Part 17 (2/2)

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 rus.h.i.+ng 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.”

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