CHAPTER XIV IN TOM STICK'S HOUSE
That same night, by the dull glow of a half burned out camp fire on thebank of a river, Pant told Johnny of his plans as a Secret Service man ona big case, and how they had worked out thus far.
"You remember the crimson flash in the animal tent, and how it frighteneda lot of the colored boys into jumping their jobs?" he chuckled. "Well,that helped me, helped me a lot; for you see some of the boys that quitwere working for this bunch of counterfeiters that has Black McCree asits head. Some of the boys that were hired were already getting pay fromUncle Sam for helping me. Some of them now are getting triple pay, oncefrom the circus, once from me and once from the counterfeiters. See howit works?"
Pant chuckled again.
"These boys with the three pay checks have helped me a lot, but notenough. They can't get back far enough. They know only the men who passthe bonds on to them, and those men are just helpers like themselves.They pass the goods on, but the real man is still back in the shadows;too far back for me to see him. He's the man I want; the man and hisoutfit; and let me tell you, Johnny, that's some outfit. There's neverbeen anything like it before. It's a danger. Where and when they operateis more than I know. They could hardly do it in one of the tents. Theymight do it in one of the cars, and it might be Tom, the midget clown,doing it in his house on wheels."
"I've talked with him," said Johnny quickly. "I don't believe he's in onit."
"Don't be too sure. Take no chances. If he's especially friendly, thatmay mean that he is onto the fact that you're working with me and thatI'm after them. A bunch like that would stab you in the back in asecond."
For a few minutes there was silence, then Pant continued: "We are makingsome progress. We know about how much of the 'queer' they are peddling inthese towns, and take my word, it's a plenty. They are planting it thick.We've got to get 'em, and get 'em quick. Have you talked with AndyMcQueen, the steam kettle cook, yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Do it to-morrow. He may be important. And Johnny," Pant leaned forwardwith an impressive gesture, "Johnny, watch your step. You're in dangerevery moment. They may know you're with me; probably do, and if they do,they'll get you if they can. That's all. Goodnight."
Rising, he stretched himself like a cat, then went slouching away intothe darkness.
For a long time Johnny lay there on the sand dreamily gazing into thefire. It was, indeed, a tangled web of mystery the unraveling of which hehad let himself in for, and one which, as Pant had suggested, might atany moment suddenly break and let him down with an awful fall.
There was the ring. Gwen had it that morning; Millie had it two daysbefore; perhaps Mitzi had it at this very moment. He was still surprisedat himself because of his action of that morning. Well, he must have thatring. This, if for no other reason, must hold him to his surprisingcircus career. He wondered if Gwen were serious about the clown stuntand, if so, whether she would soon have it arranged. He thought again ofPant's problem, and wondered for the hundredth time if he should have anypart in its solving.
But the greatest mystery of all was the crimson flash. He had seen itleap down from the air and turn the tiger, loose in the big tent, bloodred. He had seen it do the same thing in the animal tent. In hissuggestion regarding the direction of the sun's rays in the Arctic, Panthad intimated that rays of light could be made to follow crooked paths.If this could be done, if Pant held within his fertile brain the secretof this terrible power, what a wonderful fellow he was! How it wouldtransform modern life, modern warfare! Trenches would be utterly uselessonce a light might be thrown upon them from any angle. Many things thatwere dark, secret and hidden in every day life would be clear as thelight of day. What dark corner, what secret rendezvous, would be safefrom the glare of those crooked rays of gleaming light?
Johnny pondered until his head whirled, then, rising and shaking himself,he made his way to the sleeping car in which he now bunked. The circuswould soon be on its way to the next small city.
That next small city, if Johnny had but known it, was only ten miles fromthe home of the grandparents of the millionaire twins. They had riddencross country for a visit to their grandparents. Along the roads they hadseen glaring posters announcing the coming of the circus. They haddecided at once that now was the time to join that circus. Their circusriding clothes were in the trunk, which had been sent on by express. Evenas Johnny rose from beside the fire, the twins, in their beds at theirgrandfather's rambling, old house, were planning how, on the morrow, theywould slip on their circus garb underneath their dresses, and ride awayto discover their old friend, Johnny, and join the parade.
Morning broke bright and clear on the old fair grounds of Rokford, whichwas the place of the great circus' next one day stand. When Johnny hadeaten breakfast, he strolled past the cooking tent and, having paused toadmire the row of shining copper steam kettles, he thought of his promiseto get in touch with the manager of these kettles. The cook was not insight at that moment, so Johnny paused to study these great vats, whichresembled nothing so much as giant kettle drums.
"Just a twist of the valve and the steam does the rest," he murmured tohimself.
"Great, ain't they?" a voice said at his elbow.
"Sure are." Johnny turned about. It was the cook. A tall, slender man,well past middle age, with a drooping mustache, and a wrinkled smile, hestudied Johnny from head to toe.
"You're a boxer," he said, getting his smile into operation. "Saw you boxa conman once. Been wonderin' ever since how such a small fellow couldpack such a wallop."
"I don't mind tellin' you," said Johnny. "It's absurdly simple. Insteadof just getting the force of your arm muscles into the blow, or the pushof your shoulder, you leap as you strike, and that puts the whole of yourbody back of your mitt. That's easy, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is, after you been doin' it a few thousand times; easy asfryin' flapjacks."
"How long have you been cooking with steam kettles?" asked Johnny.
"Only five or six years. But I've been cookin' all my life. I was cookfor a surveying outfit when the Union Pacific was built. Boy! Those werethe days of real sport. Used to run out of fuel and everything."
A humorous twinkle lurked about the man's eyes, as he lighted his pipeand sat down on an upturned bucket.
"I mind one time," he mused, "when we was plumb out of wood, and nothin'but grass; prairie all 'round us. Just enough fire to make coffee; notenough to fry flapjacks, and the nearest supply station thirty milesaway."
"What did you do?" asked Johnny.
"Well, sir," the cook removed his pipe and spat on the ground, "I said,'Boys, there'll be flapjacks for breakfast just the same.' I mixed 'em upas usual in a big tin bucket. I gave the bucket to one of the boys, and ahunk of bacon rind to another, and told 'em all to follow me. I struck amatch and set the prairie grass on fire; then I held my fryin' pan overit until it was hot. I baked the first flapjack and tossed it out of thepan over my shoulder. Some fellow caught and ate it. I did another andanother the same way, and kept that up until every fellow in the bunchwas satisfied."
Johnny smiled. The cook smiled, spat on the ground, then concluded hisstory. "When we got through breakfast we were ten miles from camp.Prairie fire travels. So did we."
Johnny laughed; then he thought and laughed again. After a time he roseand went on his way.
"That's another fellow," he told himself, "that I'd never suspect ofbeing a crook, but what's that about people who 'smile and smile and area villain still'? A fellow has to watch out."
He was just thinking of this when a shrill voice piped:
"Hello, Johnny! Want to see my house?"
It was Tom Stick, the midget clown. He was offering Johnny a rareprivilege; inviting him to view the inside of his house on wheels. Panthad told Johnny that such a boon had been granted to no one. Yet, becauseit was so rare, and because of Pant's warning, "They'll stab you in theback," he was tempted for a second to de
cline.
Courage and curiosity overcame his fears, and smiling he said:
"Sure! Lead the way."
The clown's house was little more than a box on wheels, but once Johnnyhad crowded himself through the narrow door and seated himself, muchhumped up, on a miniature chair, he was surprised at the completeness ofits furnishings. He could easily imagine himself in a hunter's lodge inthe depths of the forest. An open fireplace, with a real wood fireburning, a roughly hewn table, benches beside the fireplace, a cluster offox skins hanging in the corner, a bear skin on the floor, rifles hangingon one wall; all these, with the unmistakable odor of fresh pine wood,went far toward taking him back to the forests.
"You see," squeaked Tom Stick, rubbing his hands in delight at Johnny'sastonishment, "I was born and brought up in the Maine woods. I loved thewild out-of-doors, and when the circus people offered me big money tojoin them, I told them no. But my mother needed the money, so, at last, Itold them if they'd build me this house, and never disturb me in it, I'dcome. You see they did. I've never had any of the other circus people inhere. Didn't think they'd understand. They've always lived in a tent.They'd laugh at a fellow who wanted a home with four board walls, aceiling, and a smell of the pine woods in it. But I knew you wouldn't.You've had a home, and you know the woods. Tell that by the color in yourcheeks, and the way you swing your arms when you walk."
For a moment the dwarf was silent, then suddenly he shot a question athis visitor.
"Johnny, what do you live for?"
"Why, why, I don't know," Johnny stammered. "Just live because it's funto live, I suppose."
The midget wrinkled his small brow in thought.
"Not so bad," he murmured. "Not so bad. But Johnny; did you ever wonderwhat a little fellow like me lives for?"
"No, I didn't," Johnny admitted.
"Well, there's a lot of things we can't do that big folks can; butthere's one thing, Johnny, one thing," Tom's tone died to a whisper; "ashort man can have a tall bank account. He can, can't he, Johnny?" Thelittle fellow twisted his face into a knowing smile.
"I guess he can," grinned Johnny, "and it's a fine thing that he can."
Johnny had stepped over and was examining an ancient squirrel rifle,which Tom explained had belonged to his grandfather, when he noticed theway the walls of the house were fastened. The walls were made of freshpine slabs. They were wired tight to something behind them. "Iron bars,"was his mental comment. "When they made this they just built it inside awild animal cage. I wonder what would happen if a fellow were to getlocked in here?"
He was speculating on this, when he heard a voice outside calling.
"Johnny, Johnny Thompson!" It was Gwen.
He answered the call and, turning to his little host, said: "Guess Ibetter go. Some work, I suppose. Great little house, you've got. Muchobliged for letting me see it."
He backed out of the door and hurried away to join Gwen, but even as hedid so, he thought of the midget clown's reference to a tall bankaccount, and of his house built inside a cage. What if this little fellowwas a miser? What if his greed for gold had led him into counterfeiting?What if he were Black McCree? What safer place could be found for hidinga counterfeiter's den than a house built inside a cage on wheels?
All these speculations were cut short by the appearance of the smilingface of his lady boxing partner, Gwen.
"It's the clown stunt," she exclaimed excitedly. "The big chief fell forit right away. He hurried a messenger off to Chicago for the balloons.They're already here, and they've tried them out with a dummy and theyworked beautifully. They want you to try it right away."
"This dummy," smiled Johnny, "he didn't fall and break his neck, did he?"
"No, of course not, Silly!"
"Well, here's hoping I don't, but it's a powerful long distance from thetop of the center tent pole down to the sawdust."