"That depends. Go on."

"Gid-dap!" commanded Phil, patting the black on its powerful neck.

Then they went trotting around the stack, the men backing off to get a better view of the exhibition.

On the second round Phil drew up before them.

"Got any chalk on the place?" he asked.

"Reckon there's some in the barn."

"Please fetch it."

They did not know what he wanted chalk for, but the owner of the place hurried to fetch it. In the meantime Phil was slowly removing his shoes, which he threw to one side of the yard.

Bidding the men break up the chalk into powder, he smeared the bottoms of his stockings with the white powder, sprinkling a liberal supply on the back of the horse.

"Here, here! What you doing? I have to curry that critter down every morning," shouted the owner.

Phil grinned and clucked to the horse, whose motion he had caught in his brief ride about the stack, and once more disappeared around the pile. When he hove in sight again, the black was trotting briskly, with Phil Forrest standing erect, far back on the animal's hips, urging him along with sharp little cries, and dancing about as much at home as if he were on the solid ground.

The farmers looked on with wide-open mouths, too amazed to speak.

Phil uttered a shout, and set the black going about the stack faster and faster, throwing himself into all manner of artistic positions.

After the horse had gotten a little used to the strange work, Phil threw down the reins and rode without anything of the sort to give him any support.

Probably few farm barnyards had ever offered an attraction like it before.

"Come up here!" cried the lad, to the lighter of the men.

"I'll give you a lesson."

The fellow protested, but his companions grabbed him and threw him to old Joe's back. Phil grabbed his pupil by the coat collar, jerking him to his feet and started old Joe going at a lively clip.

You should have heard those farmers howl, at the ludicrous sight of their companion sprawling all over the back of the black, with Phil, red-faced, struggling with all his might to keep the fellow on, and at the same time prevent himself taking a tumble!

At last the burden was too much for Phil, and his companion took an inglorious tumble, head first into the straw at the foot of the stack, while the farmers threw themselves down, rolling about and making a great din with their howls of merriment.

"There, I guess I have earned my breakfast," decided the lad, dropping off near the spot where he had cast his shoes.

"You bet you have, little pardner. You jest come over to the house and fill up on salt pork and sauerkraut. You kin stay all summer if you want to. Hungry?"

"So hungry that, if my collar were loose, it would be falling down over my feet," grinned the lad.

CHAPTER XXI

WHEN THE CRASH CAME

There was rejoicing on the part of his fellows, and relief in the heart of Mr. Sparling when, along toward noon next day, Phil Forrest came strolling on the circus lot at St. Joseph.

His friends, the farmers, had not only given him food and lodging, but had advanced him enough money for his fare through to join the show. His first duty was to get some money from Mr. Sparling and send it back to his benefactors.

This done, Phil repaired to the owner's tent where he knew Mr.

Sparling was anxiously waiting to hear what had happened to him.

Phil went over the circ.u.mstances in detail, while Mr. Sparling listened gravely at first, then with rising color as his anger increased.

"It's Red Larry!" decided Mr. Sparling, with an emphasizing blow of his fist on the desk before him.

"After I thought the matter over that was what I decided--I mean that was the decision I came to."

"Right. Another season I'll have an officer with this show.

That's the only way we can protect ourselves."

"Do all the big shows carry an officer?" asked Phil.

"Yes; they have a detective with them--not a tin badge detective, but a real one. Don't try to go out today. Get your dinner and rest up for the afternoon performance. I think you had better go to the train in my carriage tonight. I'm not going to take any more such chances with you."

"I'll look out for myself after this, Mr. Sparling," laughed Phil.

"I think it was only two days ago that I said I wasn't afraid of Larry--that he couldn't get me. But he did."

That afternoon, as Phil related his experiences to the dressing tent, he included the barnyard circus, which set the performers in a roar.

Phil felt a little sore and stiff after his knockout and his long ride in the freight car; but, after taking half an hour of bending exercises in the paddock, he felt himself fit to go on with his ring and bareback acts.

Both his acts pa.s.sed off successfully, as did the Grand Entry in which he rode old Emperor.

That night, after the performance, Phil hurried to the train, but kept a weather eye out that he might not be a.s.saulted again.

He found himself hungry, and, repairing to the accommodation car for a lunch, discovered Teddy stowing away food at a great rate.

"So you're here, are you?" laughed Phil.

"Yep; I live here most of the time," grinned Teddy. "They like to have me eat here. I'm a sort of nest egg, you know. It makes the others hungry to see me eat, and they file in in a perfect procession. How's your head?"

"Still a size too large," answered Phil, sinking down on a stool and ordering a sandwich.

As the lads ate and talked two or three other performers came in, whereupon the conversation became more general.

All at once there came a bang as a switching engine b.u.mped into the rear of their car. Teddy about to pa.s.s a cup of steaming coffee to his lips, spilled most of it down his neck.

"Ouch!" he yelled, springing up, dancing about the floor, holding his clothes as far from his body as possible. "Here, you quit that!" he yelled, poking his head out of a window. "If you do that again I'll trim you with a pitcher of coffee and see how you like that."

Bang!

Once more the engine smashed into them, having failed to make the coupling the first time.

Teddy sat down heavily in the middle of the car, just as Little Dimples tripped in. In one hand he held a sandwich half consumed, while with the other he was still stretching his collar as far from his neck as it would go.

"Why, Teddy," exclaimed Dimples, "what are you doing on the floor?"