CONCLUSION
"There's somebody climbing over the train," called one of the
searchers to the train manager.
All hands turned, gazing off toward Phil. He swung his hands
toward them, whereat they recognized the lad and went on about
their work.
"Wonder they saw even me!" grumbled the lad, moving slowly along.
It seemed almost impossible that one could hide on a train
like that. Here and there men were sleeping under the wagons,
and Phil made it his business to get a look into the face of
each of them. Not a man did he find who bore the slightest
resemblance to Red Larry or Bad Eye.
"It doesn't look very promising, I must say," he muttered,
jumping lightly from one flat car to another.
Phil had searched faithfully until finally he reached a "flat"
just behind that on which stood the great gilded band wagon.
Now, under its covering of heavy canvas, none of its gaudy
trimmings were to be seen.
Phil sat down on the low projection at the side of the flat car,
eyeing the band wagon suspiciously.
Somehow he could not rid himself of the impression that that
wagon would bear scrutiny.
"I'll bet they never looked into it. Last year when we were a
road show, I remember how the men used to sleep in there and how
Teddy got thrown out when he walked on somebody's face," and Phil
laughed softly at the memory. "I'm going to climb up there."
To do this was not an easy matter, for the band wagon seemed to
loom above him like a tent. The canvas stretched over it,
extending clear down to the wheels, to which it was secured
by ropes. The only way the Circus Boy could get up into the
wagon seemed to be to crawl under the canvas at the bottom and
gradually to work his way up.
"I'm going to try it," he decided all at once. "Of course
they didn't look into it. Maybe they are afraid they will
find someone. Well, here goes! If I fall off that will be the
last of me, but I am not going to fall. I ought to be able to
climb by this time if I'm ever going to."
Phil got up promptly, glanced toward the long train that was
winding its way up the steep mountain, then stepped across
the intervening space between the two cars. He wasted no time,
but immediately lifted the canvas and peered along the side of
the wagon.
He discovered that he would have to go to the forward end of it
in order to reach the top, because the steps were at that end.
There the canvas was drawn tighter, so the lad untied one of the
ropes, leaving one corner of the covering flapping in the breeze.
Cautiously and quietly he began climbing up, the wagon swaying
dizzily with the motion of the train, making it more and more
difficult to cling to it as he got nearer the top. The air was
close, and soon after the boy began going up, the sun beat down
on the canvas cover suffocatingly.
Now he had reached the top. High seats intervened between him
and the other end, so that he could not see far ahead of him.
Phil dropped down into the wagon and began creeping toward
the rear.
He stumbled over some properties that had been stowed in the
wagon, making a great clatter. Instantly there was a commotion
in the other end of the car.
Phil scrambled up quickly and crawled over the high seat ahead
of him. As he did so he uttered an exclamation. The red head of
Red Larry could be seen, his beady eyes peering over the back of
a seat.
"I've got you this time, Red!" exulted Phil, clambering over the
seat in such a hurry that he fell in a heap on the other side
of it.
The lad seemed to have no sense that he was placing himself in
grave peril. He had no fear in his makeup, and his every nerve
was centered on capturing the desperate, revengeful man who had
not only assaulted Phil, but who had caused so much damage to the
Sparling Shows.
"Don't you dare come near me, you young cub!" threatened Red,
as with rage-distorted face he suddenly whipped out a knife.
Phil picked up a club and started toward him. The club happened
to be a tent stake. Red observed the action, and crouching low
waited as the lad approached him.
"I'm going to get you, Red! I'm not afraid of your knife.
You can't touch me with it because before you get the chance
I'm going to slam you over the head with this tent stake,"
grinned Phil Forrest.
Red snarled and showed his teeth.
"Oh, you needn't think you can get away. The men are hunting for
you further up the train. They'll be along here in a minute, and
then I reckon you'll be tied up and dumped into the lion cage,
though I don't think even a lion would eat such a mean hound as
you are."
Suddenly the man straightened up. Now, he held something in his
hand besides the knife. It was a stake.
Red drew back his arm, hurling the heavy stick straight at his
young adversary's head. Phil, observing the movement let
drive his own tent stake, but having to throw so hurriedly, his
aim was poor. Red Larry's aim, on the other hand was better.
Phil dodged like a flash.
Had he not done so the stake would have struck him squarely in
the face. As it was the missile grazed the side of his head,
causing the lad to fall in a heap.
Red Larry hesitated only for a second, then leaping to the high
rear seat of the wagon drew his knife along the canvas above him,
opening a great slit in it. Through the opening thus made he
peered cautiously. What he saw evidently convinced him of the
truth of what Phil had just said. Up toward the head of the
train the searchers were at work, and from what Red had heard he
realized they were looking for him.
Red did not delay a second. He scrambled out through the canvas
just as Phil pulled himself to his feet. The lad could see the
fellow's legs dangling through the canvas.
Phil uttered a yell, hurling himself wildly over the high-backed
seats in an effort to catch and hold the legs ere Red could
get out. But Larry heard him coming, and quickly clambered down
the back of the wagon to the deck of the flat car.
Phil once more grabbed up his own tent stake as he stumbled back
through the wagon.
"I've got you!" yelled the boy as he pulled himself up through
the opening, observing Red standing hesitatingly on the flat car
with a frightened look in his eyes.
"Hi! Hi!" cried Phil, turning and gesticulating wildly at the
men further up the train "I've got him! Hurry! I--"
Something sang by his head and dropped quivering in the canvas
beyond him. It was the discharged tentman's knife which he had
aimed at Phil, his aim having been destroyed by a lurch of the
car, thus saving the Circus Boy's life.
"Want to kill me, do you? I've got you now! The men are coming.
Don't you dare move or I'll drop this stake on you. I can't miss
you this time."
Red after one hesitating glance, faced the front and leaped from
the train down the long, sloping cinder-covered bank.
Phil let drive his tent stake. It caught Red on the shoulder,
bowling the rascal over like a nine pin.
Phil Forrest uttered a yell of exultation, suddenly dropping to
the floor of the car at the imminent risk of his life.
The men were now piling over the cars in his direction. He did
not know whether they had seen Red jump or not. Phil did not
waste any time in idle speculation.
"Come on!" he shouted, springing to the edge of the car,
keeping himself from falling by grasping a wheel of the wagon.
Then Phil Forrest did a daring thing. Crouching low,
choosing his time unerringly, he jumped from the train.
Fortunately for him, the cars were running slowly up the
heavy grade. But, slowly as they were going, the lad turned
several rapid handsprings after having struck the ground,
coming to a stop halfway down the slope, somewhat dazed
from the shock and sudden whirling about.
But he was on his feet in a twinkling, and running toward the
spot where Red was painfully picking himself up. Phil slipped
and stumbled as the cinders gave way beneath his feet but ran
on with a grim determination not to let his man escape him
this time.
Both were now weaponless, so far as the lad knew. Red had
possessed a revolver, but in his sudden jump from the train he
had lost it, and there was now no time to look for it.
When he saw Phil pursuing, Larry started on a run, but the lad,
much more fleet of foot, rapidly overhauled him, despite the
handicap that Phil had at the start.
"You may as well give up! I'm going to catch you, if I have to
run all the way across the Sierra Nevada Range," shouted Phil.
Red halted suddenly. Phil thought he was going to wait for him,
but the lad did not slacken his speed a bit because of that.
All at once, as Phil drew near, Red picked up a stone and hurled
it at his pursuer. Phil saw it coming in time to "duck," and it
was well he did so, for Larry's aim was good.
"He must have been a baseball pitcher at sometime," grinned
the lad. However, the fellow continued to throw until Phil saw
that he must do something to defend himself else he would surely
be hit and perhaps put out of the race altogether.
"So that's your game is it?" shouted the boy. "I can
play ball, too."
With that the lad coolly began hunting about for stones, of which
he gathered up quite an armful, choosing those that were most
nearly round. In the meantime Red had kept up his bombardment,
Phil dodging the stones skillfully. Then he too, began to throw,
gradually drawing nearer and nearer to his adversary.
A small stone caught Phil a glancing blow on the left shoulder
causing him to drop his ammunition. He could scarcely repress a
cry, for the blow hurt him terribly. He wondered if his shoulder
had not been broken, but fortunately he had received only a
severe bruise.
It served, however, to stir Phil to renewed activity.
Grabbing all the stones he could gather in one sweep of his
hands he started on a run toward Red Larry, letting one drive
with every jump. They showered around the desperate man like a
rain of hail.
All at once Larry uttered a yell of pain and anger. One of
Phil's missiles had landed in the pit of the fellow's stomach.
Larry doubled up like a jacknife, and, dropping suddenly, rolled
rapidly toward the foot of the slope.
Phil, still clinging to his weapons, ran as fast as his slender
legs would carry him in pursuit of his man.
"I hit him! I hit him!" he yelled.
In a moment he came up with Larry, but the lad prudently stopped
a rod from his adversary to make sure that the fellow was not
playing him a trick. One glance sufficed to tell Phil that the
man had really been hit.
"I hope he isn't much hurt, but I'm not going to take any
chances."
Phil jerked off his coat and began ripping it up, regardless of
the fact that it was his best. With the strands thus secured, he
approached his prisoner cautiously, then suddenly jumped on him.
Larry was not able to give more than momentary resistance.
Inside of three minutes Phil had the fellow's hands tied securely
behind his back. Gathering the stones about him in case of need,
the lad sat down and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"I guess that about puts an end to your tricks, my fine fellow,"
announced Phil.
The train had been finally stopped, and a force of men now dashed
back along the tracks. They had been in time to view the last
half of the battle of the stones, and when Red went down they set
up a loud triumphant yell. In a few minutes they had reached the
scene and had taken the prisoner in tow.
The train was at the top of the grade waiting, so the show people
and their captive were obliged to walk fully a mile to reach it.
Mr. Sparling, attracted by the uproar, had rushed from his
private car. He now met the party a little way down the tracks.
"I got him!" cried Phil, when he saw the owner approaching.
Red was carried to the next stop on the circus train. He was
not much hurt and had fully recovered before noon of that day,
much to Phil's relief, for he felt very badly that he had been
obliged to resort to stone throwing. The lad would have
preferred to use his fists. But, as the result of the capture,
Red Larry was put where he would bother circus trains no more for
some years. He was sentenced to a long term in prison.
The Great Sparling Shows moved on, playing in a few more
towns, and, one beautiful morning drew up at the city by the
Golden Gate. There the circus remained for a week, when the show
closed for the season. But the lads were a long way from home,
toward which they now looked longingly.
Mr. Sparling invited them to return with him in his private car
which was to cross the continent attached to regular passenger
trains, the show proper following at its leisure.
This invitation both boys accepted gladly, and during the trip
there were many long discussions between the three as to the
future of the Circus Boys. They had worked hard during the
season and had won new laurels on the tanbark. But they had not
yet reached the pinnacle of their success in the canvas-covered
arena, though each had saved, as the result of his season's work,
nearly twelve hundred dollars.
Phil and Teddy will be heard from again in a following volume
entitled: "THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND; Or, Winning the
Plaudits of the Sunny South." Here they are destined to meet
with some of the pleasantest as well as the most thrilling
experiences of their circus career, in which both have many
opportunities to show their grit and resourcefulness.