Shadows aloft enlightened him as to-what was going on. The Benares Brothers were mounting aloft. He made them out bowing gracefully, pulled up on the toe coils. He saw their outlines, trapeze-seated. The orchestra struck up a new tune. The act was about to commence.

"I must stop them—I will warn them!" panted Andy with resolution. "If I got to the manager he might not understand me or believe me. It might be too late—there is not a minute to spare."

Andy was quivering with excitement, his eyes flashing, his face flushed.

He ran towards a guy rope, sprang up, caught at it, and hand over hand rapidly ascended it.

Where it tapped the lower dip of the upper canvas, he transferred his grasp.

A seam was here, held together by hook and ring clear to the gap at the centre pole. This seam, Andy discerned, ran right over to the trapezes.

Andy scaled the course of the seam with the agility of a monkey, hooking the rings with his fingers and pulling himself up. The canvas quivered, shook and gave, but he did not heed that.

He came to the open gap around the centre pole, seized the bound edge of the canvas, and gazed down.

Ten feet across was old Benares, just getting ready for some evolutions. Directly under Andy was the trapeze holding the man he supposed to be Thacher. Over his head swung a smaller trapeze.

Andy lay flat along the sloping canvas and stuck his head further down.

"Mr. Thacher! Mr. Thacher!" he shouted.

"Eh, why, hello! Who are you?"

In wonderment the trapezist gazed up at the earnest, agitated face gazing down at him.

At that juncture there was an ominous rip. Andy's weight it seemed had pressed too forcibly down upon a rotted section of the canvas.

A strip about a foot wide tore free, binding and all, from the edge nearest the centre pole. It split six feet sheer. Andy's feet went over his head, but he kept a tight grip on the end of the strip.

Dangling in mid air sixty feet above the saw-dust ring, Andy swung in space dizzy-headed, his first appearance before the circus public.



CHAPTER XI

SAWDUST AND SPANGLES

Andy stared down at a sea of faces. They seemed far away. The circus manager had stepped briskly out into the ring.

In great wonderment he stood gazing aloft. The audience swayed, and a general murmur filled the air. Many pointed upwards. Some arose from their seats, craning their necks in excitement.

The orchestra dropped the music to low, undecided notes. Puzzled spectators wondered if the strange appearance above was part of some new novelty change in the programme.

Andy clung to the dangling strip of canvas for dear life. The trapezist, Thacher, stared at him in profound astonishment. He was about to speak, to demand an explanation, when there was a second ripping sound.

"Look out!" cried Thacher sharply.

Andy saw what was happening. The canvas strip that had torn free lengthwise was now splitting its breadth.

In another moment a mere filament of cloth would hold Andy suspended. He must act, and act quickly, or take a plunge sixty feet down.

Andy did not lose his presence of mind. Just the same as if he was on the rafters of the old barn at home, or practicing on a rope strung from two high tree tops, as had been many a time the case, he calculated his chances and set his skill at work.

He ventured a brief swing on the frail strip of canvas. As it finally tore free in his hand, Andy dropped it. He had got his momentum, however. It was to swing sideways and down. The next instant Andy was at the side of Thacher. One hand caught and held to a rope of the trapeze. There Andy anchored, resting one knee on the edge of the performing bar.

"You're a good one!" muttered the trapezist in wonder. "Don't get rattled, now."

"Not while I've got my grip. Say," projected Andy, "I'm sorry to interrupt the performance, but it's a matter of life or death."

"Eh?" uttered Thacher in a puzzled way. "What's up?"

"Do you know a man named Murdock?"

"Ring man, fired last week. Yes. What of it?"

"Do you know a man named Daley?"

"Fired, too—for drinking. I took his place on this team."

"They hate you. They have plotted to disable you. The trapeze yonder—Murdock has cut the ropes, secured the bar with thread, and the slightest touch will send a performer to the ring with broken limbs."

"What! Are you crazy or fooling? Doped the rigging? Why, that's murder, kid!"

"They have done it just the same. Listen."

Faster than he had ever talked before Andy told of the conversation he had overheard in the old hay barn. He hurriedly recited his failure in reaching the manager. He told of his rapid ascent of the top canvas. The present denouement had resulted.

Under his face rouge Thacher showed the shock of vivid emotions. The murmur below was increasing. The manager was looking up impatiently.

Old Benares, across on his trapeze, regarded his partner in bewilderment.

Suddenly Thacher shot out some words towards him. It was a kind of circus gibberish, mixed with enough straight English to enlighten Andy that his story was being imparted to Old Benares.

"You must get me out of this," said Andy. "The audience is becoming restive."

Thacher extended his hand, the back showing, in the direction of the orchestra. The band, at this signal, struck up a quick, lively tune.

"Get clear on the bar," directed Thacher rapidly, giving Andy more room. "Say," he added, in some surprise at Andy's cleverness, "you seem at home all right. Performer?"

"Oh, no—only a little amateur practice."

"It's given you the right nerve. Now then, you can't get up again, you've got to go down. Want to do it gracefully?"

"Sure," smiled Andy, perfectly calm and collected.

The situation rather delighted him than otherwise. He had supreme confidence in his companion, and felt that he was in safe hands.

"Are you grit for a swing?" pursued Thacher.

"Try me," said Andy.

Thacher called over some further words to old Benares. The latter at once swung down from his trapeze, holding on by his knees, both hands extended towards his partner.

"Do just as I say," directed Thacher to Andy. "Let me get you under the arms. Double your knees up to your chin. Can you hold yourself that way?"

"Yes," assented Andy.

"Now!" spoke Thacher sharply.

The next instant the performer had dropped Andy in his clasp. He had slipped an ankle halter to one of his own limbs.

This alone held him. Head downward, he lightly swung Andy to and fro. Andy rolled up like a ball ready for the next move.

All this had consumed less than two minutes. Now the audience believed Andy's sensational appearance a regularly arranged feature of the performance.

The oddity of a boy in ordinary dress coming into the act, as Andy had done, excited the profoundest interest and attention.

The manager in the ring below stood like one petrified, puzzled beyond all comprehension.

The orchestra checked its music. An intense strain pervaded. The audience swayed, but that only. There was a profound silence.

"One, two, three," said Thacher, at intervals.

"Come," answered old Benares.

At the end of a long, swift swing of his body, Thacher let go of Andy, who spun across a ten feet space that looked twenty to the audience below. Andy felt a light contact, old Benares' double grip caught under his arms.

The act was the merest novice trick analyzed by an expert, but it set the audience wild.

A prodigious cheer arose, clapping of hands, juvenile yells of admiration. The band came in with a ringing march. Old Benares righted himself, Andy with him.

"Su-paarb!" he said. "Can you hold on alone—one little minute?"

"Sure," said Andy.

The trapezist reached up and untied the descending rope, secured it to the bar, and shouted to those standing below.

Two ring hands ran out into the sawdust, caught the other end, and held it perfectly taut.

"Can you slide down it?" asked Benares.

Andy's eyes sparkled.

"Say, Mr. Benares," he replied, "if I wasn't rattled by all that crowd, I could do it head first. I've done the regular, one leg drop, fifty times."

"You are admirable—an ex-paart!" declaimed old Benares. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Only Andy Wildwood. Do you think I could ever do a real circus act?"

"Do I think—hear them yell! You have made a hit. Good boy. Be careful. Go."

Andy essayed an old rope performance he had seen done once, and had many times practiced.

This was to secure one leg around the rope, throw himself outwards, fold his arms, and wind round and round the rope, slowly descending.

The orchestra caught the cue, and kept time with appropriate music. A second hush held the audience. Without a break, Andy descended the forty odd feet of cable.

Nearing its end, he caught at the rope to steady himself. Then he gracefully leaped free of it to the sawdust, and made a profound bow to the audience amid wild thunders of applause.



CHAPTER XII

AN ARM OF THE LAW

The circus manager followed Andy, as the latter darted past the band stand and into the passageway leading to the performers' tent.

His face was a blank of wonderment. The ringmaster joined him, and so did one or two others as he hurried after Andy.

They found the latter holding to a guy rope, Andy's head was spinning. The reaction from intense excitement made him weak and breathless for some moments.

The audience was still in a pleasant flutter of commotion over the unique act that had caught their fancy.

The Benares Brothers went on with their performance, They cut out "the dive for life," but they made up for it by some dazzling aerial evolutions that thrilled the spectators, and everybody seemed satisfied.

Five minutes later they joined the group crowding around Andy. The manager had just finished questioning the lad as to details of the remarkable story he had told.

His face was stern and angry as he uttered some quick words to the ringmaster. Then the latter, taking a weighted coiled-up toe rope in his hand, went out into the ring.

From where he was Andy could see this flung aloft. It caught across the bar of the "doped" trapeze.

At a touch this latter came hurtling to the ground. Old Benares, watching also, trembled with intense anger.

"It is infamoos!" he declared. "Where should my partner be, but for this boy?"

The ringmaster examined the loosened trapeze bar. Just as Andy had stated, two slight threads alone had held it to the supporting ropes.

Thacher laid a friendly, grateful hand on Andy's shoulder. He was too full of emotion to speak. Andy looked up and smiled brightly.

"Good thing I was around, wasn't it?" he said carelessly. "Oh, there's Mr. Marco."

The Man with the Iron Jaw came up to the group at this juncture.

"You, Andy Wildwood!" he said. "I heard of the trapeze. So it is you again? Come with me. No, don't keep him," continued Marco to Thacher in a hurried way that made Andy curious. "You can see him again. Come, lad."

"What's the trouble, Mr. Marco?" asked Andy.

Marco did not answer. He kept hold of Andy's arm and led him to the rear. About to enter the performers' tent he dodged back.

"Keep close to me," he directed in a tone of suppressed excitement. "Quick, Wildwood—out this way. Hurry, now."

He had darted towards the bottom of the canvas strip siding the passageway. Lifting this up, he thrust Andy under it. Crawling after him and arising to his feet, he again grasped Andy's arm.

Headed for the open space the main entrance faced, Marco suddenly jerked Andy to one side. He now made swiftly for some small tents abutting the performers' tent.

"Hey! hi! hello!" some one had yelled out at them, and Andy saw two skulking forms making towards them.

A third figure joined them. Andy discerned evident pursuit in their manner and actions.

"Keep with me. Run in," directed Marco.

He had thrust Andy into one of the little tents the boy recognized as a dressing room. Marco dropped the flap and stood outside.

"Where's the boy gone to?" puffed out a labored voice.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy, under cover, but with a gasp of sheer dismay. "I understand now."

Andy recognized the tones of this last speaker. They belonged to Wagner, the village constable of Fairview.

"He's in that little tent," spoke another voice.

"Surround it," ordered Wagner. "Here, you stand aside. The boy I've been looking for all day is in that tent. I want him."

"Hold on," retorted Marco. "This is private circus property."

"Yes, and I'm a public officer, I'd have you know!" said Wagner. "No use. Don't interfere with the course of justice, or you'll get into trouble."

There was no light in the tent. The many flaring gasoline torches outside, however, cast a radiance that enabled Andy to pretty accurately make out the situation.

He traced two shadowy figures making a circuit of the tent. He could see Marco push back Wagner.

The latter was unsteady of gait and voice. Andy theorized that he had been commissioned by his aunt to pursue him.

Wagner had come down to Centreville with two assistants. Their expenses were probably paid in advance, and they had made a kind of individual celebration of the trip.

"I've been looking for that boy all day," now spoke Wagner.

"I know you have," answered Marco, standing like a statue at the door of the tent.

"He's a fugitive from justice. I'm bound to have him. I'm an arm of the law."

"What's he done?" inquired Marco.

"He's nearly broken his poor old aunt's heart."

"I didn't ask about his aunt's heart. What's he done?"

"Oh, why—hum, that's so. Well, he's been expelled from school because of his crazy circus capers."

"Indeed. I'm a circus man. Do you observe anything particularly crazy about me?" demanded Marco. "Say, my friend, you get out of this. I'm Marco, the Man with the Iron Jaw. It won't be healthy for me to tackle you, and I will if you make yourself obstreperous. You won't get that boy until you show me convincingly that you have a legal right to do so."

"Legal right? Why!" cried Wagner, drawing out a paper, "there's my warrant."

"Let me look at it, please. Oh," said Marco, examining the document. "Issued in another county. We're pretty good lawyers, us show folks, and I can tell you that you will have to get a search warrant issued in this county before you dare set a foot in that tent."

The Fairview constable was nonplussed. Marco was right, and Wagner knew it. He threshed about, fumed and threatened, and finally said:

"All right. I guess you know the law. We may have no right to enter that tent without a local search warrant, but the minute we get the boy outside we can take him on sight."

"You won't have the chance," observed Marco.

"We'll see. Hey," to his two assistants, "keep a close watch. I'm going for a local search warrant. Don't let Andy Wildwood leave that tent. The minute he does, nab him. Mister, I hereby notify you that these two men are my regularly appointed deputies."

"All right," nodded Marco calmly.

"Watch out, boys. I won't be gone half-an-hour."

At that moment a waddling man came up smoking an immense pipe.

"Ha," he said to Mr. Marco, "I vant mine drums."

"Wait a minute, Snitzellbaum," directed Marco.

Marco held the newcomer at bay until Wagner had disappeared in the direction of the town.

Then, leaning over, he whispered in the ear of the rotund musician.

"Ha! ho! hum! vhat? ho—ho! ha—ha!"

"Hush!" warned Marco, with a quick glance at the constable's deputies patrolling up and down. "Will you do it?"

"Vill I—oh, schure! Ha-ha! ho-ho! Mister Marco, you are von chenyus."

"Want your drum, eh?" spoke Marco in a loud tone. "Well, go in and get it."

Andy knew something was afoot from what he observed. He hoped it was in the line of preventing his return to Fairview.

In about five minutes the fat German came out of the tent, lugging his big bass drum with him.

"I put him on dot vagon," he puffed. "Good night, Mr. Marco. Vat dey do mit dot poy in dere, hey?"

"Oh, I'll attend to him," declared Marco.

Another half-hour went by. At its end Wagner came hurrying up to the spot. He had a companion with him, a keen-eyed, shrewd-faced fellow, evidently a local officer.

"I have a search warrant here," said the latter.

"All right," nodded Marco accommodatingly, "go on with your search."

"Told you I'd get that boy," announced Wagner, with a chuckle lifting the flap of the tent. "Say! How's this? Andy Wildwood is gone!"



CHAPTER XIII

ON THE ROAD

"Come oud!" said Hans Snitzellbaum.

"I'm glad to," answered Andy Wildwood.

He took a long, refreshing draught of pure air, and stood up and stretched his cramped limbs with satisfaction.

When the Man with the Iron Jaw had whispered to the fat musician outside the dressing tent guarded by Wagner's assistants, he had asked him to get Andy out of the clutches of the constable.

The fat sides of Hans Snitzellbaum shook with jollity, and his merry eye twinkled at the hint conveyed by Andy's staunch friend.

When Hans came inside the tent, a whispered word to Andy was sufficient to make the young fugitive understand what was coming.

Hans removed the top head of his big bass drum. Andy snuggled along the rounded woodwork of the instrument, and the drum head was replaced.

The double load was a pretty heavy one for the portly musician to handle, but all went well.

He got away from the dressing tent without arousing the suspicions of the constable's assistants. The drum was hoisted to the top of a moving wagon at some distance. Andy was rather crowded and short of breath, but he lay quiet and serene as the wagon started up.

They must have traveled four miles before the musician's welcome invitation to "come oud" followed a second removal of the drum head.

Andy looked about him. They were slowly traversing the main road leading from Centreville to Clifton.

There was bright moonlight, and the general view was interesting and picturesque. Ahead and behind a seemingly interminable caravan was in motion.

Chariots, cages, vehicles holding tent paraphernalia, a calliope, ticket wagons, horses, mules, ponies, seemed in endless parade. Performers and general circus employees thronged the various vehicles.

That in which Andy now found himself was a wagon with high, slatted sides, piled full of trunks, mattresses, seat cushions and curtains.

The fat musician reclined in a dip in the soft bedding; his bulky body had formed. Over beyond him lay a sad-faced man in an exhausted slumber, looking so utterly done out and ill that Andy pitied him.

A boy about Andy's own age, and two men whose attire and general appearance suggested side show "spielers," or those flashily dressed fellows who announce the wonders on view inside the minor canvases, lay half-buried among some gaudy draperies.

The two men lay with their high silk hats held softly by both hands across their breasts. The circus tinge was everywhere. One of them in his sleep was saying: "Ziripa, the Serpent Queen. Step up, gentlemen. Eats snakes like you eat strawberry shortcake. Eats 'em alive! Bites their heads off!"

As the wagon jolted on Hans comfortably smoked a pipe fully four feet long. His twinkling little eyes fairly laughed at Andy as the latter stepped out of the drum.

"Hey, you find him varm, hey?" he asked.

"I'd have smothered if I hadn't kept my mouth close to that vent hole," explained Andy. "Is it all right for me to show myself now?"

"Yaw," declared the fat musician. "You see dot sign?"

He pointed back a few yards. Andy recognized the four-armed semaphore set where a narrow road intersected the highway they were traversing.

"Oh, yes," said Andy quickly, "that shows the State line."

"Yaw, dot vas so. No one can arrest you now, Marco says, and Marco vas like a lawyer, hey?"

"Will I see Mr. Marco soon again?" asked Andy.

"For sure dot vas. He toldt me vot to do. Vhen we reach dot Cliftons, you vill go mit Billy Blow. He vill takes care of you till morning. Den you goes to dot Empire Hotel und sees Miss Stella Starr."

"Oh, I understand," exclaimed Andy brightly and hopefully. "And who is Billy Blow, please?"

"Him," explained Hans, pointing to the sleeping man with the sad, tired face—"dot is Billy Blow, the clown."

"Eh, what—clown? Not the one who rides the donkey and tells such funny stories?"

"Oh, yaw," declared the musician in a matter-of-fact way.

Andy was naturally surprised. He could hardly realize that the person he was looking at could ever make up as the mirth-provoking genius who was the life and fun of the big circus ring.

"Poor Billy!" said Hans, shaking his head solemnly. "First his vife falls from a horse. She vas in dot hospitals. Den his little poy, Midget, is sick. Poor Billy!"

Andy suddenly remembered something. He craned his neck and looked steadfastly along the road.

"I want to leave the wagon when we get a little further along," he said.

"I likes not dot," answered Snitzellbaum. "Maybe you gets in droubles, so?"

"No, it's when we reach an old barn," explained Andy. "I left something there earlier in the evening. I won't be a minute getting it."

In about half-an-hour, as they approached the hay barn where Andy had overheard the conversation between Daley and Murdock, he slipped down from the wagon. He ran ahead, went up among the hay bales, found the coat containing the marble bag holding his little stock of money, and speedily rejoined the musician.

Hans finished his pipe and sank into a doze. Andy could not sleep. He had gone through too much excitement that day to readily compose himself.

He lay listening dreamily to the jolty clatter of the wagons, the shouts of the drivers, and the commotion of the animals in the menagerie cages. Meanwhile he was thinking ardently of the next day. It would decide his fate. He felt hopeful that the show would take him on from the fact that Miss Stella Starr had required his presence the next morning.

"Hey," spoke a sudden voice, "give us a chaw, will you?"

Andy with a start turned to face the boy he had noticed asleep. The latter had rudely knocked his shoulder. He had looked mean to Andy while slumbering. He looked tough as he fixed his eyes on Andy, wide open.

"I don't 'chaw,'" said the latter.

"Teeth gone?" sneered the other.

"No, that's why I don't care to lose them," retorted Andy.

"Huh! Say, Snitzellbaum, loan me a little tobacco, will you?"

The speaker had nudged the musician. The latter eyed him with little favor.

"You vas a kid," he observed, stirring up. "Vhen you grow up, maybe. Not now."

The boy let out a string of rough expletives under his breath. Then fixing his eye on Andy curiously, he demanded:

"Who's the kindergarten kid? Trying to break into the show?"

"I may," answered Andy calmly.

"Oho!" chuckled the other, with a wicked grin—"we'll have some fun with you, then."

"Maybe not," broke in the musician. "Dot poy has a pull."

"Oh, has he?" snorted the other.

"Yaw. Maybe you don't know, hey, Jim Tapp? You hear about dot cut trapeze? Aha! It vas dis poy who discovered dot in time."

"Eh!" ejaculated young Tapp, with a prodigious start. "Yes," he continued very slowly, viewing Andy with a searching, hateful look. "I heard of it. Says Murdock put up the job to break Thacher's neck."

"Dot vas so."

"How does he know it?"

"He overheardt dose schoundrels tell dot."

"Maybe he's lying."

"Did dot cut trapeze show if he vas, hey?"

"Then he's a spy. Sneaking in on gentlemen's private affairs. Bah!" cried Tapp, with a venomous stare at Andy, "I wouldn't train with you two at a hundred per week!"

He crawled over to the edge of the wagon preparatory to leaving the vehicle and seeking more congenial company.

"Hey, you, Jim Tapp," observed Snitzellbaum, "you vas a pal of Daley, hey? You see him? Vell, you tell him ve hang him up by dose heels, und Murdock mit him, vonce ve catch dem. See you?"

Tapp disappeared over the edge of the wagon into the road.

"Mein friend," remarked the musician to Andy, "you vatch oud for dot poy."

Andy Wildwood recalled the solemn warning before the next day was over.



CHAPTER XIV

BILLY BLOW, CLOWN

Billy Blow, the clown, woke up just as the wagon reached the tent site at Clifton. It was nearly midnight.

His sleep did not seem to have refreshed him much. He got down from the vehicle like a man half-awake, and as if the effort hurt him. He had to shake himself to get the stiffness out of his limbs.

"Dis vos dot poy I told you aboud, Billy," said the musician.

"Oh, yes, yes," answered the clown in a preoccupied way, with a quick look at Andy. "I'll take him under my wing until Marco comes along. This way, kid. I've some baggage to look after. Then we'll bunk."

Andy bade Hans Snitzellbaum adieu with reluctance. He liked the bluff-hearted old German with his fatherly ways.

"Goot py for dot bresent times," said the fat musician. "Vhen I sees you mit dose tumblers, I gives some big bang-bang, boom-boom, hey?"

"I hope you will," responded Andy with a cheery laugh.

He followed Billy Blow. The latter finally found the wagon he was after. He bundled its contents about and got a small wooden box and a big wicker trunk to one side.

"Wish you'd mind these till I see if I can't make quick sleeping quarters," Blow said to Andy.

"Yes, sir, I'll be glad to," answered Andy willingly, and the clown hurried off in his usual nervous fashion.

Andy was kept keenly awake for the ensuing hour. It did not seem to be night at all. The scene about him was one of constant activity.

Andy caught a glimpse of real circus life. Its details filled him with wonderment, admiration and keen interest.

The scene was one of constantly increasing hustle and bustle. There was infinite variety and excitement in the occasion. For all that, there was a system, precision and progress in all that was done that fascinated Andy.

The boy was witnessing the building of a great city in itself within the space of half-a-dozen hours.

The caravan wound in, section by section. The wagons moved to set places as if doing so automatically, discharged their cumbersome loads, and retired.

First came the baggage train, then the stake and chain wagons, the side shows, paraphernalia, and the menagerie cages.

The circus area proper had been all marked out, the ring graded, sawdust-strewn, and straw scattered to absorb dampness.

The blacksmiths' wagons, cooks' caravan and the minor tents all removed to the far rear. The naphtha torches were set every twenty feet apart to illuminate proceedings. Workers were hauling on the ground great hogsheads of water. Near the dining tents half-a-hundred table cloths were already hanging out on wire clothes lines to dry.

Some men were washing small tents with paraffin to season them against the weather. Finally the great forty-horse team lumbered up with its mighty load. The boss canvasman with half-a-hundred assistants began the construction of "the main top," or performing tent, holding fifteen thousand people.

Andy, absorbed in every maneuver displayed, was completely lost in the deepest interest when a voice at his side aroused him.

"Tired waiting?" asked Billy Blow.

"Oh, no," answered Andy, "I could watch this forever, I think."

"It would soon get stale," declared the clown, with a faint smile. "Give us a hand, partner—one at a time, and we'll get my togs and ourselves under cover."

Andy took one handle of the box, the clown the other. They carried it to the door of one of twenty small tents near the cook's quarters. They brought the wicker trunk also, and then carried box and trunk inside the tent.

Andy looked about it curiously. A candle burned on a bench. Beyond it was a mattress. Near one side, and boxed in by platform sections as if to keep off draughts, was a second smaller mattress.

On a stool near it sat a thin-faced, lady-like woman. She was smiling down at a little boy lying huddled up in shawls and a comforter.

"This is my boy, Wildwood," spoke Billy Blow. "New hand, Midge—if he makes good."

The little fellow nodded in a grave, mature way at Andy. According to his size, he resembled a child of four. That was why they called him Midget. Andy learned later that he was ten years old. He had an act with the circus, going around the ring perched on the shoulders of a bare-back rider. He also sometimes had a part with "the Tom Thumb acrobats," doing some clever hoop-jumping with a trick Shetland pony.

He seemed to be just recovering from a fit of sickness. His face, prematurely old, was pinched and colorless.

"Our Columbine in the Humpty Dumpty afterpiece," was the way the clown introduced the lady. "I don't know how to thank you for all your trouble, Miss Nellis."

"Don't mention it, Billy," responded the woman. "Any of us would fight for it to help you or the kid, wouldn't we, Midge?"

"I don't know why," answered the lad in a weary way. "I ain't much good any more."

"Now hear that ungrateful boy!" rallied Miss Nellis. "Billy, the doctor says his whole trouble was poisoned canned stuff, bad water and a cold. He's broken the fever. Here's some medicine. Every hour a spoonful until gone, and doctor says he'll be fit as ever in a day or two."

"That's good," said the clown, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "I wish I could afford the hotel for the lad, instead of this rough-and-tumble shack life, but my wife's hospital bills drain me pretty well."

"Never mind. Better times coming, Billy. Don't you get disheartened," cheered the little woman. "Remember now, don't miss that medicine."

Miss Nellis went away. Andy heard poor Billy sigh as he adjusted the larger mattress.

"There's your bunk," he said to Andy. "Marco will see you early in the morning."

Andy took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the rude bed. He watched Midget tracing the outlines of a picture with his white finger in a book Miss Nellis had brought him.

Andy saw the clown go over to a stool and place a homely, old-fashioned watch and a spoon and medicine bottle Miss Nellis had given him upon it.

Then Blow came back to the big mattress and sat down on it. He bent his face in his hands in a tired way. Every minute he would sway with sleepiness, start up, and try to keep awake.

"The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his worries," thought Andy. "Mr. Blow," he said aloud, sitting up, "I can't sleep a wink. This is all so new to me. I'll just disturb you rustling about here. Please let me attend to the little fellow, won't you, and you take a good sound snooze? Come, it will do you lots of good."

"No, no," began the clown weakly.

"Please," persisted Andy. "Honest, I can't close my eyes. Now don't you have a care. I'll give Midget his medicine to the second."

Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay down. He was asleep in two minutes. Andy went over to the stool.

"I'm going to be your nurse," he told Midget. "Suppose you sleep, too."

"I can't," answered the little fellow. "I've been asleep all day. Wish I had another book, I've looked this one through a hundred times."

"I could tell you some stories," Andy suggested. "Good ones."

"Will you, say, will you?" pleaded the clown's boy eagerly.

"You bet—and famous ones."

Andy kept his promise. He ransacked his mind for the brightest stories he had ever read. Never was there a more interested listener. Andy talked in a low voice so as not to disturb the clown.

Midget seemed most to like the real stories of his own village life that Andy finally drifted into.

"That's what I'd like," he said, after Andy had told of some boyish adventures back at Fairview.

"Oh, I'm so tired of moving on—all the time moving on!"

"Strange," thought Andy, "and that's just the kind of a life I'm trying to get into."

Midget became so animated that Andy finally got him to tell some stories about circus life. All that, however, was "shop talk" to the little performer, but Andy learned considerable from the keen-witted little fellow, who appeared to know as much about the ins and outs of show life as some veteran of the ring.

He enlightened his auditor greatly in the line of real circus slang. Andy learned that in show vernacular clowns were "joys," and other performers "kinkers." A pocket book was a "leather," a hat a "lid," a ticket a "fake," an elephant a "bull." Lemonade was "juice," eyes were "lamps," candy peddlers were "butchers," and the various tents "tops," as, for instance: "main top," "cook top," and the side shows were "kid tops."

Finally little Midge went to sleep. Andy woke him up each hour till daybreak to take his medicine. After the last dose Andy went outside to stretch his limbs and get a mouthful of fresh air.

He saw men still tirelessly working here and there. Some were housing the live stock, some unpacking seat stands, some fixing the banners on the main tent.

Andy did not go far from the clown's tent. It was fairly dawn. Happening to glance towards the chandelier wagon he came to a dead stand-still, and stared.

"Hello!" said Andy with animation. "There's that Jim Tapp, and the man with him—yes, it's the fellow, Murdock, I saw with Daley in the old hay barn."

As he stood gazing Tapp caught sight of him. He started violently and spoke some quick words to his companion, pointing towards Andy.

"That's the man who cut the trapeze," murmured Andy. "I'll rouse the clown and tell him. He's a dangerous man to have lurking around."

"Hey! hey!" called out Tapp at just that moment.

Both he and his companion started running towards Andy. There was that in their bearing that warned Andy they meant him no good. Andy did not pause.

"Stop, I tell you!" shouted the man, Murdock.

Andy made a bee-line for the clown's tent. As he neared it he glanced back over his shoulder.

Tapp was still putting after him. His companion had stooped to pick up an iron tent stake from the ground.

This he let drive with full force. It took Andy squarely between the shoulders, and he dropped like a shot.



CHAPTER XV

ANDY JOINS THE SHOW

The breath seemed clear knocked out of Andy's body. The shock of the blow from the stake deprived him of consciousness.

Andy opened his eyes in about two minutes. He found himself lying on the ground, half-a-dozen circus employees gathered around him.

"Help me up," said Andy in a confused way. "I mustn't miss giving Midge his medicine."

"Eh—the clown's boy?" spoke one of the men sharply.

"Oh," said Andy, regaining his senses more completely, "have I been here long?"

"About two minutes."

"Then Midge is all right—oh, dear!"

Andy, trying to arise, gasped and tottered weakly. The man who had addressed him seemed to be a sort of boss of the others. He held Andy firmly as he said:

"Belong with Billy Blow? All right, we'll take you to his tent. But, say—what did those fellows knock you out for?"

"Did you see the fellows?" inquired Andy.

"I was way over near the big bunk top. I heard some one holler, saw you running. Two fellows were after you. One let drive that stake. It took you between the shoulders like a cannon ball. An ugly throw, and a wicked one. Wonder it didn't fetch you for good."

"One of the fellows was a boy named Jim Tapp," said Andy.

"That rascal, eh?" spoke the man. "Thought he'd quit us. Was going to. Borrowed all he could, and salary tied up on an attachment."

"The other was a man named Murdock. He's the fellow who cut the trapeze on Benares Brothers last night."

"What!" cried the man, with a jump. "Hey, men—you hear that? Go for both! Get them! They're wanted for these crooked jobs."

Those addressed started on a chase, pursuant to directions of their leader who had seen Murdock and Tapp run away as he came up to the prostrate Andy.

The man himself helped Andy to the clown's tent. Their entrance aroused Billy Blow, who sprang up quickly as he noticed that Andy walked in a pained, disabled fashion. He was quite another man for his long, refreshing sleep.

"Why, what's the matter?" he asked.

Andy's companion explained. The clown expressed his sympathy and indignation in the same breath. He urged that the show detectives be aroused at once.

"I heard Harding say last night he'd spend a thousand dollars, but he'd get Daley and Murdock behind the bars for attempted murder," declared the clown.

The man who had assisted Andy went away saying he would consult with Mr. Giles Harding, the owner of the circus, at once.

"You see, Murdock ventured here to find out how his wicked plot succeeded, never suspecting that he was found out," theorized the clown. "That fellow, Tapp, was always his crony. They're a bad lot, you can guess that from the stake they threw at you. No bones broken? Good! Hurts? I'll soon fix that. Strip, now."

"All right."

The clown had felt all over Andy's back as the latter sat down on the bench. Now he made Andy take off his coat and shirt. Then he produced a big bottle from his wicker trunk.

"Ever hear of the Nine Oils?" he asked, as he poured a lot of black, greasy stuff out of the bottle into the palm of his hand.

"No," said Andy.

"This is it," explained the clown, beginning to rub Andy's back vigorously. "You've got quite a bruise, and I suppose it pains. Just lay down. When I get through, if the Nine Oils don't fix you up, I'll give you nine dollars."

The clown rubbed Andy good and hard. Then he made him lie down on the big mattress. The Nine Oils had a magical effect. Andy's pain and soreness were soon soothed. He fell into a doze, and woke up to observe that Marco was in the tent conversing with the clown.

"Hi, Wildwood," hailed Andy's friend. "Having quite a time of it, aren't you?"

Andy got up as good as ever. His back smarted slightly—that was the only reminder he had of Murdock's savage assault.

Billy Blow had been telling Marco about Andy's latest mishap. Marco was greatly worked up over it. He said the attempted trick on old Benares's partner had become noised about, and if the two plotters were arrested and brought anywhere near the circus, they stood a good show of lynching.

"I'll step down with you to the hotel about ten o'clock, Wildwood," said Marco. "Miss Starr has some word for you."

Andy simply said "Thank you," but his hopes rose tremendously. He accompanied Marco to the big eating tent and at the man's invitation had breakfast. The food was good and everything was scrupulously clean.

Marco got a big tin tray, and he and Andy carried a double breakfast to Billy Blow's tent.

The clown had got rested up and was bright and chipper, for little Midge seemed on the mend, and was as lively as a cricket. The little fellow ate a hearty meal, and then expressed a wish for an airing. Marco borrowed one of the wagons used by some performing goats, and Andy rode Midge around the grounds for half-an-hour.

At about eight o'clock Andy went to the principal street of the town. He bought himself a new shirt and a cap. Going back to the clown's tent he washed up, and made himself generally tidy and presentable for the coming interview at the Empire Hotel.

Andy had a full hour to spare before the time set for that event arrived. He took a stroll about the circus grounds, meeting jolly old Hans Snitzellbaum, and Benares and his partner, Thacher.

His part taken in the impromptu arenic performance of the evening previous had become generally known. Andy was pointed out to the watchmen and others, and no one hindered him going about as he chose.

Andy viewed another phase of show detail now. It was the picturesque part, the family side of circus daily life.

He saw women busy at fancy work or sewing, their children playing with the ring ponies or petting the cake-walking horse.

Some of the men were mending their clothes, others were washing out collars and handkerchiefs. What element of home life there was in the circus experience Andy witnessed in his brief stroll.

He was on time to the minute at the Empire Hotel. A bell-boy showed him up to the ladies' parlor on the second floor.

Miss Stella Starr was listening to some members of the circus minstrel show trying over some new airs on the piano.

The moment she saw him she came forward with hand extended and a welcome smile on her kindly face.

She made Andy feel at home at once. She insisted on hearing all the details of his experience since the evening he had saved her from disaster during the wind storm.

"I think now just as I thought night before last, Andy," she said finally. "You do not owe much of duty to that aunt of yours. I think I would fight pretty hard to get away, in your place, with the reform school staring me in the face. Well, Andy, I have spoken to Mr. Harding."

"Can—can I join?" asked Andy, with a good deal of anxiety.

"Yes, Andy. I had a long talk with him about you, and—here he is now."

A brisk-moving, keen-faced man of about fifty entered the parlor just then.

"Mr. Harding, this is the boy, Andy Wildwood, I told you about," said Miss Starr.

"Oh, indeed?" observed the showman, looking Andy all over with one swift, comprehensive glance. "They tell me you can do stunts, young man?"

"Oh, a little—on the bar and tumbling," said Andy.

"Well, I suppose you don't expect to star it for awhile," said Harding. "You must begin at the bottom, you know."

"I want to, sir."

"Very good. I will give you a card to the manager. He will make you useful in a general way until we have our two days' rest at Tipton, I'll look you up then, and see if you've got any ring stuff in you."

Andy took the card tendered by the showman after the latter had written a few words on it in pencil.

Andy made his best bow to Miss Starr. He was delighted and fluttered. He showed it so much that the showman was pleased out of the common.

"Come back a minute," he called out. "My boy," he continued, placing a friendly hand on Andy's shoulder, "you have made a good start with us in that Benares matter. Keep on the right side always, and you will succeed. Never swear, quarrel or gamble. Assist our patrons, and be civil and obliging on all occasions. The circus is a grand centre of fraternal good will, properly managed, and the right circus stands for health, happiness, virtue and vigor. Its motto should be courage, ambition and energy, governed by honest purpose and tempered by humanity. I don't want to lecture, but I am giving you the benefit of what has cost me twenty years experience and a good many thousands of dollars."

"Thank you, sir, I shall not forget what you have told me," said Andy.

For all that, Andy's mind was for the present full only of the pomp and glitter of his new calling. One supreme thought made his heart bubble over with joy:

At last he had reached the goal of his fondest wishes. Andy Wildwood had "joined the circus."



CHAPTER XVI

THE REGISTERED MAIL

Andy hurried back to the circus grounds the happiest boy on earth. He went straight to the clown's tent.

Billy Blow was making up for the morning parade. Dressed up as a way-back farmer, he was to drive a hay wagon, breaking into the procession here and there along the line of march. Finally, when he had created a sensation, he was to drop his disguise and emerge in his usual popular ring character.

While Billy was putting the finishing touches to his toilet he conversed with Andy, congratulating him on his success in getting a job with the show.

"Wait about half-an-hour till the parade gets off the grounds," he advised Andy. "Scripps, the manager, will be busy till then. You'll find him in the paper tent."

Andy knew what that was—the structure containing the programmes and general advertising and posting outfits of the show. He had noticed it earlier in the day. A wagon inside the tent, with steps and windows, comprised the manager's private office.

Little Midge was sitting up playing with some show children who had brought in a lot of toys. Andy went outside with Billy.

"See here," said the clown, as he hurried off to join the parade. "Tell Scripps that you bunk with me. Any objection?"

"I should say not."

"You're welcome. The general crowd they'd put you with is a bit too rough for a raw recruit. Just stand what they give you till we reach Tipton. You've got friends enough to pull you up into the performers' rank. We'll fix you out there."

"Thank you," said Andy.

He strolled about with a happy smile on his face. Prospects looked fine, and Andy's heart warmed as he thought of all the good friends he had made.

"They're a nice crowd," he thought—"Miss Starr, Marco, the Benares Brothers, the clown. How different, though, to what I used to think! It's business with them, real work, for all the tinsel and glare. It's a pleasant business, though, and they must make a lot of money."

There was a shrill, whistling shriek from the calliope wagon. The various performers scampered from their dressing rooms at the signal.

Each person, vehicle and animal fell into line in the morning caravan with a promptness and ease born of long practice.

Soon there was a fluttering line of gay color, rich plush hangings, bullion-trimmed uniforms, silken flags and streamers.

Zeno, the balloon clown, eating "redhots," i.e. peanuts, led the procession, bouncing up and down on a rubber globe in the advance chariot. The bands began to play. The prancing horses, rumbling wagons, screaming calliope, frolicking tumblers, tramp bicyclists weaving in and out in grotesque costumes, often on one wheel, the Tallyho stage filled with smiling ladies, old Sultan, the majestic lion, gazing in calm dignity down from his high extension cage—all this passed, a fantastic panorama, before Andy's engrossed gaze.

"It's grand!" decided Andy—"just grand! A fellow can never get lonesome here, night or day. I'm going to like it. Now for the manager. Hope I don't have any trouble."

When Andy came to the paper tent he found a good many people inside. There were several performers and canvas men on crutches or bandaged up. There were village merchants with bills, newspaper men after free passes and persons seeking employment.

They were called in turn up the steps of the wagon that constituted the manager's office.

Mr. Scripps was a rapid talker, a brisk man of business, and he disposed of the cases presented in quick order.

Andy saw four or five dissipated looking men discharged at a word. The applicants for work were ordered to appear at Tipton, two days later.

Several were after an advance on their salary. Some farmers appeared with claims for foraging done by circus hands. Finally Andy got to the front and tendered the card Mr. Harding had given him.

"All right," shot out Scripps sharply, giving the lad a keen look. "You're the one who blocked the game on Benares? Good for you! We'll remember that, later."

Scripps glanced over a pasteboard sheet on his desk, first asking Andy his name and age, and writing his answers down in a big-paged book.

"Half-a-dollar a day and keep, for the present," he said.

"All right," nodded Andy—"it's a start."

"Just so. Let me see. Ah, here we are. Report to the Wild Man of Borneo side top at twelve."

"Yes, sir."

"Hammer the big triangle there till two. Then—let me see again. Know how to ride a horse?"

"Oh, yes," replied Andy eagerly.

"All right, at two o'clock report for the jockey ring section at the horse tent. They'll hand you a costume."

Scripps wrote a number on a red ticket and handed this to Andy—his pass as an employee. Just then a newcomer bundled up the steps unceremoniously, a red-faced, fussy old fellow.

"Mail's in," he announced. "Give me the O.K."

Scripps fumbled in a drawer of his desk and brought out a rubber stamp and pad.

"Mind your eye, Rip," he observed, casting a scrutinizing look over the intruder.

"Which eye?" demanded the old fellow.

"The one that sees a bottle and glass the quickest."

"H'm!" grumbled Ripley, or "Rip Van Winkle," as he was familiarly known by the show people. "My eyes are all right. Don't fret. I've been twenty years with this here show, man and boy—"

"Yes, yes, we know all about that," interrupted Scripps. "You're seasoned, right enough. Don't leave the rig to come home without a driver, though, and money letters aboard, as you did last week. Here is a new hand. Break him in to keep his time employed."

Ripley viewed Andy with some disfavor. Evidently he regarded him as a sort of guardian.

Andy, however, silently followed him outside. Ripley soon reached a close vehicle, boarded up back of the seat and with two doors at the rear.

A big-boned mottled horse, once evidently a beauty, was between the shafts. As Andy lifted himself to the seat beside Ripley, the latter made a peculiar, purring: "Z-rr-rp, Lute!"

He did not even take up the reins. The horse, with a neigh and a frisky dance movement of the forefeet, started up.

"Right, left, slow, Lute. Turn—now go"—Ripley gave a dozen directions within the next five minutes. He was showing off for Andy's benefit. The latter was, in fact, pleased. The animal obeyed every direction with a precision and intelligence that fairly amazed the boy.

Finally getting to a clear course outside the circus tangle, Ripley took up the reins.

He set his lips and uttered two sharp whistles, ending in a kind of hiss.

Andy was very nearly jerked out of his seat He had to hold on to its side bar. For about five hundred yards the horse took a sprint that knocked off his cap and fairly took his breath away.

"Say, he's great!" Andy exclaimed irrepressibly, as Ripley slowed down again.

"I guess so," nodded the latter, aroused out of his crustiness by Andy's enthusiasm. "That Lucille was famous, once. Past her prime a little now, but when her old driver has the reins, she don't forget, does she?"

Ripley took a turn into a side street and finally halted, giving Andy the reins.

"Got to order something," he said.

Andy saw him enter a store, but only to leave it by a side door and cross an alley into a saloon.

Ripley tried to appear very business-like when he came back to the wagon, but Andy caught the taint of liquor in his breath.

Twice again the circus veteran made stops in the same manner. He became quite chatty and confidential.

Ripley explained to Andy that he went regularly for the circus mail at each town where the show stopped.

"Postmasters kick, with five hundred strangers calling for their mail," he explained, "so we always forward a list of the employees. This mail, just before pay day, when the crowd is usually hard up, brings a good many money letters from friends. That rubber stamp you saw the manager give me O.K.'s all the registered cards at the post office. Once the wagon was robbed. The looters made quite a haul. Not when I was on duty, though."

At a drug store Ripley got several packages and some more at a general merchandise store. Finally they reached the post office, and Ripley drove around to a sort of hitching alley at its side.

"Come with me to see how we do things," he invited Andy. "Bring along those two mail bags."

Andy had already noticed the bags. One was quite large. It was made of canvas, with a snap lock. The other was of leather, and smaller in size.

Swinging these over his shoulder, Ripley entered the post-office. He showed his credentials from the circus, and was admitted behind the letter cases of the places.

Andy watched him receive over a hundred letters and packages, receipting for the same on registry delivery cards. This lot he placed in the small leather bag.

The ordinary mail lay sorted out for the circus on a stamping table. This went into the big canvas pouch.

The circus newspaper mail was ready tagged in a hempen sack. Ripley carried this out to Andy.

"Toss it in the wagon," he ordered, following with the letter pouches.

Andy opened the back doors of the wagon and tossed in the newspaper bag.

"Say, back in a minute," observed Ripley, depositing his own burdens on the front wagon seat.

Andy stood watching him. Ripley rounded a corner in the alley where a wooden finger indicated a side entrance to a hotel bar. Ripley's failing was manifest, and Andy decided that he did, indeed, need a guardian.

The wagon stood on a space quite secluded from the street. Near the entrance to the alley several men were lounging about.

Andy carried the leather pouch with him as he went around to the open doors at the rear of the wagon.

He climbed in, and stowed the newspaper bag and what packages they had already collected in a tidy pile. Ripley had indicated that there was quite a miscellaneous load to pick up about town before they returned to the circus.

Andy was thus employed when the rear doors came together with a sharp snap.

They shut him in a close prisoner, for they were self-locking, on the outside only.

Andy, in complete darkness, now groped back to the doors. He heard quick, suppressed tones outside.

The vehicle jolted. Some one had jumped to the front seat. A whip snapped. Old Lute started up with a bound, throwing Andy off his footing. "Send her spinning!" reached him in a muffled voice from the front seat.

"Jump with the bag when we turn that old shed," answered other tones. "Why, say! There's only one mail bag."

"I saw them bring out two. I am dead sure of it."

"And this is only common letters."

"How do you know?"

"Jim Tapp described them—'get the leather one,' he says. 'It's got the money mail in it.'"

"Then where is it?"

"The kid must have it."

"Inside the wagon?"

"Yes."

"Whoa."

With a sharp jerk the horse was pulled to a halt.

Andy heard the two men on the seat jump to the ground. He knew that their motive was robbery. He knew further that this was another plot of bad Jim Tapp, the friend and associate of criminals.

In another minute the men would open the wagon doors, pull him out, perhaps assault him, take the registered mail and fly.

Andy had only a second to act in. He theorized that the wagon, following the alley, was now probably halted in some secluded side lane.

To escape the clutches of the would-be robbers was everything. Andy, having no weapon of defence, was no match for them.

"If the rig once reaches the crowded streets, I'm safe," thought Andy.

Then he carried out a speedy programme. Forming his lips in a pucker, as he had seen Ripley do, Andy uttered two sharp whistles, then a clear, resounding hiss.

"Thunder!" yelled a voice outside.

"Ouch!" echoed a second.

The horse had given one wild, prodigious bound at hearing the familiar signal.

The vehicle must have grazed one of the thieves. Its front wheels knocked the other down.

"My! I'm in for it," instantly decided Andy.

For, swayed from side to side, he realized that the circus wagon was dashing forward at runaway speed.



CHAPTER XVII

A WILD JOURNEY

Andy Wildwood found himself in a box, in more ways than one.

Judging from the sounds he had heard, the men bent on securing the registered mail pouch had been baffled. The old circus horse had started on a sudden and surprisingly swift sprint. From the feeling of turns, jerks and swings, Andy decided that within four minutes the rig had left the post-office fully half-a-mile to the rear.

"I've started the horse all right," said Andy. "Old Ripley's signal has acted like a charm. How to stop the animal, though. That is the present question?"

Andy ran at the two rear doors of the wagon. He steadied himself, arms extended so as to touch either side of the box. Then he gave the doors a tremendous kick with the sole of his shoe.

The doors did not budge. He felt over their inner surfaces where they came together. The lock was set in the wood. They could be opened only from the outside.

The wagon box had one aperture, Andy discovered. This was a small ventilating grating up in one corner above the seat.

He sprang up on the newspaper bag. This brought his eyes on a level with the grating. It was about four by six inches, with slanting slats. Andy could see down at the horse and ahead along the road.

He grew excited and somewhat uneasy as he looked out. Lute was a sight for a race track. Her head down, mane flowing, tail extended, she was covering the ground with tremendous strides.

Farther back on the route Andy had felt the wagon collide with curbs and with other vehicles. Once there was a crash and a yell, and he felt sure they had taken a wheel off a rig they passed. Now, however, they appeared to be quite clear of the town proper.

The road ahead was a slanting one. A steep grade fully half-a-mile long led to a stone bridge crossing a river. It was so steep that Andy wondered that Lute did not stumble. The wagon wheels ground and slid so that the vehicle lifted at the rear, as if its own momentum would cause a sudden tip-over.

"We'll never reach the bottom of the hill," decided Andy. "My! we're going!"

He shouted out words of direction to the horse he had heard Ripley employ. Lute did not hear, at least did not heed. Andy remembered now that in stopping the horse Ripley had used the reins.

He held his breath as, striking a rut, the wagon bounded up in the air. He clung for dear life, with one hand clutching the ventilator bars as the vehicle was flung sideways over ten feet, threatening to snap off the wheels, which bent and cracked on their axles at the terrific strain.

Contrary to Andy's anticipations they neared the bottom of the hill without a mishap. Suddenly, however, he gave a shout. A new danger threatened.

The bridge had large stone posts where it began. Then a frail wooden railing was its only side protection. The roadway was not very broad. Two full loads of hay could never have passed one another on that bridge.

"There's a team coming," breathed Andy. "We'll collide, sure. Whoa! whoa!" he yelled through the grating. "No use. It's a smash, and a bad one."

Andy fixed a distressed glance on the team half-way across the bridge. A collision was inevitable. Lute, striking the level, only increased her already terrific rate of speed.

Andy took heart, however, as she swerved to one side.

The intelligent animal appeared to enjoy her wild runaway, and wanted to keep it up. Apparently she aimed to keep precisely to her own side of the road and avoid a collision.

The driver of the team coming had jumped from his seat and pulled his rig to the very edge of the planking. All might have gone well but for a slight miscalculation.

As Lute's feet struck the bridge plankway, she pressed close to the right. The wagon swerved. The front end of the box landed squarely against the stone post.

The shock was a stunning one. It tore the wagon shafts, harness and all, clear off the horse. With a circling twist the vehicle reversed like lightning. The box struck the wooden rail. This snapped like a pipe stem.

Lute, dashed on like a whirlwind, the driver of the other team staring in appalled wonder, the box slid clear of the plankway and went whirling to the river bed fifteen feet below.

Andy was thrown from side to side. Then, as the wagon landed, a new crash and a new shock dazed his wits completely. He was hurled the length of the box, his head fortunately striking where the newspaper bag intervened.

Judging from the concussion, Andy decided that the wagon box had landed on a big rock in the river bed. There it remained stationary. He struggled to an upright position. One arm was badly wrenched. His face was grazed and bleeding.

"If I don't get out some way," he panted, "I'll drown."

It looked that way. He felt a great spurt of water, pouring in rapidly when the ventilator dipped under the surface. Then, too, the crash had wrenched the box structure at various seams. Water was forcing its way in, bottom, sides and top.

From ankle-deep to knee-deep, Andy stood helpless. Then, locating the door end of the vehicle, he drew back and massed all his muscle for a supreme effort. Shoulders first Andy posed, and then threw himself forward, battering-ram fashion. He felt he must act and that quickly, or else the worst might be his own.



CHAPTER XVIII

A FREAK OF NATURE

The doors at the rear of the wagon box gave way as Andy's body met their inner surface with full force. He stood now on a slant, his body submerged to the waist.

The box had crashed on top of one big flat rock in the river bed, and had tilted on this foundation against another upright rock. But for this it might have gone clear under water or floated down stream, and Andy might have been drowned.

All through his stirring runaway experience Andy had kept possession of the registered mail pouch. It was still slung from his shoulder as he gazed around him. He was careful lest he disturb the equilibrium of the wreck. He found out now that the door hinges had been knocked clear off and the frame badly wrenched in its fall.

"Hello! hello!" shouted an excited voice overhead.

"Hello yourself," sang back Andy, looking up.

The driver of the team into which the runaway had so nearly dashed stood looking down from the bridge planking. His eyes stared wide as Andy suddenly appeared like a jack-in-the-box.

"Was you in there?" gulped the man.

"I was nowhere else," answered Andy. "Say, mister, where's that horse?"

"Oh, he's all right. See him?"

The man pointed along the other shore of the river bank. Lute had crossed the bridge. She had now taken herself to some marshy grass stretches, and was grazing placidly.

Andy was about twenty feet from the shore. He could nearly make it by jumping from rock to rock, he thought. At one or two places, however, the current ran strong and deep, and he saw that he might have to do some swimming.

"See here," he called up to the man on the bridge, "have you got a rope?"

"Yes," nodded the man.

"Long enough to reach down here?"

"I guess so. Let's try. Wait a minute."

He went to his wagon. Shortly he dropped a new stout rope used in securing hay loads. It had length and to spare.

Andy tied the mail pouch to its end. Then he groped under water in the wagon box. He managed to fish out the various parcels it held, including the newspaper bag.

These he sent up first. Then the man at the other end braced the cable against a railing post. Andy came up the rope with agility.

He stamped and shook the water from his soaked shoes and clothing. The mail bag he again suspended across his shoulders.

"Hi, another runaway!" suddenly exclaimed his companion.

Andy traced an increasing clatter of a horse's hoofs and wagon wheels to a rig descending the hill at breakneck speed.

"No," he said. "It's Ripley."

"Who's he?"

"The man who drove that wagon. Stop! stop!" cried Andy, springing into the middle of the bridge roadway and waving his arms.

The rig came up. It was driven by a man wearing a badge. Andy decided he was some local police officer. Ripley was fearfully excited and his face showed it.

"What did you do with that wagon?" sputtered Ripley, jumping to the plankway.

Andy pointed down at the river bed and then at the distant horse. Briefly as he could he narrated what had occurred.

Ripley nearly had a fit. He instantly realized that whoever was to blame for the runaway, it was not Andy.

"Where's the mail?" he asked.

"There's the newspaper bag," said Andy; "here's the registered mail pouch. Those thieves took the other bag of mail."

"They did? Do you hear, officer? Get after them quick, won't you? Never mind us. Describe them, kid."

"How can I, when I never saw them?" said Andy.

Ripley groaned and wrung his hands. He was in a frenzy of distress and indecision.

"See here," spoke the officer to him. "You had better go after that horse. Your wagon isn't worth fishing up. Got all there was in it, lad?"

"Yes, sir," answered Andy.

"Very well, bundle that bag and those packages in here, and come with me. It's good you held on to that registered stuff."

Ripley started after the runaway horse. The officer hurried townwards, questioning Andy closely. He stopped at the post-office and made some inquiries among the crowd loitering about its vicinity. Then he drove to the town hall, went into his office, jumped in the buggy again, and they proceeded toward the circus.

"I've got a vague description of your two men," he told Andy, "but that isn't much, with so many strangers in town. You think they are partners of that Rapp, whom the circus people know?"

"Tapp—Jim Tapp," corrected Andy. "Yes, they mentioned his name."

"The circus detectives ought to handle this case, then," said the village officer. "I'd better see them right away."

The manager of the show regarded Andy in some wonderment as he and the officer unceremoniously entered his presence. His excitement increased as Andy recited his story.

"I warned Ripley," he exclaimed. "Well, he shan't play the spoiled pet any longer. As to you, Wildwood, you deserve credit for your pluck. I'll have a talk with you when we get to Tipton. Too shaken up to do a little general utility work, till I can arrange for something better?"

"Not at all, sir," answered Andy promptly.

Andy saw that he had made a good impression on the manager. The latter was pleased with him and interested in him. Andy waited outside the tent. Soon the village officer and two of the circus detectives sought him out. These latter questioned him on their own behalf.

"Daley, Murdock and Tapp are in this," one of them remarked definitely. "They haven't got much, this time. The next break, though, may be for the ticket wagon. They've got to be squelched."

Andy put in a busy, pleasant day. He was getting acquainted, he was becoming versed in general circus detail.

For an hour he hammered the huge triangle in front of a side show, as directed. At the afternoon rehearsal he was one of twenty dressed like jockeys in the ring parade.

Afterwards Andy was making for the clown's tent, when a fat, red-faced, perspiring fellow, aproned as a cook, hailed him.

"Belong to show?" he asked, waving a frying pan.

"Sure, I do," answered Andy, proudly.

"Help me a little, will you?"

"Glad to. What can I do?"

"Open these lard and butter casks and carry them in. I haven't time. There's a hatchet. My stuff is all burning up inside."

A hissing splutter of his ovens made the cook dive into his tent. Andy picked up a chisel dropped by the cook. He opened six casks standing on the ground and carried them inside.

The cooking odor pervading the place was very pleasing. The cook's assistants were few, some of the regulars were absent, Andy guessed from what he heard the cook say. The latter was rushed to death, and jumping from stove to stove and utensil to utensil in a great flutter of excitement and haste for he was behind in his work.

Andy caught on to the situation. In a swift, quiet way he anticipated the cook's needs. He dipped and dried some skillets near a trough of water. He sharpened some knives. He carried some charcoal hods nearer to a stove needing replenishing.

After awhile the cook began to whistle cheerily. His perplexities were lessening, and he felt good humored over it.

"Things in running order," he chirped. "You're a game lad. Hold on a minute."

The cook emptied out a smoking pan into which he had placed a mass of batter a few minutes previous.

"Don't burn yourself—it's piping hot," he observed, tendering Andy a tempting raisin cake, enough for two meals.

"Oh, thank you," said Andy.

"Thank you, lad. Whenever you need a bite between meals, just drop in."

Andy came out of the tent passing the cake from hand to hand. He caught a newspaper sheet fluttering by, wadded it up, and surmounted it with the hot cake.

"That's better," he said. "My, it looks appetizing. Beg pardon," added Andy, as rounding a tent he ran against a boy about his own age.

At a glance he saw that the stranger did not belong to the show. He was poorly dressed, but clean-faced and bright-eyed, although he limped like a person who had walked too far and too long for comfort.

"My fault," said the stranger. "I've done nothing but gape since I came here. Say, this circus is a regular city in itself, isn't it?"

"Yes," answered Andy. "Stranger here?"

The boy nodded. He studied Andy's face quite anxiously.

"Look here," he said, "you look honest. Some lemonade boys I asked sent me astray with all kinds of wrong information. You won't, will you?"

"Certainly not," said Andy. "What's the trouble?"

"Is it hard to get a talk with the circus manager?"

"Why, no."

"Is it hard to join the show?"

"I have just joined," said Andy.

"Is that so?" exclaimed the stranger, brightening up. "Was it hard to get in?"

"Not particularly. What did you expect to do?"

"Anything for a start," responded the other eagerly. "Only, my ambition is to be an animal trainer."

Andy became quite interested.

"Why that?" he inquired.

"Because it seems to be my bent. My name is Luke Belding. I'm an orphan. Been brought up on a stock farm, and know all about horses. And say," added the speaker with intense eagerness, "if they'll take me on I'll throw in a great curiosity."

He held out what looked like a wooden cage covered with a piece of water-proof cloth.

"Got it in there, have you?" asked Andy.

"Yes. I've trained it, and it's cute. Honest, it's better as a curiosity, and to make people laugh, than a lot of the novelties they have in the side, tents."

"Why," said Andy, with increasing interest, "what may it be, now?"

"Well," answered Luke, "it's a chicken."

"Oh. Two-headed, three-legged, I suppose, or something of that sort?"

"Not at all. No," said Luke Belding, "this is something you never saw before. It's a chicken that walks backward."



CHAPTER XIX

CALLED TO ACCOUNT

Andy burst out laughing,—he could not help it.

"That's strange," he said. "A chicken that walks backward?"

"Yes," answered Luke Belding, soberly.

"Really does it?"

"Oh, sure. All the time. I've got it here. I'll show you."

Luke made a move as if to remove the cloth cover from the box under his arm, but Andy stopped him.

"Hold on," he said. "Come with me till I get rid of this cake, and then you shall show me."

"H'm!" observed Luke, smacking his lips with a longing look at the cake, "it wouldn't take me long to get rid of it!"

"Hungry?" insinuated Andy.

"Desperately. I'd be almost tempted to sell a half-interest in the chicken for a good square meal."

"You shall have one without any such sacrifice," declared Andy. "Come along."

They found the clown's tent empty.

"Billy Blow is probably giving Midget an airing," said Andy, half to himself.

"Who's Billy Blow?" inquired Luke.

"The clown."

"Do you know a real live clown? Say, that's great!" said Luke. "Must keep a fellow laughing all the time."

"I thought so until yesterday," answered Andy. "But no—they have their troubles, like other people. This poor, sorrowful fellow has his fill of it. He don't do much laughing outside of the ring, I can tell you. There, we'll enjoy the cook's gift together."

Andy drew up the bench and handed Luke fully three-quarters of the toothsome dainty. It pleased him to see the half-famished boy enjoy the feast. Luke poked a good-sized piece of the sake under the cage cover. There was a gladsome cluck.

"Two of us happy," announced Luke, with a smile that won Andy's heart.

Andy decided that his new acquaintance was the right sort. Luke had a clear, honest face, and there was something in his eye that inspired confidence.

"Now, then," said Andy, as his companion munched the last crumb of the cake, "let's see your wonderful curiosity."

"I'll do it," replied Luke with alacrity. "Find me a little stick or switch, will you?"

Andy went outside to hunt for the required article. As he returned with a stake splinter he observed that Luke had uncovered and set down the cage, which was a rude wooden affair.

Near it, with a pertly cocked head and magnificently red feathers, stood a small rooster. Luke took the stick from Andy's hand.

"Walk, Bolivar!" he ordered.

Andy began to laugh. It was a comical sight. The rooster went strutting around the tent backwards as rapidly and steadily as a normal chicken. It was ludicrous to watch it proceed, pecking at the ground and turning corners.

"Now, then, Bolivar!" said Luke.

He used the stick to direct the rooster, which kept time first with one foot and then the other to a tune whistled by its owner, ending with a triple pirouette that was superb.

"Well, that's fine!" commented Andy with enthusiasm. "How did you ever train it?"

"Didn't," responded Luke frankly—"except for the dancing. I've done that with crows and goats, many a time. See here," and he picked up the chicken and extended its feet.

"Why," cried Andy, "it was born with its claws turned backwards!"

"That's it," nodded Luke. "See? A regular freak of nature. Odd enough to put among the curiosities?"

"It certainly is," voted Andy. "The circus wouldn't use it, though—just a side show."

"I don't care," said Luke, "as long as I get started in with the show. Can you help me?"

"I'll try to," declared Andy. "Wait here. I want to find Billy Blow and tell him about this."

Andy went about the circus grounds until he discovered the clown. Billy was quite taken with the chicken, and finally decided to try and place the boy with his freak.

He and Luke went away together. When he came back the clown was alone. He told Andy that one of the side shows had agreed to try Luke and his wonderful chicken for at least a week for the food and keep of both.

Andy went on with the jockey riders in the evening performance. The last performance at Clifton was the next forenoon. He had only a glimpse of Marco and others of his acquaintance meantime, with everything on a rush.

"You see, Tipton is a regular vacation for us folks," Billy Blow explained to him. "Country around isn't populous enough for more than one day's performances, and then only when the county fair is on. We rest two days, and play Saturday. Then is your chance. There's a good deal of shifting and taking on new hands. We'll watch out for you. You'll see some fun, too. All the new aspirants have been told to show up at Tipton."

"Are there many?"

"About five to every town we've played in," declared Billy. "They all want to break in, and it's policy to give them a show."

Andy was sent off by the manager to the superintendent of the moving crew about noon. There was considerable lifting to do. Andy was tired when, about six o'clock in the evening, he climbed up on a loaded wagon for the well-earned ride to Tipton.

He had met one of the circus detectives that morning, who told him they had so far discovered no trace of Jim Tapp, or his colleagues, or the stolen mail bag.

They got to Tipton about eight o'clock in the evening. Andy was "told off" to help in the construction work the next morning, and had now twelve hours of his own time.

He was hungry, and knowing that it would be difficult to get much to eat until late, when the cook's quarters had been re-established, he left the wagon as it reached the principal street in Tipton.

Andy went to a restaurant and got a good meal. He decided to stroll about a bit, and then join the clown in his new quarters.

Andy had been to Tipton before. His aunt had some acquaintances there. He walked up and down the principal street, looking in the store windows, and studying the country people who had come to visit the county fair.

Suddenly Andy drew back into the shadow of a doorway. Leaning against a curb hitching post was a person who enchained his attention.

"It's Tapp—Jim Tapp," said Andy. "I'd know that slouch of his shoulders anywhere."

The person under his inspection was swinging a light bamboo cane and smoking a cigarette. He wore a jet black moustache and a jet black speck of a goatee. Moustache and goatee were unmistakably of the variety Andy had seen a circus fakir selling for twenty-five cents, back at Clifton.

Their wearer kept his back to the lighted windows, so that his face was in partial shadow. He also kept taking sidelong glances up and down the curb, as if expecting some one.

Andy watched him for fully five minutes, made up his mind, and at last stealthily glided up behind him.

Seizing both the fellow's arms, he whirled him around face to face, let go of him, and with two quick movements of one hand tore the false moustache and the false goatee from his face. His surmises were correct. It was Jim Tapp.

The latter gave Andy a quick, startled glance.

"Wildwood!" he said, and switched his cane towards Andy's face.

"No, you don't!" cried Andy, grasping his arms again. "Jim Tapp, the circus people want you."

"Let go. Nobody wants me. I've done nothing."

"Call Benares Brothers, the stake your partner hit me with, the stolen mail bag, nothing?" demanded Andy. "You'll come along with me or I'll call the police."

Tapp glanced sharply about. So far nobody seemed to particularly notice them. He threw out his own arms and grasped Andy in turn. Thus interlocked, he threw out a foot. Andy was taken off his guard. He went toppling, but he never let go of his antagonist. Both landed with a crash on the board sidewalk.

There was a vacant lot just next to a brilliantly lighted store. As they took a roll, they landed nearly at the inner edge of the walk.

"There!" panted Andy, "you won't trip me again."

He was the stronger of the two, and got Tapp on his back. Sitting astride of him, Andy caught both hands at the wrists.

"Let go!" panted Tapp. "Say, don't draw a crowd. I'll go with you."

"You'll go with a policeman," declared Andy, glancing along the walk. "There'll be one here soon, for the crowd's coming."

"Fight! fight!" yelled three or four urchins, dashing up to the spot.

Others came hurrying along from inspecting the store windows.

"What's the row?" demanded a man.

"Fair fight. Let him up. Give him a chance," growled a low-browed fellow, also approaching.

"What is it? what is it?" inquired a fussy old lady, craning her neck towards the combatants.

"Say," ground out Tapp, vainly endeavoring to free himself, "let me up. It will pay you. Say, I can tell you something great."

"Can you?" smiled Andy calmly. "Tell it to the police."

"Hold on," proceeded Tapp. "I'm not fooling. I know something. I can put you on to something big."

"How big?" insinuated Andy, disbelievingly.

"I can, I vow I can! I'm in dead earnest. Say, Wildwood, nobody knows it but me—you're an heir—"

"Eh? Bosh! I guess your heir is all hot air. Ah, here comes the policeman—oh, gracious! My aunt!"

Andy Wildwood let go his hold of Jim Tapp. With startled eyes, in sheer dismay he stared at a woman approaching them, her curiosity aroused by the crowd.

It was his aunt, Miss Lavinia Talcott.



CHAPTER XX

ANDY'S ESCAPE

Jim Tapp gave a great wriggle as Andy involuntarily let go his hold of the young rascal. His ferret-like eyes twinkled and followed the glance of Andy's own.

Tapp was too keen a fellow not to observe that Andy was startled and unnerved by the unexpected appearance of some one on the scene.

He probably caught the words spoken by Andy: "My aunt," and presumably identified Miss Lavinia Talcott as the cause of the boy's disquietude. Further, Jim Tapp knew that Andy had run away from home and had been sought for by the police. As it turned out later in Andy Wildwood's career, Jim Tapp knew a great deal more than all this put together. In fact, he knew some things of which Andy never dreamed.

Andy had been completely driven off his balance at the sight of his aunt. It was natural that she should be at Tipton. She went there quite often. Loneliness at home and the variety of the county fair at Tipton had probably induced her to make the present visit.

Instantly Andy thought of but one thing—to escape recognition. Still, the minute he let go of Tapp his presence of mind returned, and he was sorry he had lost his nerve on an impulse. It would have been quite an easy thing to roll and force his antagonist over the sidewalk edge. Now, however, Tapp had wriggled past his reach.

Andy made one grab for him, prostrate on the planks now, missed, rolled along, and dropped squarely over the inner edge of the walk five feet down into the vacant lot below.

"She didn't see me," he panted—"I'm sure she didn't. Too bad, though! I had that fellow, Tapp, tight. Why should I lose him, even now?"

Andy ran under the sidewalk for about ten feet. He rounded a heap of sand and glided up a slant where an alley cut in. There he paused, hidden by a big billboard. Peering past this barrier he could view the crowd he had just left.

"Thief—stop thief!" fell in a frantic yell on his hearers.

To his surprise it was Jim Tapp who uttered the call. He was flinging about in great excitement. As a police officer ran up, Andy saw him pointing into the vacant lot. He also evidently told some specious story to the officer.

The latter jumped into the lot, and two or three followed him. Andy saw that he was in danger of discovery, and directed a last glance at the crowd on the sidewalk. He saw his aunt's bobbing bonnet retreating from the scene. He also saw Jim Tapp, apparently following her. He did not dare to go in the same direction.

Andy dodged down the alley and came out on the next street. He looked vainly for the two persons in whom he was interested. He failed to locate them, and then proceeded in the direction of the circus grounds. He was very thoughtful, and in a measure worried and uneasy.

"Tapp is pretty smart," soliloquized Andy. "He's mean, too. If he noticed that I was flustered and afraid of Aunt Lavinia seeing me, and guesses who she is and connects my running away from home with her, he would tell her where I am just out of spite. Wonder if she could have me arrested here, in another State?"

Andy was too tired to stay awake over this problem when he located the clown's new quarters. Before he retired, however, he got word to the circus manager that Jim Tapp was evidently following the circus, and had been seen in Tipton that very evening.

The next morning Andy was too busy to give the matter of his aunt's near proximity much thought. He worked with a gang hoisting the main tent until nearly noon.

"Hi, Wildwood!" hailed a friendly voice, as Andy was leaving the cook's tent an hour later.

The speaker was Marco. He made a few inquiries as to how Andy was getting along. Then he said: "I saw Miss Stella Starr this morning. You know the manager, of course?"

"Mr. Scripps—yes," nodded Andy.

"Well, about two o'clock they're going to line up the amateurs in the performance tent. You be there."

"All right," said Andy.

"Benares and Thacher will be on hand. You'll see some fun. Afterwards they'll put you through some stunts in dead earnest. It's your chance to get in on the tumbling act. Would you like that?"

"I should say so—if I can do it good enough."

"Well, try, anyhow. If you're not up to average, Benares will train you. He's taken a fancy to you, and he'll help you along. Some of the tumblers leave us here, and they're shy on a full number. If they take you, stick hard for ten dollars."

"A month?" said Andy.

"No, a week."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy, "that's too good to come out true."

"Stick and strive, Wildwood—the motto will win," declared Marco.

When Andy went to the performers' tent at two o'clock, he found over fifty persons there. In its centre a balancing bar had been put up. An old circus horse stood at one side. Some low trapezes were swung from a post. A number of the circus people were lounging on benches in one corner of the tent. In another corner on other benches some twenty persons, mostly boys, were gathered.

"Here, you're not on show yet," spoke Benares, the trapezist, pulling Andy beside him as he passed along. "Your turn will come after they get rid of those aspirants yonder."



CHAPTER XXI

A FULL-FLEDGED ACROBAT

The circus manager sat in a chair at the edge of a little sawdust ring that had been marked out for the occasion. The ringmaster stood near him, in charge of the ceremonies.

"Now, then, my friends," observed this individual in a sharp, snappy way, "you people want a chance to get on as performers. That's good. We are always looking for fresh talent. Show your paces. Who's first?"

A big, loutish fellow with an ungainly walk stepped forward. He was wrapped up in a tarpaulin. As he let it drop it was like a transformation scene.