Transcriber’s note: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores:
_italics_.
[Illustration: “I am his lawful guardian.” See page 48.]
Neka, the Boy Conjuror
OR
A MYSTERY OF THE STAGE
BY
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
AUTHOR OF
“Tour of the Zero Club,” “Boys of the Fort,” “For the Liberty
of Texas,” etc.
[Illustration: (Colophon)]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1902
By STREET & SMITH
Neka, the Boy Conjuror
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--A Crash in the Storm 5
II.--A Friend in Need 11
III.--Neka on the Stage 17
IV.--A Moment of Peril 28
V.--An Encounter on the Road 34
VI.--The Enemy’s Power 41
VII.--A Row on the Stage 49
VIII.--Adventures at a Fair 56
IX.--An Act Not on the Bills 63
X.--Neka Shows Courage 69
XI.--More Adventure 76
XII.--King of Fire in Earnest 83
XIII.--Neka’s Brave Deed 90
XIV.--A Rival Company 95
XV.--The Company is Enlarged 101
XVI.--A Race for Money 110
XVII.--Saving the Enemy 116
XVIII.--In the Metropolis 123
XIX.--An Attack in the Dark 131
XX.--An Acrobatic Failure 137
XXI.--Demands of the Rascals 143
XXII.--Saving the Star 151
XXIII.--Jennie Windom’s Peril 157
XXIV.--A Well-taught Lesson 163
XXV.--Neka’s Presence of Mind 169
XXVI.--Not on the Programme 175
XXVII.--The Face at the Window 179
XXVIII.--A Chase and Its Result 186
XXIX.--Life on the Road 191
XXX.--A Thrilling Ride 197
XXXI.--Into the Snowdrift and Out 204
XXXII.--Quick Wit Against No Wit 209
XXXIII.--Something of the Past 214
XXXIV.--Daniel Bambo is Stubborn 220
XXXV.--Neka Shows His Bravery 224
XXXVI.--Beginning of the End 229
XXXVII.--A Curious Revelation--Conclusion 234
NEKA, THE BOY CONJUROR.
CHAPTER I.
A CRASH IN THE STORM.
“Git up there, you lazy critters! Git up! Do yer know it’s stormin’
like mad an’ we hev still six miles to go? Git up!”
Crack! slash! down came the lash of the heavy whip on the backs of
the two tired horses, and forward lurched the rickety circus wagon
with a jounce which threatened to smash both springs and axle.
It was indeed “storming like mad.” Overhead the sky was inky-black,
except when lit up by vivid streaks of lightning, and the cold
September rain came down in almost unbroken sheets.
Along the dismal and muddy road straggled the dozen wagons and trucks
belonging to Bambo’s International Circus and Menagerie, the Greatest
Aggregation of Marvels on the Globe. At the head of the procession,
in the covered hood of the band chariot, rode Daniel Bambo himself,
a lean and sour-faced individual, his face at this moment more sour
than ever.
Business had been bad at Camville, the last stopping place, and now
it promised to be worse at Ryetown. Perhaps it would rain so hard
that it would be impossible to raise the one dilapidated tent of
which the circus boasted.
“Hang the luck, anyhow!” muttered Daniel Bambo to himself. “The rain
will spoil everything. We won’t be able to show at all, and how I’m
goin’ to pay those feed bills and the performers I don’t know. I have
most a mind to sell out, first chance I git. The variety business is
a heap sight better than this.”
In savage mood he whipped up the horses again, then stood up and
looked back to see if the other wagons were following. A streak of
lightning told him the outfit were all in the struggle, and then a
jerk and a jar nearly knocked him into the road.
“Whoa!” he yelled, as he steadied himself by holding on to the iron
brace of the hood. “Whoa, Billy! What’s the matter now?”
The last remark was called forth by the fact that the left horse had
turned partly around and was kicking vigorously. The chariot came to
a standstill, and Bambo peered over the high dashboard.
“Bu’sted again!” he murmured, referring to the worn-out harness.
“Knew it wouldn’t last. Neka! Neka!” he called out, turning around.
For several seconds there was no response. In savage impatience the
man leaned over and struck out with his whip into the darkness of
the chariot body. Crack! crack! the lash came down on a bit of thin
canvas, which was quickly thrown aside, and a boy appeared, rubbing
his eyes sleepily.
Had there been more light it could have been noted that the boy was
tall, thin, and, despite his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, handsome.
It could also have been noted that he had been shamefully misused,
and that he had suffered bodily and mentally.
“Can’t yer hear nothin’?” demanded Bambo. “Want me to wait all night
fer you?”
“I was dead tired, sir,” replied the youth, in a voice which showed
how exhausted he was.
Indeed, had it been otherwise he would not have slept so soundly in
that pelting rain with only a bit of soaked canvas over him.
“You’re always tired!” growled the proprietor of the Greatest
Aggregation of Marvels on the Globe. “What do you suppose I’m keepin’
you fer, eh? Hump yourself now, and git down and tie up the harness.
It’s all bu’sted again.”
The boy drew a long breath and sighed deeply. He was still half
asleep.
“Where is the cord?” he asked.
“Don’t you know as well as I do? It’s in the back under the box. Here
is the key. Hurry up, and see that the next wagon don’t run into us
in the dark.”
The boy climbed up the side of the chariot and dropped to the road.
In the darkness he landed in a puddle of water, but he hardly minded
this. When one is utterly exhausted in body and mind, such seeming
trifles do not count.
Splashing through the mud, he felt his way to the back of the
chariot. Then he felt for the padlock of the under locker, and,
finding it, inserted the key.
He was on the point of opening the locker when a sound back of him
attracted his attention. The next turnout, that containing the poles
and seats, was coming up.
“Hi there! stop!” he called out. “Stop your team, Hank Maul!”
Scarcely had the words been uttered than out of the darkness appeared
the heavy wagon. The driver, half asleep on the box, paid no
attention to the warning.
“Stop! stop!” repeated the boy, shrilly. “Don’t you hear me, Hank
Maul?”
And then, as the driver continued to doze away, he leaped for the
head of the nearest horse, with the intention of turning the team to
one side.
It was a perilous thing to attempt, yet he did not falter, realizing
to a certain extent what would follow should anything go wrong.
He caught the horse, but was not strong enough to stop him, nor to
alter his course to any considerable extent.
Bang! the heavy pole struck the rear of the chariot. Jingle! jingle!
went the large oval mirror with which the rear was decorated, and
then the pole went clear through the woodwork, scattering the
splinters in all directions.
Luckily for the horses, their harness, like the set used for the
first team, was old and rotten. The beasts shied right and left,
and broke free with scarcely a scratch on either. The sleepy driver
pitched off sideways into the mud puddle, thus saving his neck from
being broken.
A second later the air was fairly blue with imprecations from the
lips of Daniel Bambo and from the driver, who arose with mud
plastered over him from head to foot. Bambo leaped down and came
forward, whip in hand, his face blazing with passion.
“You good fer nothin’ rascal!” he fairly foamed. “Didn’t I tell you
to stop the next wagon? Look at the damage you’ve caused!”
“Do ye want ter break my neck?” put in Hank Maul. “Why didn’t ye run
back an’ warn me? Bambo, that boy ought to be licked within an inch
of his life.”
“Well, you’re to blame too, and I’ll take the price of this smash-up
out of your next pay!” retorted Daniel Bambo, who knew well enough he
could get nothing from the boy, seeing as the youth had absolutely
nothing. “Neka, come here, till I tan yer hide well fer you!”
The boy stepped back. Somehow he felt that he was not to blame. He
clinched his fists and shut his teeth hard.
“I don’t want you to whip me,” he said, from between his closed teeth.
“Don’t you?” howled the circus proprietor, sarcastically. “It ain’t
fer you to say what yer want, see? Come here!”
“I--I--won’t!”
The words were out at last. The boy had longed to rebel against the
harsh treatment he received, but up to the present had not dared. He
was only fourteen years old, and for four years had known but one
master, Daniel Bambo, who must be obeyed at all times.
“Yer won’t?” fairly shouted the owner of the Greatest Aggregation of
Marvels on the Globe. “I’ll give yer a couple of extra ones on yer
back fer that!”
And flourishing the whip over his head, he darted to where the boy
stood.
For only an instant did the lad remain standing; then he began to
retreat.
“Stop, Neka, stop, or I’ll break every bone in your body!”
“I won’t! I ain’t going to be whipped for this accident!” was the
firm reply. “I did what I could to turn the horses out.”
“Don’t talk back to me!” foamed Daniel Bambo.
“Gittin’ mighty nasty, ain’t he?” put in Hank Maul, maliciously.
“I’ll take it out of him--or kill him!” howled the circus proprietor.
“Are you goin’ to stop now?”
Once more he darted forward. The boy continued to retreat, but was
collared as he was in the act of leaping a log fence to one side of
the road.
“Now take that!” continued Daniel Bambo.
But ere the whip could descend, a stone, thrown from the darkness of
the field beyond, caught him in the side of the head and knocked him
flat on his back, and more than half unconscious.
The boy was as much astonished as any one at the unexpected turn of
affairs. He gazed on the scene in amazement, but as Hank Maul sprang
forward to Bambo’s aid, a new idea seemed to take possession of him,
and off he ran down the muddy road as fast as his legs would carry
him.