TRYING THE CULPRIT
"Stop him!" howled Larry, as he, followed by half a dozen
blue-shirted fellows, bolted into the arena in pursuit of the lad
who had emptied the pail of muddy water over him.
Teddy, still clinging to the pail, was sprinting down the
concourse as if his very life depended upon it. A canvasman,
hearing Larry's call, and suspecting the boy was wanted for
something quite serious, rushed out, heading Teddy off.
It looked as if the lad were to be captured right here.
But Teddy Tucker was not yet at the end of his resources. He ran
straight on as if he had not observed the canvasman. Just as he
reached the man, and the latter's hands were stretched out to
intercept him, Teddy hurled the pail full in the fellow's face.
Then the lad darted to one side and fled toward the paddock.
The canvasman had joined the procession by this time. Into the
dressing tent burst the boy, followed by Larry, the others having
brought up sharply just before reaching the dressing room,
knowing full well that they had no business there and that
their presence would be quickly and effectively resented.
Larry, consumed with rage, did not stop to think about this,
so he dashed on blindly to his fate.
At first the circus performers in the dressing tent could not
imagine what was going on. Clotheslines came down, properties
were upset and in a moment the tent was in confusion.
"Stop that!" bellowed an irate performer.
Larry gave no heed to the command, and Teddy was in too big a
hurry to stop to explain.
Suddenly Phil Forrest, realizing that his little companion was in
danger, gave a leap. He landed on Larry's back, pinioning the
fellow's arms to his sides.
"You stop that now! You let him alone!" commanded Phil.
Before the canvasman could make an effort to free himself,
Mr. Miaco, the head clown, took a hand in the proceedings.
Throwing Phil from the tentman, Miaco jerked Larry about,
and demanded to know what he meant by intruding on the privacy
of the dressing tent in that manner.
"I want that kid," he growled.
"Put him out!" howled a voice.
"What do you want him for?"
"He--he dumped a pail of water over me. I'll get even with him.
I'll--"
"How about this, Master Teddy?" questioned Mr. Miaco.
Teddy explained briefly how the fellow Larry and a companion
had ducked him under the water tank, and had ruined his clothes,
together with causing him to miss his train.
"This demands investigation," decided Mr. Miaco gravely.
"Fellows, it is evident that we had better try this man.
That is the best way to dispose of his case."
"Yes, yes; try him!" they shouted.
"Whom shall we have for judge?"
"Oscar, the midget!"
The Smallest Man on Earth was quickly boosted to the top of a
property box.
"Vot iss?" questioned the midget, his wizened, yellow little face
wrinkling into a questioning smile.
"We are going to try this fellow, Larry, and you are to be
the judge."
"Yah," agreed Oscar, after which he subsided, listening to the
proceedings that followed, with grave, expressionless eyes.
It is doubtful if Oscar understood what it was all about, but his
gravity and judicial manner sent the whole dressing tent into an
uproar of merriment.
After the evidence was all in, the entire company taking part in
testifying, amid much merriment--for the performers entered into
the spirit of the trial like a lot of schoolboys--Oscar was asked
to decide what should be done with the prisoner Larry.
Oscar was at a loss to know how to answer.
"Duck him," suggested one.
This was an inspiration to Oscar. He smiled broadly.
"Yah, dat iss."
"What iss?" demanded the Tallest Man On Earth. "Talk
United States."
"Yah," agreed Oscar, smiling seraphically. "Duck um."
"Larry, it is the verdict of this court that you be ducked,
as the only fitting punishment for one who has committed the
crime of laying hands on a Circus Boy. Are we all agreed on the
punishment meted out by the dignified judge?"
"Yes, yes!" they shouted. "The rain barrel for him."
"Men, do your duty!" cried Mr. Miaco.
"I wouldn't do that," interposed Phil. "You haven't any more
right to duck him than he had to put Teddy under the water tank.
It isn't right."
But they gave no heed to his protests. Willing hands
grabbed the red-headed tentman, whose kicks and struggles
availed him nothing. Raising him over the barrel of water
they soused him in head first, ducking him again and again.
"Take him out. You'll drown him," begged Phil.
Then they hauled Larry out, shaking the water out of him.
As soon as his coughing ceased, he threatened dire vengeance
against his assailants.
Four performers then carried their victim to the opening of the
dressing tent and threw him out bodily.
Instantly Larry's companions saw him fall at their feet, and
heard his angry explanation of the indignities that had been
heaped upon him. There was a lively scrambling over the ground,
and the next instant a volley of stones was hurled into the
dressing tent.
Phil was just coming out on his way to the main entrance as the
row began. A stone just grazed his cheek. Without giving the
least heed to the assailants, he turned to cross the paddock in
order to slip out under the tent and go on about his business.
Most lads would have run under the circumstances. Not so Phil.
His were steady nerves.
"There he is! Grab him!" shouted Larry, catching sight of Phil
and charging that Phil had been one of those who had helped
duck him.
Such was not the case, however, for instead of having taken part
in the ducking, Phil Forrest had tried to prevent it.
Larry and another man were running toward him. The lad halted,
turned and faced them.
"What do you want of me?" he demanded.
"I'll show you what I want of you. You started this row."
"I did nothing of the sort, sir. You go on about your business
and I shall do the same, whether you do or not."
Phil raised the canvas and stepped out. But no sooner had he
gotten out into the lot than the two men burst through the
flapping side wall.
The boy saw them coming and knew that he was face to face
with trouble.
He adopted a ruse, knowing full well that he could not hope
to cope with the brawny canvasmen single handed and alone.
Starting off on a run, Phil was followed instantly, as he felt
sure he would be, but managing to keep just ahead of the men and
no more.
"I've got you!"
The voice was almost at his ear.
Phil halted with unexpected suddenness and dropped on all fours.
The canvasman was too close to check his own speed. He fell over
Phil, landing on his head and shoulders in the dirt.
The lad was up like a flash. Larry was close upon him now, and
with a snarl of rage launched a blow full at Phil Forrest's face.
But he had not reckoned on the lad's agility, nor did he know
that Phil was a trained athlete. Therefore, Larry's surprise was
great when his fist beat the empty air.
Thrown off his balance, Larry measured his length on the ground.
"I advise you to let me alone," warned Phil coolly, as the
tentman was scrambling to his feet. Already Larry's companion
had gotten up and was gazing at Phil in a half dazed sort of way.
"Get hold of him, Bad Eye! What are you standing there like a
dummy for? He'll run in a minute."
Phil's better judgment told him to do that very thing, but he
could not bring himself to run from danger. Much as he disliked
a row, he was too plucky and courageous to run from danger.
Bad Eye was rushing at him, his eyes blazing with anger.
Phil side-stepped easily, avoiding his antagonist without the
least difficulty. But now he had to reckon with Larry, who,
by this time, had gotten to his feet.
It was two to one.
"Stand back unless you want to get hurt!" cried Phil, with a
warning glint in his eyes.
Larry, by way of answer, struck viciously at him. Phil, with a
glance about him, saw that he could not expect help, for there
was no one in sight, the performers being engaged at that moment
in driving off the angry laborers, which they were succeeding in
doing with no great effort on their part.
The lad cleverly dodged the blow. But instead of backing away
as the canvasman's fist barely grazed his cheek, Phil, with a
short arm jolt, caught his adversary on the point of his chin.
Larry instantly lost all desire for fight. He sat down on the
hard ground with a bump.
Now Bad Eye rushed in. Again Phil sidestepped, and, thrusting a
foot between the fellow's legs, tripped him neatly.
Half a dozen men came running from the paddock. They were the
fellows whom the performers had put to rout. At that moment the
bugle blew for all hands to prepare for the parade.
"I guess I have done about enough for one day," decided Phil.
"And for a sick man it wasn't a half bad job."
With an amused glance at his fallen adversaries Phil ran to the
big top, less than a rod away, and, lifting the sidewall, slipped
under and disappeared within.