"Those fellows are crooks, as sure as I am alive," decided the lad, after listening to the conversation of the couple just ahead of him. "That's what Mr. Sparling told me. I could hardly believe it. I'll spend part of the time outside tomorrow and make sure. I shall know those fellows when I see them, if they are on the grounds."

It had not occurred to Phil Forrest that he might be recognized also, though he knew full well that circus people had keen eyes, especially in an outfit such as this.

The next morning he hunted up his friend the candy butcher, inviting that worthy to take breakfast with him which the lad, a boy about his own age, was glad to do. From the "butcher"

Phil learned a whole lot of things that added to his store of knowledge, among them being the fact that Sully's outfit was even worse than it had been painted.

Mingling with the crowds about the main entrance, before the doors were opened that afternoon, Phil once more saw the same men he had observed on the train the previous evening. From their actions he was more than ever satisfied that he had not been mistaken in his estimate of them.

"I shouldn't be surprised if they were looking for some pockets to pick," mused the lad, "but I do not see them doing anything yet."

As a matter of fact, the men were plying their trade, but his eyes had not been quick enough to catch them at it.

Phil, however, was more successful just before the evening show.

Standing among the people ma.s.sed out in front he saw a man's hand steal slowly toward the handbag of a well-dressed woman.

Phil traced the hand back until he made out the owner, who was one of the same men that had come through on the train with him.

A gasoline torch lighted the operation faintly, and Phil gazed with fascinated eyes while the stealthy hand opened the bag quickly extracting its contents.

Almost at the instant the woman looked down, perhaps attracted by the tug at the bag.

"I've been robbed!" she cried.

The words stirred Phil to instant action.

In another second the thief felt a vise-like grip about the wrist that held the plunder.

"Here's the man that did it, madam. Call an officer," said Phil calmly.

CHAPTER X

THE CIRCUS BOY IS RECOGNIZED

Giving the wrist of his prisoner a sharp twist, Phil s.n.a.t.c.hed away the small handful of bills that the fellow had stolen, returning them to the woman.

By this time the thief had suddenly recovered his wits and sought to jerk his hand away, seeing that it was merely a boy who had grabbed him. To the surprise of the crook he found it was not an easy matter to free himself from that grip. After making several desperate efforts the fellow adopted other methods.

"Let go of me, I tell you. I'll have you put away for this."

"I'll let go of you when a policeman has hold of you, and not before," retorted Phil. "You are a thief. I saw you steal that woman's money."

The man suddenly uttered an angry exclamation and launched a blow at Phil's head, which the lad avoided, allowing it to pa.s.s over his shoulder.

"Hurry! Get a policeman! This man is a thief," urged Phil, as he closed with his antagonist.

"Thief! Thief," cried several voices at once. It was a cry that had been heard before about the Sully shows.

Phil had not struck back at his enemy. Instead the lad, by a skillful twist, had whirled the fellow about until his back was toward the boy. Then Phil suddenly let go his hold on the wrist, clasping the man around the body and pinioning his arms to his sides.

"You might as well stand still," said the lad coolly. "You can't get away until I permit you to, and that won't be until something that looks like a policeman comes along."

In the meantime the captive was struggling and threatening.

All at once he raised his voice in a peculiar, wailing cry.

The Circus Boy felt sure that it was some sort of a signal, though it was new to him. But he was not to be cowed.

"Police!" shouted Phil.

"Police!" cried many voices.

Half a dozen men came rushing into the crowd, thrusting the people aside as they ran, looking this way and that to learn from where the cry for a.s.sistance had come.

Phil's captive uttered a sharp cry, and the lad realized what was going to happen. At first he had thought it was the police coming, but he was undeceived the moment he caught his prisoner's appeal to them. The men dashed toward the two, and as they rushed in Phil whirled his man so that the latter collided violently with the newcomers. That checked the rush briefly. He knew, however, that he could not hope to stand off his a.s.sailants for more than a few seconds. Yet the lad calculated that in those few seconds the police might arrive. He did not know that they had been well bribed neither to see nor to hear what occurred on the circus grounds.

A moment more and the lad had been roughly jerked from his captive and hurled violently to the ground.

Phil sprang up full of fight while the angry fellows closed in on him. He saw that they were showmen. A sudden idea occurred to him.

"Hey, Rube!" he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that the rest of the show people within reach of his voice might crowd in and in the confusion give him a chance to get away.

And they did crowd in. They came on like a company of soldiers, sweeping everything before them. Phil, in that brief instant, while he was sparring to keep his opponents off, found time to smile grimly.

The fellow he had first made captive now attacked Phil viciously, the lad defending himself as best he could, while the people who had come to attend the show got out of harm's way as rapidly as possible. Phil could hope for no a.s.sistance from that quarter.

"I guess I have gotten myself into a worse sc.r.a.pe by calling the rest of the gang," he muttered, noting that he was being surrounded as some of the first comers pointed him out to the others.

Suddenly they fell upon Phil with one accord. He was jerked this way and that, but succeeded pretty well in dodging the blows aimed at his head, though his clothes were torn and he was pretty badly used.

Suddenly a voice roared out close behind him.

"Stop it!"

Turning his head a little Phil recognized Sully, the owner of the show. Sully's face was redder than ever.

"What--what's all this row about? Haven't you fellows anything more important to do than raising a roughhouse? Get out of here, the whole bunch of you! What's he done? Turn him over to the police and go on about your business."

One of the men said something in a low tone to Sully.

The showman shot a keen, inquiring glance at the lad.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I don't know that it makes any difference. I saw a fellow robbing a woman, and it was my duty to stop him. I did it, then a lot of his companions, who, I suppose, belong to your show pitched into me."

"So, you are trying to run the whole show, are you?"

"I am not."

"Well, you get off this lot as fast as you can hoof it. If I find you b.u.t.ting in again it will be the worse for you."