"What's that?" demanded Teddy, straightening up suddenly.
"Somebody fired a shot," answered another performer.
Phil knew what it meant.
A bullet had ended the sufferings of the faithful old ring horse off under the big top. The Circus Boy turned away, with a blinding mist in his eyes.
"Poor old Jim!" he groaned.
Off under the women's dressing tent another pair of ears had heard and understood, and Little Dimples, burying her head in her hands wept softly.
"Poor old Jim!" she, too, murmured.
The happiness of the day had been marred by the accident, but, like true circus men, all hands took the disaster in the matter-of-fact manner characteristic of their kind.
The show people, in couples and singly, took their way to the river, where they boarded the boats. Already wagons were rumbling down on the docks and cages were being quickly shunted into position for their journey down the river that night.
Everything moved with as much method as if the show had been traveling in this way from the beginning of the season.
The performers were enjoying the novel experience of river traveling too thoroughly to turn into their berths early. A cold lunch had been spread in the main cabins of the "Marie" and the "River Queen" for the performers, while from the cook tent, baskets had been prepared and sent in for the use of the laborers after they had completed their night's work and finished loading the show.
All this was appreciated, and it was a jolly company that lined the tables in the two larger boats. Leather upholstered seats were built into the sides of the cabin, and with mouths and hands full, the circus people soon took possession of the seats, where they ate and chatted noisily.
"Funny thing about Jim," said one of the performers. "What do you suppose made him fall, Mr. Miaco?"
"I don't know. Probably for the same reason that anyone falls."
"What is that?"
"Stumbled over something, I guess."
"Hey, Teddy, what ailed the ring horse?" called a voice as the Circus Boy sauntered in and espying the tables made a dive for them.
"I guess he was hungry," mumbled Teddy, his mouth full of ham sandwich.
"Hungry?"
"Yes."
"What makes you think that?"
" 'Cause he bit the dust."
A general groan was heard in the cabin.
"Throw him overboard!"
"I know a better way to punish him for that ghastly joke."
"How?"
"Take the food away from him, tie him up and make him watch us eat," was the answer.
A shout of laughter greeted the proposition.
The pilot of the "Marie," a heavily bearded man named Cummings, broke out in a loud guffaw.
All eyes were turned upon him.
"I reckon I kin tie him up if you says the word," he volunteered.
"All right; tie him up," shouted the performers, scenting fun.
Teddy eyed the pilot out of the corners of his eyes and placidly munched his sandwich. The pilot, in the meantime, had stepped to the rear end of the cabin, where, from a box of life-preservers he took a piece of Manila rope.
"I believe he is going to do it," said a clown, nudging his companion.
"You mean he is going to try it," answered the other. "Watch for some fun. He thinks Teddy is an easy mark."
"He will be in this case. That fellow, Cummings, is hard as a rail fence. He could handle two of Teddy."
In the meantime Tucker had strolled to the table, from which he took a large sandwich, buttered it well, then returned to his seat, not appearing to observe the pilot's movements at all.
As he sat down the lad was observed to open the sandwich, removing the thin slice of ham and stowing the latter in his coat pocket. Then he sat thoughtfully contemplating the two pieces of buttered bread as if trying to decide whether or not he should eat them.
"Get up, kiddie," said Cummings, grasping the boy by the shoulder. "Get up and take your punishment like a little dear."
Teddy got up, carelessly, indifferently, while the pilot stretched the rope to its full length.
The boy saw that he was in earnest.
Smack!
Quick as a flash Teddy had plastered one half of the sandwich, buttered side in, right over the eyes of Cummings.
Smack!
The second half of the sandwich landed neatly over his mouth, pressed home by a firm fist.
Cummings could not speak, neither could he see. At that moment he was perhaps the most surprised man on the Mississippi River. At least he appeared to be, for he stood still. He stood still just a few seconds too long.
Teddy had seized the rope. With it he made a quick twist about the body of the pilot, taking two turns, then drawing the rope tight and tying it, thus pinioning the hands and arms of the pilot to his sides.
"Yip-yeow!" howled Teddy.
The show people shrieked with delight.
"You'll tie up a Circus Boy, will you?" jeered Teddy. "You'll have to grow some first. No Rube with a bunch of whiskers on his face like that ever lived who could tie up a real circus man."
Teddy had drawn nearer to impress his words upon the pilot, when all of a sudden the man's hands gripped the lad. The boy never had felt quite so strong a grip on his body. Cummings had not handled a pilot wheel on the Mississippi for thirty years without acquiring some strength in hands and arms.
Teddy, failing to pull away, grappled with his antagonist, all in the best of humor, though his face bore its usual solemn expression.
"Gangway," cried Teddy humorously. "I'm going to give him a bath in the river."
Then began a lively scrimmage. Back and forth the combatants struggled across the cabin floor, the growls of the pilot drowned in the shouts and jeers of the performers.
All at once, Teddy tripped his antagonist and the two went down into a heap, rolling under the main table on which the lunch had been spread.
"Look out for the table!" warned a voice.
"Sit on it, some of you fellows, and hold it down!"
The suggestion came too late. The table suddenly rose into the air, landing upside down with a crash, at one side of the cabin. A moment more and the two combatants were wrestling on roast beef and ham sandwiches, potato salad and various other foods.
"I guess this has gone about far enough," decided Mr. Miaco, the head clown. "We'll have a fight on our hands, first thing we know. If Teddy really gets angry you'll think the 'Sweet Marie' is in the midst of a cyclone."
"The 'Fat Marie,' you mean," corrected a voice.
With the assistance of two others Miaco succeeded in separating the combatants, after which he untied the rope, releasing the pilot.
Teddy was grinning broadly, but Cummings was not. The latter was glowering angrily at his little antagonist.
"Shake?" asked Teddy, extending a hand.
"No, I'm blest if I will! I'll not shake hands with anybody who has insulted me by buttering my face," growled the pilot.
"You'll be better bred if you are well buttered," suggested Teddy.
"Oh, help!" moaned The Fattest Woman on Earth.
"Put him out! Put him out!" howled several voices in chorus.
"Yes, that's the thing! We can stand for some things some of the time, but we won't stand for everything all of the time," added a clown wisely.
Half a dozen performers picked Teddy up bodily, bore him to one of the open windows and dumped him out on the deck.
"Here, what's all this commotion about?" commanded Phil, who, at that moment, came from his cabin to the deck.
"They threw me out," wailed Teddy.
"What for?"
"I made a pun."
"Tell it to me."
Teddy in short, jerky sentences, related what had been done and said. Phil leaned against the rail and shouted.
"I—I don't blame them," he gasped between laughs. "It is a wonder they did not throw you overboard."
"They had better not try it."
"But what about the pilot—what happened to him?"
"May—maybe they have put him out, too."
"You have a way of getting into trouble, Teddy. Mr. Cummings will love you for what you have done to him, I can well imagine."
"About as much as I love him, I guess. He got too bold, Phil. He had to have a lesson and Teddy Tucker was the boy who had to teach it to him. Say, go in and gather me a sandwich out of the wreck, will you?"
"Not I. Go and get your own sandwich. I'm going to seeMr. Sparling in his cabin. He has sent for me."
Teddy sat out on deck while the others were picking up the table, the dishes and the ruined food. It would not do for Mr. Sparling to come in and see how they had wasted the food he had had prepared for them. The probabilities were that they would get no more, were he to do so. Teddy watched the proceedings narrowly from the safe vantage point of the deck.
In the meantime Phil had gone to Mr. Sparling's cabin, where the showman was checking up the day's receipts.
"A pretty good day, Phil," smiled Mr. Sparling.
"I am glad to hear that, sir."
"Two thousand dollars in the clear, as the result of our two performances today. Do you know of any other business that would pay as much for the amount invested, eh, Phil?"
"I do not, sir."
"You see, it is a pretty good business to be in after all, provided it is run on business principles, at the same time treating one's employees like human beings."
"Yes, sir."
"How would you like to have an interest in a show?"
"I am going to, someday. It may be a long time yet before I have earned money enough, but I shall if I live," said the Circus Boy quietly but with determination.
"So you shall. I intend to have a talk with you on this subject, one of these days. What I wanted to talk with you about is Jim's loss. I am glad it wasn't your ring horse, Phil. Have you anything to say about the animal breaking his leg?"
"I have."
"Out with it."
"Somebody is to blame for that accident."
"How?"
"Someone planned that accident."
"Explain!"
"Teddy and myself examined the ring, that is, Teddy already had done so before I returned, and he discovered something—we both decided what must have happened."
"Yes," urged the showman as Phil paused.
"A round hole about a foot deep had been dug in the ring. This had been covered with a shingle and the sawdust sprinkled over to hide the shingle. It was a deliberate attempt to do someone an injury."
Mr. Sparling eyed him questioningly.
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be. Jim didn't happen to step on the shingle until we were doing the pyramid, then of course something happened. It is a wonder that neither Little Dimples nor myself was injured."
"Phil, we simply must find out who is responsible for this dastardly work."
"Yes, sir."
"And when we do—when we do—"
"What then, Mr. Sparling!"
The showman was opening and closing his fingers nervously.
"Don't ask me," he replied in a low, tense voice. "I don't want to see the man. I should do something I would be sorry for all the rest of my life. Good night, Phil."
Phil Forrest left the cabin and strode thoughtfully away to his own room, where he was soon in bed. Phil, however, did not sleep very well that night.
The boats of the Sparling fleet had been moving steadily downstream for several hours, their passengers, in the majority of instances, sound asleep, lulled by the gentle motion and the far away "spat, spat, spat," of the industrious paddle wheel at the stern of each craft.
Teddy had prudently kept away from the main cabin for the rest of the evening; when Phil turned in, Teddy was sleeping sweetly. His active part in the affair in the cabin had not caused him any loss of sleep.
With the pilot, Cummings, however, matters had been different. Mr. Cummings had been steadily at the wheel of the "Marie" since the boats had sailed shortly after one o'clock in the morning.
The pilot's temper had suffered as the result of his experience in the cabin, and the jeers aud laughter of the circus people had not added to his peace of mind. At intervals he would break out into a tirade of invective and threats against Teddy Tucker, who had so humiliated him.
"I'll get even with that little monkey-face! They ought to put him in the monkey cage where he belongs," growled the pilot, giving the wheel a three-quarter turn to keep the boat from driving her prow into the bank, for which he had been steering to avoid a hidden sand bar.
"I'll tell the manager tomorrow, that if he doesn't keep that boy away from me, I'll take the matter into my own hands and give that kid a trouncing that will last him till we get to New Orleans."
The darkness of the night, just before the dawn, hung over the broad river. Doors and windows of the pilot house were thrown open so that the wheelman might get a clear view on all sides.
All at once Cummings seemed to feel some presence near him.He thought he caught the sound of a footfall on the deck.To make sure he left the wheel for a few seconds, peering outalong the deck, on both sides of the pilot house.
He saw no one. The air was filled with a black pall of smoke from the "Marie's" funnel, the smoke settling over the boat, wholly enveloping her from her stack to the stern paddle wheel.
"Huh!" grunted the pilot, returning to his duties.
Yet his ears had not deceived him. Something was near him, a strange shape, the like of which never had been seen on the deck of the "Fat Marie", in all her long service on the Mississippi.
"If that fool boy comes nosing around here I'll throw him overboard—that's what I'll do," threatened Cummings. "I'll show him he can't fool with the pilot of the finest steamboat of the old line. I—"
The pilot suddenly checked himself and peered out to starboard.
"Wha—what?" he gasped.
Something darkened the doorway. What he now saw was a strange, grotesque shape that looked like a shadow itself in the uncertain light of the early morning.
"Get out of here!" bellowed the pilot, the cold chills running up and down his spine.
The most frightful sound that his ears had ever heard, broke suddenly on the quiet of the Mississippi night.
"It's the lion escaped!"
Cummings grabbed a stout oak stick that lay at hand—the stick that now and then, when battling with a stiff current, he used to insert between the spokes of the steering wheel to give him greater leverage.
With a yell he brought the stick down on the head of the strange beast. The roar or bray of the animal stopped suddenly.
Whack! came the echo from the club.
Cummings sprang back. He slammed the pilot-house door in the face of the beast, and closed the windows with a bang that shook the pilot house. In his excitement the pilot rang in a signal to the engineer for full speed astern.
About that time something else occurred.
With a terrific crash one of the windows of the pilot house was shattered, pieces of glass showering in upon the pilot like a sudden storm of hail.
Crash!
Another window fell in a shower about him. He tried to get the door on the opposite side of the pilot house open, but locked it instead and dropped the key on the floor.
All this time the "Fat Marie's" paddle wheel was backing water and the craft, now swung almost broadside to the stream, was working her way over toward the Iowa shore.
Bang!
A section of the pilot-house door fell shattering on the inside, and what sounded like a volley of musketry, rattled against the harder woodwork of the pilot house itself.
Frightened almost out of all sense, Cummings began groping excitedly for his revolver. At last he found it, more by accident than through any methodical search for it.
The pilot began to shoot. Some of his bullets went through the roof, others through the broken out windows, while a couple landed in the door.
At last the half-crazed Cummings was snapping the hammer on empty chambers. He had emptied his revolver without hitting anything more than wood and water.
The fusillade from the outside still continued.
By this time the din had begun to arouse the passengers on the boat. Phil Forrest was the first to spring up. He shook Teddy by the shoulder, but, being unable to awaken his companion, jerked the boy out of bed and let him drop on the floor.
"Get a net! What's the matter down there!" yelled Teddy."Hey, hey, did the mule kick me? Oh, that you Phil?What's the row—what has happened?"
"I don't know. Come on out. Something has gone wrong.Hear those shots?"
"Wow! Trouble! That's me! I knew I couldn't dream about angels without something breaking loose."
Phil had thrown the door open and bounded out to the deck. Just as he did so the pilot leaped from the front window of the pilot house, climbed over the rail and dropped to the deck below. The volleying, the thunderous blows still continued.
A loud bray attracted their attention to the other side of the boat.
"What's that?" demanded Phil, starting off in that direction.
"It's January! It's January!" howled Teddy Tucker. "I would know that sweet voice if I heard it in the jungles of Africa. Where is he?"
"Over here somewhere. Come on. I can't imagine what has happened."
"The animals have escaped. There's a lion on the hurricane deck!" they heard a voice below shout in terrified tones.
"Do you think that's it?" called Phil.
"Lion, nothing! Didn't I tell you I knew that voice? There he is now. See him hand out the hoofs at the pilot house. He must have a grudge against Cummings. I know. He's paying the fellow back for trying to tie me up."
"But—but, how did he ever get up here?"
"Go it, January! Kick the daylights out of him! I'll give you a whole peck of sugar if you kick the house into the river, pilot and all."
"Whoa! Whoa, January!" shouted Phil.
The donkey, for it was January himself, and not a savage beast that was acting the part of a battering ram and rapidly demolishing the pilot house, paused for a second; then, moving to a new position, he began once more hammering at the structure.
"How did he ever get up here, Teddy?"
"I don't know. I know I am glad he did, that's all.Let him kick."
"I'm going to try to catch him."
"Keep away, Phil. He'll have you in the river. He has a fit.Wait till he comes out of it."
"Why, the boat is moving backwards," cried Phil.
"No!"
"Yes, it is."
"Maybe January has kicked the machinery out of gear."
The circus people were by this time on deck, and, like Teddy and Phil, many of them were in their pajamas. They had heard the cry, "the animals have escaped," and many of the people were gazing apprehensively about.
"It's all right," shouted Teddy. "It is only January, taking his morning exercise."
About that time Phil, who had run around to the other side of the pilot house, discovered that it was empty. There was no pilot there.
Understanding came to him instantly. January had either kicked or frightened Cummings out.
"The boat is running wild!" he called. "Find the pilot or we shall be on the shore before we know it."
Phil did not wait for them to find the pilot. Instead, he climbed in through one of the broken windows and grasped the wheel.
"I've got to stop this going astern first of all," he decided.
He could see the banks now, and they seemed perilously near in the faint morning light. The other boats of the fleet were steaming up in answer to the signals of distress that Cummings had blown in his excitement.
"What is it? Are you sinking?" called a voice through a megaphone from the deck of the "River Queen."
"No, we are all right," answered Phil, leaning out of the window.