CHAPTER XX
THE BARNYARD CIRCUS
When next Phil opened his eyes he was lying on the grasson the shady side of a freight car with someone dashing waterin his face, while two or three others stood around gazing athim curiously.
"Whe--where am I?" gasped the boy.
"I reckon you're lucky to be alive," laughed the man who had beensoaking him from a pail of water. "Who be ye?"
"My name is Phil Forrest."
"How'd ye git in that car? Stealing a ride, eh? Reckon we'dbetter hand ye over to the town constable. It's again the law tosteal rides on freight trains."
"I've not stolen a ride. It's no such thing," protestedPhil indignantly.
"Ho, ho, that's a rich one! Paid yer fare, hey? Riding like agentleman in a side-door Pullman. Good, ain't it, fellows?"
"Friends, I assure you I am not a tramp. Someone assaulted meand locked me in that car last night. I've got money in mypocket to prove that I am not a tramp."
The lad thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets, then a blankexpression overspread his face. Reaching to his vest to see ifhis watch were there, he found that that, too, was missing.
"I've been robbed," he gasped. "That's what it was.Somebody robbed and threw me into this car last night.See, I've got a lump on my head as big as a man's fist."
"He sure has," agreed one of the men. "Somebody must a given himan awful clout with a club."
"What town is this, please?"
"Mexico, Missouri."
"Mexico?"
"Yes."
"How far is it from St. Joseph?"
"St. Joseph? Why, I reckon St. Joe is nigh onto a hundred andfifty miles from here."
Phil groaned.
"A hundred and fifty miles and not a cent in my pocket!What shall I do? Can I send a telegram? Where is the station?"
"Sunday. Station closed."
"Sunday? That's so."
Phil walked up and down between the tracks rather unsteadily,curiously observed by the villagers. They had heard his groansin the freight car on the siding as they passed, and had quicklyliberated the lad.
"Do you think I could borrow enough money somewhere here to getme to St. Joseph? I would send it back by return mail."
The men laughed long and loud.
"What are you in such a hurry to get to St. Joe for?" demandedthe spokesman of the party.
"Because I want to get back to the circus."
"Circus?" they exclaimed in chorus.
"Yes. I belong with the Sparling Combined Shows. I was on myway to my train, in the railroad yards, when I was knocked outand thrown into that car."
"You with a circus?" The men regarded him in a new light.
"Yes; why not?"
This caused them to laugh. Plainly they did not believe him.Nor did Phil care much whether they did or not.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Church time."
He knew that, for he could hear the bells ringing off in thevillage to the east of them.
"I'll tell you what, sirs; I have got to have some breakfast.If any of you will be good enough to give me a meal I shall beglad to do whatever you may wish to pay for it. Then, if Icannot find the telegraph operator, I shall have to stay overuntil I do."
"What do you want the telegraph man for?"
"I want to wire the show for some money to get back with.I've got to be there tomorrow, in time for the show. I must doit, if I have to run all the way."
The men were impressed by his story in spite of themselves;yet they were loath to believe that this slender lad, much theworse for wear, could belong to the organization he had named.
"What do you do in the show?"
"I perform on the flying rings, ride the elephant and ridebareback in the ring. What about it? Will one of you putme up?"
The villagers consulted for a moment; then the spokesman turnedto Phil.
"I reckon, if you be a circus feller, you kin show us sometricks, eh?"
"Perform for you, you mean?"
"Yep."
"Well, I don't usually do anything like that on Sunday," answeredthe Circus Boy reflectively.
"Eat on Sunday, don't you?"
"When I get a chance," Phil grinned. "I guess your argumentwins.I've got to eat and I have offered to earn my meal. What do youwant me to do?"
"Kin you do a flip?"
Phil threw himself into a succession of cartwheels along the edgeof the railroad tracks, ending in a backward somersault.
"And you ride a hoss without any saddle, standing up on hisback--you do that, too?"
"Why, yes," laughed Phil, his face red from his exertion.
"Then, come along. Come on, fellers!"
Phil thought, of course, that he was being taken to the man'shome just outside the village, where he would get his breakfast.He was considerably surprised, therefore, when the men passed thehouse that his acquaintance pointed out as belonging to himself,and took their way on toward a collection of farm buildings somedistance further up the road.
"I wonder what they are going to do now?" marveled Phil."This surely doesn't look much like breakfast coming my way,and I'm almost famished."
The leader of the party let down the bars of the farmyard,conducting his guests around behind a large hay barn, into anenclosed space, in the center of which stood a straw stack,the stack and yard being surrounded by barns and sheds.
"Where are you fellows taking me? Going to put me in the stablewith the live stock?" questioned Phil, laughingly.
"You want some breakfast, eh?"
"Certainly I do, but I'm afraid I can't eat hay."
The men laughed uproariously at this bit of humor.
"Must be a clown," suggested one.
"No, I am not a clown. My little friend who performs with me,and comes from the same town I do, is one. I wish he were here.He would make you laugh until you couldn't stand without leaningagainst something."
"Here, Joe! Here, Joe!" their guide began calling in a loudvoice, alternating with loud whistling.
Phil heard a rustling over behind the straw stack, and then outtrotted a big, black draft horse, a heavy-footed, broad-backedPercheron, to his astonishment.
"My, that's a fine piece of horse flesh," glowed the lad."We have several teams of those fellows for the heavy work withthe show. Of course we don't use them in the ring. Is this whatyou brought me here to see?"
"Yep. Git up there."
"What do you mean?"
"Git up and show us fellers if you're a real circus man."
"You mean you want me to ride him?" said Phil.
"Sure thing."
"How?"
"Git on his back and do one of them bareback stunts you wastelling us about," and the fellow winked covertly at hiscompanions, as much as if to say, "we've got him goingthis time."
"What; here in this rough yard?"
"Yep."
Phil considered for a moment, stamping about on the straw-coveredground, then sizing up the horse critically.
"All right. Bring me a bridle and fasten a long enough rein tothe bit so I can get hold of it standing up."
He was really going to do as they demanded. The men weresurprised.They had not believed he could, and now, at any rate, he wasgoingto make an effort to make good his boast.
A bridle was quickly fetched and slipped on the head of old Joe.In place of reins the farmer attached a rope to the bridle,Phil measuring on the back of the horse to show how long itshould be cut.
The preparations all complete, Phil grasped the rein andvaulted to the high back of the animal, landing astride neatly.This brought an exclamation of approval from the audience.
"Now git up on your feet."
"Don't be in a hurry. I want to ride him around the stack a fewtimes to get the hang of the ring," laughed Phil. "It's a good,safe place to fall, anyway. Do I get some breakfast afterthis exhibition?" he questioned.
"That depends. Go on."
"Gid
-dap!" commanded Phil, patting the black on its powerfulneck.Then they went trotting around the stack, the men backing off toget 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 ofthe place hurried to fetch it. In the meantime Phil was slowlyremoving his shoes, which he threw to one side of the yard.Bidding the men break up the chalk into powder, he smeared thebottoms of his stockings with the white powder, sprinkling aliberal supply on the back of the horse.
"Here, here! What you doing? I have to curry that critter downevery morning," shouted the owner.
Phil grinned and clucked to the horse, whose motion he had caughtin his brief ride about the stack, and once more disappearedaround the pile. When he hove in sight again, the black wastrotting briskly, with Phil Forrest standing erect, far back onthe animal's hips, urging him along with sharp little cries, anddancing 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 thestack faster and faster, throwing himself into all manner ofartistic positions.
After the horse had gotten a little used to the strange work,Phil threw down the reins and rode without anything of the sortto give him any support.
Probably few farm barnyards had ever offered an attraction likeit 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 threwhim to old Joe's back. Phil grabbed his pupil by the coatcollar, jerking him to his feet and started old Joe going at alively clip.
You should have heard those farmers howl, at the ludicrous sightof their companion sprawling all over the back of the black, withPhil, red-faced, struggling with all his might to keep the fellowon, and at the same time prevent himself taking a tumble!
At last the burden was too much for Phil, and his companion tookan inglorious tumble, head first into the straw at the foot ofthe stack, while the farmers threw themselves down, rolling aboutand 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 thehouse and fill up on salt pork and sauerkraut. You kin stay allsummer if you want to. Hungry?"
"So hungry that, if my collar were loose, it would be fallingdown over my feet," grinned the lad.