Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 952) (1895 10 22)
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= = N ~ ’ < = s \ ( / on, Nelell yz, SS) Zz Zz Ltda ~ \ x \ ANAT WK A "” ae ce ae 8 ceqeneren So) Vaal ae iy ax tt i a a I i att Ht i Hl il i Lt tC Dl mim... faa WN — \ \ AY N & : \ N x : \ \ \ \ \ \\ ) | \ Wy \ \ \ \ \ NY | =a Entered as Second Glass Matter at the New York, ¥. ¥., Post Office, Copyrighted 1895, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, October 22, 1895. | a ST LL eee IS at td Otc ate ST a oe ED Lee ch pixie eB age: $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS. Price N 0, 952. @ Year. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK, 5 cents. Vol. iit —— ; ipradieetatnanni fs | | a wil, I j AT ff : if] HI an] Hii 1 | { tN ' \\ 1A i \ \ \ \\N AREBACK BILLY'S BIG ROUND-UP BY HAROLD PAYNE, AUTHOR OF “‘DAN, THE RIVER SPORT,” ETC. CHAPTER I. A CROOKED PARTY ** Hooray! hooray!” \ << . ** Hoopla!” wrsSSaS = SS Eos \ aS WSS Mi b “‘ Here he comes!” SSS mn The band had struck up a lively air, and the THE FAMOUS PONY ‘‘ CHARLEYBOY” DASHED INTO THE RING, AND STANDING ERECT) pent-up enthusiasm which had been fermenting ON WIS BACK WAS THE GREAT AND ONLY ‘ BAREBACK BILLY.”
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ae ) 2 eT eere Te ie The Circus Detective. and boiling in the breasts of a thousand youths for the past half hour, burst forth at last in a perfect cyclone of wild yells, screeches, squalls and other manifesta- tions of delight. And the cause is easily explained. For a month previous the boys of the ambitious little city of Big Rapids had kept their eyes on the big showy posters announcing the appearance in town, on a certain date, of the great Rawlding & Spodgers circus, one of ‘the leading feat- ures of which, it was announced, was the inimitable boy bareback rider, Billy Bris- tol, better known to circus goers as Bare- back Billy. This young equestrian, although but lit- tle more than eighteen, had already earned a wide reputation both as a daring and graceful ring-rider and detective, having succeeded more than once in detecting, from his perilous position on the flying steed, men in the vast throng who had eluded both the police and the more noted detectives of the country. None of these facts were lost on the youthful devotees of the ring, and the announcement that this same wonderful young man was to appear in their town aroused the younger members of the pop- ulation to a frenzy of enthusiasm.” It was with feverish anxiety, therefore, that the thousand or more assembled un- der the tent that afternoon, watching the programme for the moment when their favorite should dash into the ring on his vivacious pony and delight them with his daring exploits. At length the moment arrived. A rather . tiresome performance of trained dogs had been endured by the boys in the audience; then they had lis- tened to some very stale jokes from the funny clown; then the band played a lively air, and Young America. could con- tain its enthusiasm no longer, for all knew what was coming. The ring-master had already heralded the world-renowned bareback rider; the funny clown, with his wide trousers and ridiculously painted face, stood with legs widespread, distended eyes and _ his painted lips drawn into the form of a big red O, in apparent eager expectancy, when suddenly the famous clay-bank pony Charleyboy dashed into the ring, shaking his comical head as if he were as eager for the fun as any auditor on the seats, and standing erect on his back was the favorite and delight of all, the great and only Bareback Billy! The uproar became instantly deafening. Even the tumultuous blare of the great horns and the thunders of the great bass- drum were drowned in the din. Bareback Billy smiled and bowed from one side to the other, as his spirited little steed bounded around the sawdust inclos- ure, and was to all appearances as happy as any one in the big tent. Billy cracked his whip to increase the pony’s speed, stood on one foot, turned . backward and forward summersets, sat alternately upon the pony’s neck and upon After this several men in queer cos- tumes, among them the funny clown, came out, each carrying a sort of stool in one hand and a hoop covered with, paper in the other. The stools were placed at the edge of the ring, on various sides, and the queer-look- ing ‘men including the funny clown, mounted them Then they raised the hoops and held them above their heads. Then Billy, who had been sitting during these preparations, sidewise on his pony, apparently dreaming, suddenly gave his pony a cut with his whip and the ring steed shot off around the circle like wind. Pretty soon Billy made a spring and stood upon his feet. ; The first round he hopped over the hoops, but the second round, to the ex- treme delight of the youngsters, he went dashing headlong through the hoops pa- per and all, turning a summerset and landing with his feet on the pony’s bare back. Each one of these feats was followed with a perfect pandemonium of screeches and yells of delight from Young America, on the seats. After performing this and many more daring feats Bareback Billy dropped astride of his pony and galloped around the ring a number of times at an easy gait, for the apparent purpose of resting from his hard labor. F There was a good-natured smile on the acrobat’s features, but his dark eyes wan- dered over the audience, studying each face with the greatest earnestness. It is doubtful if there were three people beneath that big tent who suspected the ring-rider’s real motive for this action. Indeed, those who had seen him before, and only knew him as a rider, supposed it to be only a habit of the young eques- trian, for he was never seen to perform without doing the same thing, . And even if any one ‘had suspected that he had any other motive.aside from resting, he would probably have forgotten his suspicion a moment later when he saw Billy suddenly hop to his feet again and resume his perilous evolutions. When the bareback tumbler had at last finished his performance and the pony had darted out of the ring, followed by his rider, who had stopped to make his bow, and then ran into the dressing-room, he was met by a large, quiet, good-na- tured looking man, who grasped his hand and asked: “Well, my boy, what luck?” “Oh! is that you, captain?’ exclaimed the boy, surprised at meeting Captain Hunter, the detective. “ Didn’t expect to see me here, did you, Billy?” “No, sir; I’ll be switched if I did. What brings you away out here?” ‘*Oh, the same old business,” returned the big man, with a good-humored chuckle. “But you didn’t answer my question. What luck?” “ Not much, sir.’’ a —_ decide the point. Two heads are some- — times better than one, you know.” : “Tf one is a mutton-head,” giggled the funny clown, who came slouching by at that moment. “And it is easy to see who has the mutton-head,”’ retorted Billy, administer- ing a playful kick to the grinning buf- foon. “None of your stale gags here, Mullen,”’ Then, sumed: “Very well, captain; just wait a second until I slip on some civilized togs over these tights and ’'ll go in with yous The party might tumble if he saw me come back in this rig.” And, retiring to another part of the dressing room, the young athlete had soon attired himself in the habiliments of or- dinary life, to which was added a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes. The two friends then slipped into the large tent, where another performance was already in progress, and moved slowly around the passage at the foot of the benches, apparently looking for seats. At Billy’s suggestion, the big man did not raise his eyes to the tiers of faces ranged above them, as this would be like- ly to arouse the suspicion of the sus- pected payty, and the ring-rider had lo- cated his man so well, as he believed, that this was not necessary, anyway. At length he came to a point from which he thought it safe to take a reconnoiter of the faces in the vicinity of where he had located his game. A brief sweep of his eyes was sufficient, and he whispered: “On the third tier from the top, with a white high, hat,” turning to the big man, he re- —_————- CHAPTER II. MYSTERIOUS TRANSFORMATION. No sdoner had Captain Hunter raised éyes in the direction indicated, than he whispered, excitedly: “Our man, Billy! him?” . “Tt won’t do to tackle him where he sits,” the keen-witted boy decided, promptly, “for the moment he~ sees. us coming up after him through that crowd he will smell a mouse, slide down the backs of the seats and escape under the canvas.” “What is to be done, then?” “My plan,” returned the young eques- trian, “would be to wait until the per- formance is over, keeping your eyes on him in the mean time, and when the crowd begins to move, slip through the mob, get as near the fellow ag possible, and, when he least expects it, nab him, You stay here while I go and dress my- Self; then I'll come out and join you.” Returning to the dressing room, Billy removed his tights, the make-up from his face and other tokens of his profession, and returned to the audience tent, looking as _ like a showman as any man in the crowd. ‘ - How shall I get at a ” . | _—s ‘the very end of the back, so that the on- “No sight of the game?” Walking to the place where he h af ie lookers held their breath, expecting to “Yes, and no,” said Billy, doubtfully. the captain, he nie surprised to find him v4 } see him lose his balance and fall off, but |“ What do you mean?” gone, and at once glancing in the direction - i Poni) we Never did—that is, accidentally. “There is a man in the audience who is | where the man with the white hat had iu But suddenly he would pretend to slip | the picture of Fielding, gat one moment, | sat, was still more surprised and cha- vr off, and when the pony would gallop ahead without his rider, the lads on the seats would grow grave and marvel how - the wonderful rider would ever regain his ta _ place on the pony. But the puzzle was soon explained. Billy would stand by the side of the ring, quietly swaying his long whip, and when the pony would come dashing past the rider would place his hands upon the ~ animal’s eeeape and the next instant - yault gracefully upon his back. and at the very next he don’t look any more like him than I do.” * That is strange,’ mused the big man. “Tt is strange. I never saw anything like it before.” ; “And you are not often deceived in faces, either, my boy.” “Very seldom; but this one gives me a set-to.”’ The big man reflected a moment, and then said: “Perhaps, if I should see him, I could a 7 stined to discover that the suspect also had disappeared. Another surprise: the seat where the fel- low had sat was occupied by a man not entirely unlike Rielding, except in the ab- sence of a pointed beard which the sus- fore = eer ne the high white at ha sappeared and a ome ta taken is fe soft black e keen-witted boy instan that it was Wielding and that the comek crook had effected these changes in ap-
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é "pearance to mislead and mystify any de- ‘tective on his track. But the captain had Where to and why? In vain the boy scanned the tiers of seats, and walked around the ring; Cap- tain Hunter was nowhere to be seen, Disappointed in his search, the young circus expert decided to keep his eyes on disappeared! . the suspect until the performance was’ concluded, and then learn, if possible, who he was; so he took a seat where he could keep the fellow in sight. The man betrayed no suspicion, but seemingly enjoyed the performance with as much zest as any observer under the canvas. At length, the performance ending, the big audience began to push forward for the exit, while Billy pushed up through the descending throng in the direction of his man, and when within a few feet of him paused to wait for him to descend. The man had his back turned, but Billy knew it was the suspect; but—one more astonisher; when the fellow turned his head, Billy’s heart almost stood still. If it was the man, he had again under- gone a complete change of facial appear- ance. ; His face was entirely smooth now, and, what had appeared to the boy to be blue eyes before were certainly very black now. So completely bewildered was the young ring-rider that he could do nothing but stare, and actually permitted the fellow to walk down to the bottom of the benches and leave the tent unmolested. Billy, still bewildered, also descended, and when he reached the ground whom should he run against but Captain Hunter. The detective was flushed and out of breath, as if he had been running. “Where did you go?” demanded Billy, half angrily. “Gp?” panted the big man; “why, I’ve been chasing that scoundrel, Fielding!” ‘‘Been chasing him?’ echoed Billy. “Yes, and a'merry chase he gave me, but all to no purpose. Just as I was at his very heels, he slipped into the crowd, managed to dodge back into the tent, and that was the last of him!” Billy stared at his friend. “Why, Captain Hunter, that fellow nev- er left his seat from the time I first spied him until the close of the show—just this minute.” “You are mistaken, Billy. Your back was scarely turned when the fellow glanced nekyously, as I imagined, toward the ring exit where you went out; then he arose and hurriedly picked his way down through the erowd to the ground and walked rapidly toward the canvas exit.” “And you followed? How far did he oN He “Only a few steps away from the en- trance, where he turned and went around the tent at a rapid walk. I increased my pace, and by the time he again got around to the entrance I was almost upon his heels. But at that moment a large crowd came out of the tent—those who did not wait for the concert, I suppose—and my man must have had a ticket, for he dodged in, and before I could arrange it with the doorkeeper to get back, the fel- low had succeeded in losing himself in the crowd.” Billy drew another long breath. ‘ There jis some great mystery here, captain,’”’ he averred. ‘“ Did you notice any change in the man’s face from the time that I first pointed him out to you and when he left the tent?’ ‘Change? No. What do you mean?’ ‘‘T mean, was there no change in his ap- pearance from the one time to the other?” The Circus Detective. 3 “Not that I noticed. Why do you ask?” Billy then told of the changes which had taken place in the man’s face from the time he had gone to the dressing-room un- til his return, and again from the time he had climbed to the top of the seats until he saw the fellow start to dvscend. The captain looked at the boy incred- ulously. “A strange piece of business, Billy, and the only way to uccount for it is, that there are two of them,” he assured. “T can easily believe that there are two, or even more of them,’’ mused Billy, “as these gentry generally travel in pairs or squads, but what especially puzzles me is that the fellow I saw the last time was, with the exception of the changes I have mentioned, as near alike the other as a twin brother.” “What became of him?” “Why, like your man he gave me the slip and lost himself in the crowd.” “Well, my boy,” observed the captain, laughing, and taking the boy’s hand, “he’s done us both this time, but we must trust to luck to give us a better deal next time. Come around to the hotel with me,” were Laetheeat CHAPTER III. SLICK GAME. The young acrobat accompanied the de- tective to the hotel, where they took sup- per together and then retired to the cap- tain’s room for a confab. “7 wonder whether there could be. any mistake,” began Billy, as soon as they were seated, taking a photograph from his pocket and examining it. “It certainly looks like the same face, only he had his mustache and pointed beard on when this was taken. Was this the only photograph you could get of him?” “ Yes,” replied the captain, “anda deuce of a time I had securing that. You see, the fellow has been slick enough not to get his portrait into the rogues’ gallery yet.” “How did you manage to scoop this one?” . “There was quite a trick in that, my boy,” laughed the veteran quick-touch de- tective, “and I feel a little proud of it. You see, the newspaper reporter, in chron- icling the robbery, implied that the job had been done by a certain Slade, alias Whitcomb, alias several other things, but whose real name was probably Fielding, and stated that he belonged to a respecta- ble family in New York. Consulting the directory, I came upon the name of David S. Fielding, and concluded to chance it, so went to the number indicated. The number given was a flat. I rang up the janitor, but a woman answered the call. She stated that David Fielding actually lived there, but was not at home. I then informed the lady, for such she seemed to be, that I was anxious to take up a note of mine which Mr. Fielding held, and that no matter whether the gentleman was at home or not, if she could find the note I would be glad to pay it off. “She seemed pleased at the idea of getting the money, and, inviting me up into the little reception-room, proceeded to angther room to look for the fictitious a which I was sure she would never find. “Nevertheless, the scheme afforded me an opportunity to look about the cozy place a bit, and about the first thing I ran upon was a photograph album. “Tt did not take me long to thumb over that album, you may be sure, and was soon rewarded by finding a picture of my man thereiD.” “How did you know it was he?” inter- posed the boy, curiously. —— * Ah, there is the trick of the business,” smiled Captain Hunter. ‘Your experience as a detective has not been extended enough to have learned this fact, so I will give it to you as a pointer. Any close student of human nature will tell you that after a man and woman have lived together for a length of time they gradually assume a resemblance to each other.” “Is that so?’ demanded the young man, in surprise. “Tt is a fact, and by watching this it may serve you many a good turn, as it has me in times gone by.” : “But how did you know the woman whom you met was Fielding’s wife?” “Only presumption. She was too young for his mother, | judged, and the peculiar interest she took in the matter, when I spoke of taking up my note, showed that she was not his sister, for had she been his sister, she would have evinced some hesitaney about meddling with his af- fairs. And then, when I came upon the picture in the album the correspondence of relationship impressed itself upon meat once. There could be no doubt about it. I knew they were husband and wife.” “ This is most remarkable!” declared the, boy, with an awed expression. “And so you filched the picture?” “Not just then. I was on the point of doing so, when the woman suddenly reap- peared, to ask me some question about the note—let me see—oh, yes, she came to ask me my Dame, so that she could recognize the note when she saw it. I gave her a fictitious name, and she went away again, and again I started to ex- tract the picture, when she once more popped in upon me to ask another ques- tion. And so it went on,, until I had be- gun to despair of securing the picture, so the last time she left I made no bones about the matter, and snatched the picture out, fetching away half the leaf at the same time. “ After an interminably long search she at length came back to say that she was unable to find the note among his papers, and wanted to know if I couldn't pay it and take her receipt for the money. I in- formed her bluntly that I didn’t do busi- ness that way, and requested to know when her hubby would be back. “To this she answered that she did not know; so I left, with the promise of call- ing again when he should be at home.” * And brought the picture with you?’ “ And brought the picture with me.” “But how did you come to think that he would come to this pert of the country and that he would be likely to attend the circus? And, finally, how did you come to think of sending the picture to me?” * All in a nutshell, my boy,” laughed the quick-touch détective. “The little talk 1 had with the woman convinced me that she and her husband had come from Mich- igan. I did not learn what part, nor did I try to find out; but, as I left the flat, I had a glance into the diminutive kitchen, the door of which was open, and there I espied a packing-case with the name of some firm in Big Rapids on it. “Then I thought of you. You had told me that you were going to be with a cir- cus this summer which would travel through Michigan, Wisconsin and some — of the other lake countries, so I procured a copy of the ‘Clipper,’ and made a note of the date your show would reach this town, and then mailed the photograph and instructions accordingly. I knew in reason that if he were in the town he would be pretty likely to attend the cir- cus.” é ad “And everything turned out as you ex- pected.” P) “xes, except the running of my wth in. ;
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himself time to reconnoiter. ' Snow who the deuce you are.” “That was unfortunate, but it could not be avoided under the circumstances.” “It might have been,’ mused the de- tective, “if I had foreseen that every- thing would turn out as I had hoped, but hardly expected. I should have _ tele- graphed to the sheriff to be ready to help me out,” While the captain was still: speaking there was a rap at the door, which, on being opened, disclosed a small boy stand- ing in the hall. “What is wanting, my the detective, “ Air you the gen’leman I seen chasin’ a man roun’ the circus tent this atter- noon?” inquired the urchin. Hunter looked the little fellow over cu- riously, and at length answered: ‘*Perhaps. Why?” “The feller was Con Dobson, he?’ persisted the lad. The detective was at something of a loss how to answer this question, but ven- tnred: “T believe so, sonny.” “Well, 1 reckon he’s been a-doin’ some- thin’, hain’t he?” ; “Never mind what he has been. do- ing.” interposed Captain Hunter out of patience; “what is it you want?” “Wry, sir, if it was Con Dobson, an’ he’s been a-doin’ somethin’ ag’in, I know whur’ yer kin find ‘im.” “Can you lead me to the place?’ “Yep, I reckon.” “Tf you can, and will, my boy,” cried the detective, enthusiastically, ‘“‘tyou shall be well paid.” “Nuff said,” grunted the boy. “Come on an’ I'll steer yer to the right place.” “How is this, Billy, my boy?” exclaimed Hunter. “Come on!” Billy, walking, surveyed the boy a mo- ment, and then asked: ‘*Aren’t you the boy I saw stealing peanuts out of the fakir’s basket this af- ternoon ?” “*Nope!”’ wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I'm pretty sure you’re the same boy, but if you'll lead us to the hiding place of Con Dobson, as you ¢all him, I'll let you off!” “All right. Here she goes!” The boy led the way, and the two men soon found themselves several blocks from the hotel on one of the principal streets of the town, which was filled with small stores and innumerable drinking saloons. Pretty soon the boy, stopping before one of the saloons of the better order, pointed with his finger, and said: “That's hit, mister. there, playin’ cards,” Hunter and Billy entered the place at once, The front room opened into a bar, be- yond which was a small room with some tables in it. It was rather dusky in the room, so Hun- ter ordered the drinks in order to give At that mo- ment a man arose from a table in the rear room, and Hunter saw at a glance that it was Fielding. \ boy?” asked wasn’t Con’s right in CHAPTER IV. A SKIRMISH. The man did not appear to see Hunter and Billy, if indeed he recognized them. ‘He strode into the front room, and ap- peared to be on the point of walking out ‘of the door when the detective stepped in front of him and said: “T beg your pardon, sir, but I believe yet ; ‘this is Mr. Con Dobson.” The fellow stared at the detective calm- ne ily for a moment, and then replied: at is my name, sae you » Yes, Ky don’t have the advantage of me, - for I The Circus Detective. “Oh, like yourself, I have a number of names. Sometimes it is Jones and some- times Robinson, - according to 'circum- stances. Your name, by the way, is some- times David Fielding, I believe?’ “ David Fielding?’ said the fellow. “I never heard of the name. You are mis- taken, sir. All these gentlemen know me.” “You do not sometimes live in New York, then?’ pursued the detective. ‘* Never saw New York in my life. Ask the saloon- keeper here. He knows me. Mike,” he called, turning to the mixer be- hind the bar, “did you ever hear of me being called anything but Con Dobson?” “ Noak; ‘cept when der chap called yer a liar t’other night,” replied the barkeeper, with a coarse chuckle. “Don’t get funny,” growled the other, sulkily. “I mean that you never heard of me being called Fielding, or anything like that?” “No, I never heard you called Fielding, Con.” “Of course not, nor nobody else. So, stranger, I hope you're satisfied.” ‘War from it,” repoined the other. “I have a warrant for David Fielding, and you suit the description of that man to the letter.” ; * What! Do you arrest me?” “That is what I propose to do, unless you can give conclusive proof that you are not the man I am after.” By this time the inmates of the place, including the barkeeper, the proprietor and a crowd of loungers, had collected about the bar. ; “ Ask any of these gentlemen,” pleaded the man. “They are all neighbors of mine, and most of them have known me for a good many years.” “And none on ’em never knowed uo good o’ yer, Con,” piped in one. “'Cept to put away tanglefoot,” added another. “ An’ free lunch,” supplemented a third. “Gentlemen,” broke in the detective, “T hold a warrant for a crook who is the very image of this man, only the person I want bears the name, in New York, of David Fielding. Now, what do you know of this individual? What kind of a repu- tation does he bear Does he pass among you as an honest man, and does he remain here in your town the year round, or is he known te be absent a part of the time?” The men looked at one another, and it was evident at once that the detective’s question was not well received. At length one of the gang growled: “What’s ye’r warrant for?” “The warrant charges the man with the burglary of a jewelry store in New York city,” returned Hunter, producing the writ. “Wren did d’is happen?” demanded the proprietor of the saloon. “ About two weeks ago.” The saloon-keeper looked about at the crowd, and finally inquired: “Has anybody missed Con wi'din’ d’e las’ two weeks?” There was a general shaking of heads, accompanied by groans which seemed to indicate the negative. “D'at’s w'ot I tought,” muttered the saloon-keeper. “I reckon ye’re on de wrong lay, young feller, an’ de bes’ fing youse kin do is ter mosey. See?’ nd before either Hunter or Billy was aware of the intention of the roughs, one of the toughest of them made a pass at the detective’s head with his fist. Hunter succeeded in dodging it, and the next instant the fellow went down in a ‘| heap by a blow from Billy’s steel-muscled fist. This set the fight fairly going, and for several minutes the man and the boy had all htey wanted to do to keep the infuri- ated mob of ruffians at bay. And in doing so more than one of the would-be pugilists were tumbled into the sawdust. Finally it became so hot—there being at least twenty against the two—that our friends were forced to draw their revoly- ers. * This caused a general panic and stam- pede among the toughs, citement Fielding effected his escape. Hunter and Billy then withdrew, as it was necessary for the latter to get back to the circus for the evening’s perform- ance. As they walked back toward the tent Billy said: “In my track, sir.”’ “ How so?” queried the detective. “That fellow we saw in the saloon is not the same chap I first spotted from the ring.”’ The detective looked at the boy with an expression of mingled amusement and incredulity, but answered: * Well, my boy, if you’re sure of it, that settles it; but I suppose yor™ don’t mind telling me, by way of a pointer, how you know ?” “Certainly not. You remember the fel- low I pointed out to you had a long mus- tache and a pointed beard?” * Yes, and so has this man.” “ All right. That is just the point I'm coming at. If this fellow we have just seen had had a clean face I shouldn’t have wondered at it, for, if everything else corresponded, I should have said that he was disguised. But, as the resem- blance to the other man was so strong in nearly every other respect, and the beards being the same, I was impelled to study him more closely than I usually do any one, and I made two discoveries. One was that the beard of the man whom If saw in the circus was slightly reddish, and fresh-looking, like that of a young man; while this fellow’s beard has a dead ap- pearance, as if it had been gray and dyed. I noticed the first man’s beard particular- ly» because the sun was shining on it, and it glistened like threads of old gold.” “That is a good point,’’ declared the older detective, “and one worthy of a man of much riper experience; but you said just now that you made two discov- eries. What was the other one?” “The other was~but you will probably opinion we're on the wrong laugh at this theory," hesitated the boy, | blushing. “Not a bit of it, my boy. There is nothing too trivial for the observation of the true detective. What was the other discovery?” “That pertained to the beard, too, but in a different way. The man I saw in the circus appeared to be extremely careful of his beard, and every time he expectorated he grasped it and pulled it out of the way, while the fellow in the saloon squirted his tobacco juice at random, with- out reference to his whiskers.” “By George, my boy!” ejaculated Captain Hunter, “this is better still. thy of the oldest heads among us. A man may change or cut off his beard for the purpose of disguise, but he can never _ change his habits on short notice. I am convinced that, if you are positive in these matters, your theory of it not béing t e 6 same man is the correct one.” By this time they had reached the cireus | tent, and Billy asked: a Will you come in, captain?” : “Not just now. I want to make a few inquiries about this Con Dobson and see i I can locate him, and if I get time I shall call in later. Tn the mean and in the ex- _ This is wor-
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y ‘time keep your eyes peeled for our man in ' the audience.” And the two friends parted. Billy was one of the procession of gayly- _ dressed ladies and gentlemen that rode into the ring to the bewildering strains of the band. To all appearance he was as oblivious of surroundings as any of the rest of the procession, who rode with as much indif- ference &S sO many wax figures; but, all _ the same, the boy’s eyes were not for an instant idle, and, without appearing to do so, were busily engaged in scanning the tiers of faces that rose on every side as the grand cavalcade moved afound the ring. Then came the regular performance— the lady ‘‘pad rider,” the ground and lofty tumbling, the mildewed jokes of. the clown, and finally the delight of the boys AS well as the older people, Bareback Billy on his hoydenish claybank pony Charley- boy. The usual deafening applause and sereams of delight greeted the really won- derful performer, and no one watching ‘his feats, would have suspected where his mind was for the most part. ‘But had they noticed a tawny-bearded man on one of the upper seats, who sat watching the performance, and seen how the boy’s eyes reverted continually to that point of the assemblage, they would at least have suspected that there was some- thing in the wind. CHAPTER YV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. Spurred to his greatest effort by the wildly enthusiastic reception of every suc- cessive feat, and with his mind half -di- vided between his work and the interest- ing individual on ‘the top seat, Billy, for once in his life, to some extent, lost his head. F The night was excessively hot, and be- fore he had half finished his turn, both himself and his pony were reeking with perspiration. At length came ‘his grandest feat, and the one that was to finish the perform- ance, a double back summerset, lighting on the pony’s crupper with one foot. His preceding acts had already worked the audience up to a state of excitement bordering on frenzy, and they waited with bated breath and throbbing hearts the ’ final great feat. In his own excitement Billy had neg- — leeted to take his customary brief breath- ing spell before attempting the double , vault, and attempted the arduous per- formance without a moment's rest. At the appointed moment, which was announced by a blare of the big horns and a crash on the bass drum, Billy threw himself into the air like a great flexible rubber doll, flopped over twice, and descended feet foremost toward the pony’s rump. His foot touched the reeking pony at the’ very extremity of his body, but, un- ike eyery previous execution of the feat, is foothold proved insecure, slipped from the greasy coat of the pony, and the rider was precipitated headlong over the ropes forming the ring and into the midst of the audience. The greatest excitement prevailed. The crowd pushed forward to ascer- tain what damage had been done, so that it required the combined efforts of half the troupe of showmen to keep them ck and prevent them from smothering e unfortunate rider. : “Yes, sir. But do you think it likely that he will follow the circus?” “T have a theorv thot he will, In my opinion, he has some motive in remaining with the show. This is only theory, remember, and there may not be any-. | thing in it, but it is the only thing we have to work on at nresent. Good-by!” “ Good-by. cantain.” ; “Say.” growled Mugsy, as soon as the detective was beyond earshot, “ver say d'at d’at bloke’s er detective? W'y. sev, 7 D’at’s right,” he couldn’t dertec’ er trolley car if : 2 ‘ . | 3 Mee - runned over ‘im. ‘ averred . I’m delighted to
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ne = ee S ee ae ee 7 The Circus Detective. CHAPTER VI. ON THE ROAD. Billy and his quaint friend hurried away to he depot, and arrived none too soon. Nearly everything had been got aboard and a few minutes later the train pulled out. But Mugsy had had the opportunity in the mean time of seeing the boss fakir and to perfect his arrangements with that gentleman to go along as a vender of “pink lemonade,” as he had described it, and the boy rejoined his friend, the bare- back rider, in a very happy frame of mind. *Tt's all right, Bareback!” he chuckled, as he crawled into a seat beside Billy; “I’m ter swing d’e circle wi'd the pink- un’s fer d’e whiskers w’ot comes ter d’e show an’ pick up d’eir nicks. Now, w’ot’s d’e Hawkshaw lay?” Billy explained that a robbery had been committed in New York a short time be- fore—that Captain Hunter, the man they had left at the last town, had been de- tailed on the case, and had, as he sup- posed, traced his man as. far as Big Rapids, and asked him (Billy) to assist him. “ An’ ye’ve already sighted d’e bloke interrupted Mugsy. “Yes, at least I have sighted a man who resembles the picture the detective sent me to identify him by.” “W’ot’s d’e smeller—w’ot’s his name— Finder—?” * Hunter.” “Hunteh? Huh! d’at’s a holy name fer a ’tective,” laughed Mugsy, “specially a would-be like d’at rooster. But wot I was about to perpound wos, did yer put his topknots onter d’e prig?” “Yes, I pointed him out to the cap- tain.” : “ An’ what did his nupshels do?” “ He shadowed the fellow until the lat- ter gave him the slip.” Mugsy laughed immoderately. “ Jes’ w’ot J tought. Say, d’at sea- biskit couldn’t foller er milk-cart wi’dout gittin’ lost.” 4 Billy was forced to laugh at the fellow’'s drollery, and then asked in a more serious tone: “T say, Mugsy, what do you see about this detective that gives you sich a dis- like for him?” “Oh, I don’t see nuttin’ *bout him ter dislike,” gunted Mugsy, with a chuckle; “dey ain't nuttin’ to see; nuttin’ ter like or dislike. He’s like one 0’ d’em veal san’- wiches w’ot d’ey give yer at d’e penny eatin’ house; d’ey ain’ nei’der color nur tas’, an’ if ye shet ye’r eyes w’en ye'r" eatin’ it, yer couldn’t tell but w’ot yer wos chawin’ moonshine.” “The captain doesn’t impress you as a brilliant detective, then?’ laughed Billy. “Oh, yes; he’s a good un’ for a crook ter have fun wi'd! If I was er crook I’d hire d’at bloke ter kill time wi'd w'en t’ings wos dull, ’stead o’ playin’ sol’taire. He’d make er good subjec’ fer a ’prentice pickpocket ter practice on.” “You think you could do better your- self, no doubt.” ‘“Bf I couldn’t I'd sell meself ter er scrub-woman ter wash winders. wi'd. ‘But say, Bareback,’’ he broke off, sudden- ly, “w’ot’s d’e divvy in d’is camp meetin’ s’posen’ we plug der metal-man?’”’ _“ There is a reward of ten thousand dol- Oh! ve lars offered, I believe.” “Ten t’ousan’ plunks, eh? say, jes’ let me git me fins onter d’at once! Won’t I mosey back an' make d'e boys on d’e Bow’ry sick? Say, I'd have d’e stripedest suit yer kin buy on the street an’ er blazer as big as er trolley-lamp. - But w’re do youse come in, Bareback?” “There was nothing said about my share,” returned Billy, somewhat humbly at the recollection of his lack of fore- though. “I presume Captain Hunter will do the right thing, however.” “Oh, youse is a prime chump, an’ no mistake!” sneered Mugsy. ‘“D’ye tink I'd go inter a deal like d@’at? Not on yer tin-type. Say, I’ve got er bite.” “What is it, Mugsy?” “Say, we let de would-be float, an’ tackle to on our own hook? In my ‘pin- ion, if d’e prig’s ever pinched itll be me’n youse d’at’ll do d’e twistin’, an’ w'ot’s @e use 0’ divyvyin’ wi’d er Hawk- shaw w’'ot don’t do nuttin’ but look on, like er blind man at er squintin’ match?” “That would hardly be the right thing,” observed Billy, with some compunction of conscience. ‘ You see, I should have known nothing about this case if he hadn’t put me on to it.” “Well, d’en, if ye’r conshence gripes yer say we square w’id his joblots by dealin’ him a cool t’ousand? D’at orter satisfy anybody w’ot don’t do nuttin’, an’ if he kicks at d’at, we'll penshun him off wi’d cold clam-shells.”’ After a little more conversation Billy asked: “What ever brought you out into this country, Mugsy, anyway?” “Me? Oh, I fergot ter tell yer d’at. Yer couldn’t guess in er week wot brought me out here.” “T'm sure of it,” rejoined Billy, im- patiently. “ What was it?” “Wy, yer see d’er’ wos a doctor chap wot sold cure-all on der Bow’ry; he called it ‘Zooloo Corgel!’ an’ he had me ter dress up as er Zooloo ter draw cus- tom. Well, tings went on all right for a wile, till one day er drunken bloke run ag’n’ d’e box I was standin’ on an’ trun me down under er sprinklin’ cart, an’ d’e water f’om d’e cart washed d’e paint off me mug. D’en d’e cops ’rested d’e doctor fer a fake. But he wos er cute duck an’ soon got out, an’ d’en he purposed d’at we come out in der wild an’ wooly, w'ere d’e cops wasn’t so pertickler but w’en we struck Detroit, his medicine bottles run agin’ a jag an’ got locked up as er Vag, so I struck fer d’e bush, an’ here I am.” The boys soon ceased talking, and dropped off to sleep and did not awake until they were routed out at the station where they were to stop off. It was about the middle of the forenoon when they reached the hotel in the modest town of West Chockywocky, so that by the time they had got breakfast it was time for Billy to join the street parade and Mugsy to mount up behind an im- } provised stand and begin the sale of slop drink to the hayseeds who had already began to swarm about the tent where the great circus was to take place. “ Right d'is way, gents!’ yelled the late Boweryite; “here’s y’er ice-col’ lemonade, wi'd er ripe cherry in every glass! Come right erlong! On’y five cents er glass, an’ it won’t neid’er break nur ‘toxicate; itll leave ye’r head as clean as er widder’s nightcap. Come right erlong.” , In the course of time the parade re- turned to the big tent and the showmen prepared for the grand entry. Mugsy still continued to hawk lem- onade outside until the audience were all inside the tent; then he went in to pre- pare for the sale on the seats. Billy, on the look-out for his, friend, as soon as he caught sight of him, beckoned to him. Taking the photograph of Fielding from his pocket, Billy said: ~ “Take a good look at that, Mugsy. and, keep, the image of it well in mind, and if you see dnybody on the seats who resembles it, keep him in view until the ee et” performance ends; then shadow him and see where he goes.” “T'll do it,” assured Mugsy, after taking — fe a long look at the picture. ‘Say, I’ve spotted d’at mug afore, sommers, an’ yer kin bet ye’r mudder’s close-pins I ain’t ergoin’ ter forgit it.” A little while later Mugsy was making the circuit of the seats with a tin basket filled with brimming glasses of very pink and very weak lemonade. His voice rose above everything, the shouts of the boys, the thunders of the band and the stamping of feet, but his eyes were busy only in one direction, and that was in the search for a face that fitted, the photograph which Billy had shown him. But, strange to say, after half a dozen rounds, he was obliged to confess to him- self that he had failed to discover a face which bore the slightest resemblance to the one in question. It was therefore with a fainter heart than was usual with Mugsy that he started upom another round after having replenished his empty umblers. : By the time he had made half of this cireuit there came an unusually thun- drous outburst of applause, and a glance in the direction of the ring-entrance ex- plained the cause of the demonstration. Billy had just dashed in on the famous Charleyboy, and the audience, especially the boy part of it, were simply going wild in consequence. As Billy circled around the ring, stand- ing erect and motionless, with his arms crossed over his breast, Mugsy could see that his friend’s eyes were carefully skim- ming the tiers of faces which uprose about him. ’ The refreshment vender paused in his vocation to watch the rider’s action for the space of a minute; then he saw a strange expression flash across his coun- tenance, and, following Billy's eyes, Mug- sy saw what he had overlooked before, . and wondered how he could have been so Stupid. Sitting away up, almost to the roof of the big tent, was a man, who, the lem- onade vender perceived at a glance, was none other than the original of the photo- graph which had been shown him. ‘His heart came into his mouth at this discovery, but he calmed himself as best he could, resumed the crying of his lem- onade, and pushed his way slowly up through the crowd in the direction of the individual on the top seat. Another minute or two and he was alongside of his man. “Lemonade, boss?” asked the boy, pushing his basket toward tha man. - CHAPTER VIL. A TOUGH CUSTOMER. The man paid not the slightest attention to Mugsy’s appeal, and sat stolidly gaz- ing at the evolutions of the wonderful bareback rider, with a faraway look in his es. “Perdijjus ac’, d’at, boss,” commented Mugsy, by way of cultivating acquaint- ance with the strange man. “Bright kid d’at. Knocks d’e socks offen Queen Vick- tory as er high an’ lofty. Lemonade, sir? D’at cove’s ekal ain't ter be foun’, see, in dis neck o’ de woods. B’in offered fifty t’ousan’ an’ keep ter cross der oshun an’ play afore Emperor Bill, 0’ Germany, an’ wouldn't tech it. Lemonade, boss?” For the first time the stranger lifted his | eyes languidly to the face of the per- sistent lad, evidently curious to see what _ such an interminable linguist looked like. But if he had been surprised or amused at the boy’s harangue, he was doubly so at sight of the young man, i
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Cher. Ot The Circus Detective. Mugsy was a typical East Sider. He was short, stockily built, with a thick neck, a round head, covered with a close-cropped suit of rusty-red hair, a broad and florid face plentifully sprinkled with coffee-colored freckles, a to-e of the most pronounced pug order, a wide mouth, square jaws and protruding chin, which, with the addition of a pair of small, im- pudent, pale eyes, gave his profile very much the appearance of that of a bulldog. Mugsy was attired in the loudest of loud check suits, now somewhat soiled and travel-stained, and his head was surmount- ed with a high white hat, very much soiled and battered, and encircled with a black band, The hat was worn very much on one side of the young Boweryite’s head. The stranger eyed the young man with a comical half-smile for a moment, and then exclaimed: ‘*Hello, Hester Street, what are you doing out in these paris?” Mugsy didn’t take kindly to the discour- teous allusion; but, instead of retorting, utterly ignored it, and with a haughty toss of thé head, observed: “JT sh’u'd tink ye’d wanter purchis a snifter 0’ d’e ice-col’ ter cool yer cop- pers, boss. Ye’r’ liver’ll dry up breadin’ d'at onlubrycatid atmospeer. D’at’s right. W'y, der yer know, d’ere wos a feller back at d’e town we jes’ lef’ w'ot got so dry, an’ wos too mortal stingy ter buy a ice-col’, an’ d’en w’en he west ter coff he set his w'iskers on fire? Dat’s right.” “Well, for fear that I might meet with the same fate,” laughed the stranger, “I think I shsll invest in a glass of your wonderful ‘ice-cold,’ as you eall it.” “Here ye air, sir,” and Mugsy, lifting a glass of the pink lemonade from the bas- ket, handed it to the man. “D’at'll ’frig- erate yer clean down to ye’r heels, cure ye’r bunions, an’ out er stop ter ‘ye'’r in- growin’ nails. Who's d’e nex'?” he went on, after returning the glass to its place and pocketing the change. “Jes’ a few more glasses o’ d'e coolin’ bevy'rige lef’! Who want's it?” And Mugsy passed on; but he had taken a mental photograph of the stranger so that he would know him again in any place or under any circumstances. Nevertheless, the lemonader still kept the stranger under surveillance during the rest of the performance, and at its con- clusion took the liberty of slipping out and leaving his outfit with his boss, was in time to catch sight of the stranger again before he had escaped from the tent. Having him in sight, he proceeded to shadow him as he left the pavilion, the stranger having passed just ahead of ‘him, he was overtaken by Billy, who touched him on the shoulder and whispered: ““ What luck, Mugsy?”’ Mugsy made no audible reply, but jerked his thumb in the direction of the man ahead of them. “On his track, eh?” whispered Billy. “Yep; but keep dozey!” was the mut- tered response. And the two boys followed. Billy’s mind was in something of a tangle with regard to this suspect. In the first place, he could not imagine what was the fellow’s motive for following the cir- cus so persistently. And then it began to dawn upon him that the man might be a pickpocket, and determined to watch the papers and sce vege any one had lost a pocketbook or not, The boys had not far to follow, for the shadowed man only went as far as one of the hotels. | There, nodding to the clerk familiarly, he passed through the office, paused long enough to get his keys, inquire if there was any mail for him, and went straight on, presumably to his room, Billy and his friend were at a standstill. Neither could think what was the best to be done next. : In his dilimma. Billy strode up to the desk and began to examine. the register. He passed his finger down along the names of the arrivals for that day in the hope of finding the name of Fielding, but it was not there. Then he examined the list for the day before, although he knew that the man was in Big Rapids on the previous day, and of course he. met with disappoini- ment in this case, also. Finally he plucked up courage to speak to the clerk. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, in a timid voice, “but what is the name of the gen- tleman who just passed up? His face is vory familiar to me, and I think. I know him.” Ss ‘His name is there on the register,” re- turned the clerk, indifferently. “Room 16.” Billy ran his finger down over the room- numbers, came to sixteen, and traced it ueross to the name corresponding with it. ‘*Purguson, Alexander, Grand Rapids,” he read. “Ts that your man?” inquired the clerk, with a little more show of animation, “T’m afraid not,” replied Billy, doubt- fully. ‘“Unless—” “Unless what?’ asked the clerk, as the boy hesitated. “Unless he has, changed his name, eh?” laughed the clerk. “Yes, sir,” returned Billy, frankly. ‘‘T guess there is not much likelihood of that.” “ T suppose not.” “J dun’no’ ‘bout dat,” put in Mugsy. “Tf I ain’t mighty mistaken I’ve seen d’at mug ‘in d’e Bowery, Noo York.” ‘ The clerk looked at the boy and smiled incredulously. “What makes you think so?’ he asked. “’Cause d'ere never wos two mugs so much alike as d’em two, see?’ At that moment a man approached the counter and began looking over the reg- ister. Neither Billy nor Mugsy paid enough at- tention to him to see who he was until he spoke. ‘ After scanning the fresh arrivals and apparently not finding what he was look- ing for, the new-comer asked: ‘Is there a man stopping here by the nan of Fielding, clerk?” Both seys looked up instantly. The new-comer was Hunter, the detective! “The name of every guest in this house is on that register, sir,” replied the clerk, wearily. ‘‘When did your man arrive?” “He must have arrived to-day.” “Well, then his name should be among to-day’s arrivals, otherwise he is not stop- ping here.” “Tam sorry to disagree with you, sir.” said the detective, tartly, “but I have good hd reason for believing that the man I desire ‘to see is stopping in this house. The fel- low may have changed his name, or his face, for aught I know, but that he is stopping here I am quite positive.” The clerk was growing nervous. He instinctively glanced at the two boys who had also been inquiring for a man with an altered name, and the clerk began to suspect that something was wrong. “The chap I mean,” pursued the detec- tive, excitedly, putting his hand into his breast pocket, “looks like—no, by jingo! haven’t got it now. I was sure—” At that moment his eyes fell upon Billy and his partner. “ Hullo!” he cried. ‘You here, my boys? Well, this is lucky! You have that photo, Billy? Let us have it,” Billy drew forth the picture and handed it to the detective, who in turn passed it to the clerk. “That’s the duck,’ obseryed Hunter, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Have you re- marked any one who resembles that pic- ture, sir?” “he eclerk’s countenance changed. He grew a trifle pale as he scanned the photo- graph, and finally replied, as he returned the picture: “Yes, that party is here, I think.” ‘ And, whirling the register around so that he could read the entries right-side up, ran his finger over the names, and finally remarked, pointing to a name: “Turguson, Alexander, room 16,” CHAPTER VIII. OFF THE SCENT. Hunter took a card from his pocket, and,} handing it to the clerk, requested: “Will you kindly send this card up to the gentleman in sixteen?” “Front!” bawled the clerk. And when a spindle-shanked youngster of ten or thereabout put in an appearance the clerk gave him the detective’s card with the directions: ‘Room sixteen. Wait!” And they did wait, but only for a short period, for soon the spindle-shanked boy reported that the gentleman in No. 16 would see “Mr. Spalding,” that supposa- bly being the name sent up by the acute Hunter, So the detective turned to Billy and said: *“TNemain here, my boy, while I go up and interview our friend.” The two boys seated themselyes to wait the result of the detective’s interview with the alleged crook, but much to Mugsy’s disgust and distrust. “Say, d’at feller makes me sick,” ob- seryed the Bowery scion, as soon as the detective was gone. “He’d make er good nigger ter chuck balls at fer d’e see-gars, see?” The detective had proceeded to the room -of the alleged burglar, by whom, to his surprise, he was cordially received, and in a few minutes’ time was in easy converse with the presumed crook. “You will pardon me, Mr. Furguson,” began the detective, “but I have called upon you on a somewhat delicate mis- sion.” *“ Yes,” said the other, in a good-natured) tone. “To come to the point,’’ proceeded the. New York shadower, drawing the photo- graph from his pocket, “permit me to ask you, first of all, if that is a likeness of yourself.” The stranger took the photograph, and, scanning it carefully, remarked: “It certainly resembles me, but it was never taken from my features. I was in New York city but once in my life, then only for a short time, and am quite posi- tive I did not have my picture taken.” The detective was somewhat discom certed, but struck out in another direction. “Did you ever know a Man by the name of David Fielding?” “Fielding? Yes, I have known some people of that name, one a preacher, And, yes—there was another David Fielding over in Oshkosh, who was a horse-doctor.” Evidently Hunter had been overmatched or was on the wrong tra’l, At last he de- cided to drop No. 16, and arose to leave. “Sorry,” continued the man. “If you were not in so much of a hurry I might recall other David Fieldings, and maybe some of them would fit your description,”s _ “T hardly think so. ae Good afternoon, sir.” Hunter returned to the boys considera- bly crestfallen, His assuranco had van-
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i 5. ESTEE SoS TIER Mg [yin ewes as Pe SP ens, Sy =i, 3 saat? ——?> — aoe 4 a Mey ie: arn _ the papers might be a great help. The Circus Detective. ished, and he did not evince a desire to un- vail his secrets to the disinterested clerk. “ His wire-edgedness has runned ag’in’ sumpin’ blunt,’”” whispered Mugsy, whose plainly-expressed distrust had sensibly affected Billy’s faith in Captain Hunter’s detective prowess. “What success, sir?’ asked Billy. The detective frowned. *T succeeded in finding out that we have been making fools of ourselves all this time,” he answered, almost suriily. “How making fools of ourselyes?’’ quer- jed Billy. “Why, I mean that this is not the man we are after.” “ Well, here’s a go!”’ observed the young man from the 3owery. “How did you make the discovery?’ questioned Billy, earnestly. “Simply by questioning the man. © His story is as straight as a string; and I hadn’t conversed with him two minutes before I was convinced that he was not the man. Why, this gentleman has been ijn New York but once in his life!” * An’ d’en went fer der ’spress purpos’ 0’ havin’ his purtygraff took, I reckon,” sug- gested the disgusted Mugsy. “This is most unfortunate,” murmured Billy. “Worse,” put in Mugsy. “It’s rough on rats.” / “What is to be done, sir?’ asked the young acrobat. “TT shall take the first train back to New York, and begin my work from that en of the line again. Nothing is to be gained by remaining here.” “On’y d’at d’e *habitants o’ d’e State’ll sorely miss yer,” insinuated Mugsy, with an impudent chuckle. ; “See here, young man,’’ snorted Hunter, “somebody will miss you in about a min- ute if I hear any more of your impu- dence!” “ Oh, go bathe ye’r w’iskers in Gowanus water an’ give ye’r chin er rest!’’ sneered Mugsy. Hunter bestowed a scowl on the boy, and seemed about to proceed to extremes with him, but thought better of the mat- ter, knowing that further talk or trouble fvould attract attention. So, without even a good-by to Billy, he left the room and was secn no more, greatly to the circus rider’s astonishment. CHAPTER IX. THE NEW DEAL. “But there was consolation in the detec- -tive’s absence, for,.as he moved away, a large legal envelope had dropped from an inner pocket to the floor—a singular acci- dent, seeing the importance of its con- tents to the officer. Billy picked it up. Pxamining it hastily, the bareback rider ‘concluded to ascertain its actual contents in order to decide if it were important enough to hunt up Captain Hunter again _-to restore what he had lost. So, stepping to one side, he found the -- eontents to consist of two documents—one a warrant for one David Fielding, and the - other a detailed description of the various articles of jewelry alleged to have been stolen by said Fielding. _ Billy, realizing the value of his find, restored the documents to the envelope and _ placed the package in his pocket. If Captain Hunter really had abandoned the search, as he had announced he should do, and had returned to New York to be- gin over. again, he could duplicate the _ «documents if they were needed; while, if the two boys were to keep on the trail, whieh Billy still felt sure they had struck, So he cided to make no effort then to discover e captain’s whereabouts. Pa urther, he had decided to act on Mugsy’s advice—to “go it alone” in the search for the wanted crook, and so in- formed his friend and ally as they pro- ceeded on their way to their own hotel. “T have the necessary documents here,” explained Billy, taking the envelope from his pocket, “‘to detain our man if we run across him, and he will be held by the sheriff of whatever county we happen to be in pending extradition papers from the governor to take him back to New York.” Mugsy looked at his companion with an expression of mingled awe and admira- tion, “Say, Bareback,’ he muttered at last, “vouse chins jes’ like one o’ them out-an’- out lawyer chaps. Youse is dead keen, youse is! I’m sumpin’ on de knock-out, but w’en it comes ter gittin’ right down ter inside t‘ink business, w’y, youse jist grabs de brass ring ev’ry roun’. But, Hunter Says d’is cove w’ot he went up ter inter- view ain’t d’e huckleberry. D’en w’ot?” *In my opinion, he is mistaken. This fellow, if he is the man we are after, is as cunning as Satan himself, and it is more than likely that he! succeeded in pulling the wool over Hunter’s eyes in such a Way as to make him believe that he is not the man, Now, among these documents is a description of the articles stolen. Upon this description much depends. If we are lucky enough to run across the fellow again we must make his acquaintance, g°t,Ou the good side of him, and find out what jewelry he has in his possession.” “Leave d’at ter me! I most made his *quaintance ter-day; ’cos w’en I axed ‘im ter purchis’ some ice-col’ an’ set ter jolly- in’ *im a bit, d’e bloke turned onter me an’ goes a-kiddin’ yoors trooly. W’en a bloke does d’at, it’s dead easy ter git on borryin’ terms wi'’d ’im.” she two boys went to their. hotel and had dinner, after which they returned to the tent, one to dress for the performance and the other to begin the sale of cool bev- erages., ; When it came Billy’s time to execute his inimitable feat of horsemanship, his eyes scanned the seats as usual, but to his disappointment, his man was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the ease any different with re- gard to Mugsy in his rounds ‘with the “jee-col’.””. He was equally watchful with his friend, but to no purpose. If the sus- pect was there, he was in a disguise so complete as to baffle the two boys. As they had a few minutes to spare be- fore the departure of the train, the boys hied them to the other hotel, where the man had been stopping, but were again baffled, being told that he had left that afternoon—before the evening perform- ance of the circus. The puzzling part of that news was that no train had left between the time of the commencement of the circus performance and the one at midnight, on which the company embarked for the next town, for, as the fellow was not on that train, he must have either left town by other means or still remained concealed in it. The two chums, determined not to be hoodwinked, had made a dozen trips through the long train, examining the faces of all. the passengers, but only in the end had to confess their defeat. — “T’'m afeered d’e game’s up wi'd us, Bareback,” grumbled Mugsy, as the boys seated themselves in the train at last. “D’'e cove’s done his bizness ter d’e queen’s tas’, an’ giv’ us d’e go.” “T still think there is hope,’ answered Billy, cheerfully. ‘‘I have a theory that the fellow has some hidden motive for ‘keeping with the circus, and I believe that we shall yet see a good deal of him. We have got to take our chances like every other detective, you know.” CHAPTER X. A QUEER TRANSFORMATION, The next townat which the circus stopped was Kalamazoo, a much more important place than either of the previous towns, and the boys expected fully that their man would be on hand for reasons best known to himself and most likely to use his light fingers in relieving men in the crowd of their watches—which happens at every performance; but as on the oc- casion of the previous town, they looked in vain for their man. It was while Mugsy was passing his lemonade and keeping a sharp lookout for the crook at the same time that a comical incident occurred. The day being excessively hot, and the crowd correspondingly dry, Mugsy and his associate vendors were kept busy in sup- plying their wants, There was, of course, a large repre- sentation of the colored population, and, as everybody knows, the colored brother has a preternatural thirst for lemonade on a hot day. Mugsy was hurriedly passing out the glasses, when another colored bevy, seated lower down, kept yelling for him to wait upon them, “Lem’nade heah! lem’nade heah!” was the cry; which, not being heeded, a long, lank, colored gentleman arose, climbed up the steps, and, reaching out his long arm toward Mugsy, yelled: “Heah, sar! Two glaws lem’nade!” Mugsy placed a glass in each of the fel- low’s hands, and as the “gemman” turned to retrace his steps, he slipped, stag- gered, and the next thing to occur was a head-foremost plunge of the gallant down over the other “darks,” spilling his two — glasses of lemonade in every direction, amid shrieks, howls and execrations dire from a dozen throats. Mugsy, surveying the ludicrous scene, called out: “Say, me colored Apoller, does yer charge anything fer this double tumble act?” and went on about his work, leay- ing the “gemmen” to settle their difficul- ty in their own peculiar way—by a good deal of jaw. No discovery did either boy make at that performance, so after the show they met to compare notes, and having a full hour to spare before returning to the tent, they decided to pay a visit to the various inns to discover if their man was at any of them. or not. } In their search they took in all the hos- telries, examining the registers of each, or, where there was no register, making inquiry, ; At length they struck a “tavern,” where it was not at_all likely their man would stop, but so eager were the two searchers that they would not allow even this one to go unsearched. _For a wonder it possessed a register, and Billy at once scrutinized the arrivals, and almost immediately said: 9 “Here we have him, Mugsy!” and read ‘from the register: “ Fielding, Rev. D.” Mugsy length remarked: . “Well, I wondeh ef d’e bloke has tied er gospil tail ter his cognoman? He's *bout d’e label of er chap ter do it, dough.” . ] Inquiry was made and. the information given that the gentleman probably was then in his room. “If you want to see him,” added the clerk, “all you have to do is to travel right up one flight and knock at the first door on the right after you git to. the head of the stairs. We keeps no call boy in this house, you see.” “ All right,” answered Billy, and the two boys proceeding up the stairw the door indicated. ‘ seanned the record, and at ay, found f
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dilapidated shanties, gent him sprawling into the dirt. Billy tapped gently, when a heavy foot- step was heard within, the door was flung open, and—a tall negro stood before them! in whom the lemonade dispenser recog- nized the identical colored gentleman who had met with the ludicrous mishap at the circus that afternoon. Thinking that there might be some mis- take, or that the negro was the servant of the person wanted, Billy asked: “Ts Mr. Fielding in?” “He am, sah!’’ was the prompt reply. *Da’s ma name!” “T guess there is some mistake,” fal- tered Billy; “the gentleman I wished to see is the Rev. Mr. Fielding.” “ Yes, sah; da’s me, sah!” responded the negro, smiling and bowing graciously. ““Wha’ jew wanter see me *bout, sah?” “No, it is a mistake,” insisted Billy, backing off. “‘The party I’ want to see is a white man.”’ “Oh! wal, d’ar’ hain’t no white gen’le- man 0’ ma name stopping at d’is house, an’ no ministeh o’ d’e gospel o’ d’at name in d’is town.” The negro closed the door, and when Billy turned to depart he found Mugsy leaning up against the wall, shaking with laughter. “Say!” he said, as soon as he could get his breath, “who’s d’e wors’ chumps, me an’ youse, or d’e detective?’ “Tt’s a flip-up between us, I guess,” laughed Billy. “ Anyway, our scheme.” “Yes, and the woods seem to be full of D. Fieldings out here,’ growled the bare- back rider. ‘Come on. Let’s go to sup- per.” dere wos more color ter CHAPTER XI. SERIOUS BUSINESS. , Supper being over, the two “independ- ents” started for the tent for the evening's work, and being a ‘little late, took a short cut, leading through a collection of small, occupied by the roughest characters in the town. About the middle of this disreputable section they came upon a lot of tough- looking men standing beside one of the shanties, and as the boys approached they noticed that the men were eyeing them in what seemed to be a suspicious manner. “Looks like Bow’ry boys,” muttered Mugsy. “Yes, and looks as if they might have it in for us,” rejoined his friend. The rider and plucky Mugsy walked straight forward without affecting to no- tice the ruffians; but when they came op- posite the gang several of them stepped out and cut off their progress., “Which way, gents?’ demanded one of the toughs. It was the Bowery Boy who answered: “We're on d’e way to er fun’ral; d’youse coves wanter go “long?” “Say, don’t get gay!” warned the tough, squaring himself. “I might give ye a chance to go to a funeral without travelin’ any furder. Who be you, I asks?” “Me? Oh, I'm c’e feller w’or's d’e man- eater f’om Sluggins City. I chaws up er man ev’ry udder day; d’is is me day, an’ I ain’t chawed up nobody yit, so look out fer ye’rself.” ‘The fellow seeing that nothing was to be gained by bluffing, proceeded to quick action. As the rest of the gang now crowded him forward, he struck vicious- ly, not at the undismayed Mugsy, but at the bareback rider. « Billy, too much of an athlete to be caught by such clumsy tacties, dodged the plow. and quickly “chipped in” with a stinger on the jaw of his assailant that nl rae Ss ——_ 2 ebay + The Circus Detective. This opened the ball in good earnest; the gang rushed upon the two young athletes in unguarded fashion; but to their sorrow, for such were the strength and science displayed bythe two circus delegates that in less than a minute’s time the gang, numbering ten or twefve, was completely routed and demoralized, es- eaping only with bruised faces and bloody noses, much to “their own astonishment. The boys proceeded on their way unin- terrupted. They were a little late for duty, but Mugsy squared matters with his boss by explaining: “Yer see, dere was er gang o’ hood- lums w’ot wanted lessons in d’e manly art, an’ d’ey tought dey’d practice on your’n trooly, an’ if d’e sergints o’ d’is wooden village has more bizness d’an yoosyal, d’ey kin charge it up ter Mugsy, de slugger.” The boss could but laugh, and forgave the boy, who went on with his vending of weak lemonade, with a fake peel swim- ming on top. As for Billy, his turn was not on for some time yet, and he had ample time to dress for his act. Again the boys were disappointed by not seeing their man, although both strained their vision in every direction, and let no face in all the vast throng es- cape scrutiny; so both concluded that the game really was up—that the sus- pect had given up following the circus, and therefore might not be seen. again. But when the boys reached the depot after the performance, a surprise was in store for them. The show had not been earning the money the Management had anticipated, and had been running behind considera- bly in its expense account. Billy and Mugsy had noticed that: the “ghost” had failed to walk for some time past, but had accepted the agent’s ex- cuse that he had received instructions from the proprietor that the men were not to be paid off until the end of the month, and so had worried along with comparatively empty pockets, but cheerful hearts. But when the two friends reached the depot it was to find that the sheriff had seized the whole show, tent, horses, wagons, costumes, baggage and every- thing. P Among the rest were Billy’s and Mug- sy’s trunks, containing every stitch of clothing they possessed aside from what they then wore. “Say,” muttered Mugsy, “here’s a pur- ty go! Here’s er chance ter start out on d’e free-an’-easy ocecypashun of er first class tramp. Sich is greatness!’ he phi- losophied; “yisterday I was firs’ lootenant of er ‘freshment stan’; ter-day a pore out- cast, w’id er soiled coller, oncet turned.” CHAPTER XII. FICKLE FORTUNE. The debt for which the cireus had been seized was too larze.to liquidate, and it be- ing impossib:e on so short a notice to find security, all there was for it was to allow the sheriff’s minions to take possession of the outfit, store the plunder in the first available warehouse, stable the horses, and. await news from the proprietor, who was in Chicago with another branch of the cir- cus, and who had been telegraphed to. Meanwhile the perfermers, who, like Bil- ly and Mugsy, had not received their sala- ries for so long that they were out of | money, were in a sad plight; the men growled and swore; the women wept and scolded. “ Well, we’re in a pretty fix, Mugsy,” re- marked Billy. ‘“‘What’s to be done?” \ ; 9 “ W'ot’s ter be done?” echoed the Bow- ery boy; “same’s d’e cove w’en d’e hang- man kicked d’e scafful’ f'om under ‘im: hang onter w’ot we've got.” “Which is precious little at this stage of the game,” observed his friend, dryly. “How much money have you, Mugsy?” The Bowery boy scraped round through his pockets meditatively for some moments and then answered: “Wy, Bareback, ef I had er quarter au’ er half-dollar more’n I’ve got I’d have sey- enty-five cents. See?’ “Then what are we to do? We cannot stay here all night. We must have some place to sleep and money to buy a break- fast with in the .norning.”’ Mugsy, regarding his friend with a quiz- zical expression, Grawled: , “ Youse er show actor, an’ talkin’ "bout sum’mers to sleep an’ er breakfas’? W’y I’m ‘stonished at yer! D’e best actors in d’e country learns, w’en doin’ de provinces, ter sleep leanin’ up agin d’eir own shadder, an’ d’en pick d’eir teet’ for d’eir break- fas’.”’ * But some thing has got to be done, my friend. I wonder what the chances would be to hang up the landlord where we stopped to-day tor a night’s lodging and a breakfast in the morning?” ‘More hen-yus t‘ings has been perpy- trated, as d’e lady said w’en she used d’e preacher’s high hat ter set her hen in.” ‘Well, suppose we try it?” “T’m ye’r doxy,” returned Mugsy, rising. “D’ey cain’t no more d’an kill us; buryin’ ‘wid’out er permit’s perhibited by d’e law.” And so the two comrades started to leave the platform in search of a landlord who would trust them for a bed and breakfast pending the turn in the tide of fortune, but were just then confronted -by two women members of the troupe, both cry- ing. . ‘Oh, dear!” wailed one of them, a blonde maiden of fifty summers, who did the trapeze act under the name of Mlle. Bianea Corduzi, but whose family name was Mary Ann O'Sullivan; “oh, dear!” wailed this charming maiden, “what on airth air we t’ do at all? Here Oi hoy’ an me evenin’ dress, an’ all me other close is locked w’id that hateful show’s loogage!’”. *Ye’r’ blamed lucky ter have ye'r even- in’ dress wi'd yer,” remarked ‘Mugsy, with- out a smile. “Ye’d be in a fine fix wi'd ye’r mornin’ gown on at d’is time o’ night. Now, if I had me cutaway an’ opery hat wi'd me, I'd be purty comfor’ble; but seein’ d’at I’ve on’y got me fateeg sweet, I'm ’streamly weary.” : “ But it’s different with you, sor,” plead- ed the lady. “You're a man.” : “T never denied it, mum, an’ d’ere ain't er cove in d’is neck o’ d’e woods d’at ’u dare ter!” ; * But you have money,” wailed the can- tatrice, “Have I? Search me!” replied the boy. “You must have,” insisted the actress. “Oh, d’at’s dif'refit. I must have is anudder t’ing; but it’s er case 0’ ground- hog. I mus’ have it, ’cos d’ere’s no meat.” — And Mugsy descended one more step to-— 7 ward the ground. “Will you—can you, go off like that, — dear, dear young man. and leave a poor gyrul out here in the cold world an’ penni- less?” wept the wretched woman. _“ Huh! ef yer call d’is er col’ worl’, wi'd dew termomyter up in der nineties, mu S tah would yer call er Jannywary liz. tal war ee a AP mus gs 4 : “But the mone~?” implored the lady. “Oh, de money? Oh, yes, I fergot dat. D’e fac’ is, I clean fergot ter go ter — bank d’is eve till d’e doors was shet, an’ I reckon I'll have ter hock me own spar ler fer er hutch. W’y don’t yer leave ye 4 SL WA ywd "EAT {ae
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2 OD, et ad _ eee rad os bse, 2 ee ve Be Per * ay ene GS NT eae wet Scien er i die Bed oe 2s nomtey — 10 The Circus Detective. diamonds wi'd ye’r uncle till d’e ghost walks, mum?” “Diamonds! There was 1 time— “T know,” interrupted Mugsy, ‘d’ere wos er time w’en yer yoost trun diamon’s as big as hen’s aigs at d’e chickens, but d’em good ol’ times has vanished sence yer mamma died an’ yer went on d’e road ter do d’e gran’ trollollaloo on d’e flyin’ trapees, at er salary o’ steen dollars per week—ter git. Ta, ta, birdie!” “Oh, cruel, cruel man!’’ shrieked the lady. *T say, me fairy,” he called back, “yer might try d’e baggage truck fer a hutch; it’s out er sight. Kinder slopes wi'd ye’r back like one o’ d’em ’clinin’ cheers. Yer wanter keep er sharp lookout fer de ’rival ®’ de first train, dough, er de baggage- smasher’ll dump yer. Good-eve. Sweet dreams, as d’e lady said w’en she chlory- formed her hubby.” ““Pernicious wretch!’’ hissed the lady. “Say, it is sorter cruel, Bareback,’ ob- served the boy, as they walked along, “ter leave d’em pore widders out dere in d’e lonesome. No tellin’ but d’ey may be orfins, too.” Billy laughed heartily, in spite of his hard luck. “You’re a corker, Mugsy,” he said. “There is no such thing as depression in you.” “D’at’s w’ot d’e gent said w’en d’e bung shot out an’ h’isted ’im er couple er yards in d’e air. But w’ot’s d’e use? We may live ter see tougher times d’an d’ese, as de mug said w’en he got a life sentence. If we don’t succeed in techin’ d’e host, well, d’en, we kin be free an’ indypendent ’Mer- yeans an’ sleen under d’e blue canypy, an’ I defy d’e bloke ter pull d’at offen us.” — They soon arrived at the hotel where they had taken dinner and supper, and, having so much of an acquaintance, thought best to try there first. But when Billy explained their situation in the choicest terms and politest possible manner, the sleepy clerk opened one eye, looked the boys over, and growled: “ Any baggage?” “TI just informed you,” rejoined Billy, “that our baggage was with the rest seized by the sheriff, who holds a claim against the circus company.” “Pay ’n ’dvance, then,” muttered the Talk to me of diamonds! : - clerk, -sleepily. -“D'at’s wot I t’ought,” interposed Mug- sy. “An’ now, sence youse is so ’commo- datin’, I’d like ter submit er porpersishun ter yer. S’posen’ we, jes’ fer er joke, call d’e last end o’ d’e week d’e first, an’ pay den. Nex’ Sunday’s d’e firs’ 0’ d’e week, an’ we'll whack up d’en. W’ot d’ye say?” The’ elerk eyed the young man with a contemptuous snarl for a moment, and “then replied: ““Young man, you’re too funny.” CHAPTER XIII. FAILURE, BUT FUN. It was with rath@r heavier hearts that the boys left the first hostelry than they had approached it." And what was more discouraging was the fact that, this being the place where they had stopped and paid their money before, and were still refused, what might they expect at a totally strange place? “Well, d’at vos er failure, any way, as d’e lady said w’en she tried ter make er decoy duck hatch aigs,’”’ mused the Bow- ery boy, as they walked away. y _ “ And the worst of it is,” rejoined Billy, despondently, “that that was probably, of all others, the only place we shall have the least ghost of a show.”’ - “Well, d’ere’s one consolation. None 0’ @e oedder places can be any worse, any- BUR But Billy was in no humor for joking or appreciating jokes, and strode on in moody silence. Very soon they came to another hotel, somewhat less pretentious than the last, so much so that the night clerk looked as if he nfight serve in the double capacity of clerk and porter, In addition to his rough clothing, the ab- sence of a coat and the presence of a very dirty shirt, the fellow was half-drunk and sound asleep in his chair. “Well, here’s a purty kittle o’ fish, as d’e cook said w'en d’e butcher fetched ‘er a basket o’ snaikes,” observed Mugsy. “Pity ter ’sturb his peaceful dreams, I reckon.” “Yes, there is no use of waking the fel- low, for, as you can see, or can smell, if you can’t see, he is more than half-seas over, and would be ugly if awakened now, so that there is no chance for us here.” While Billy had been delivering this opinion Mugsy’s eyes had been wandering about the dirty and ill-furnished office, and at last they fell upon an alarm clock hanging just inside the counter and almost directly over the head of the sleeping clerk. : He noticed that the alarm hand was set for four o’clock, and readily guessed that it had been set to wake the clerk on the arrival of some train which was due at that hour, The boy quietly lifted the clock from its peg and proceeded to move the alarm round .to eleven, it then being about five minutes to that hour, and hung it back on the peg. Billy smiled at his friend’s manoeuvre, but did not quite comprehend the drift of it. Meanwhile Mugsy looked about the office still further, and at length came upon a long tin horn. “Now, d’en,” he whispered, “youse git outside o’ d’e door an’ be ready ter cut w’en der ’sploshun takes place.” Billy sidled out of the door and stood on the deserted sidewalk, and his action had not been a second too soon, for he had hardly passed through the door when the alarm clock went off with the most ear- splitting and nerve-starting clatter that ever issued from any invention of man or fiend. At the same instant Mugsy put the tin horn to his lips and gave two or three long, roof-lifting blasts, and then, dropping the horn, stepped quietly out of the door. “Not yit,”’ he admonished, catching his companion by the sleeve, as he was about to make off. ‘Wait er minit till we ketch er glimpse of der fun.” But they had not to wait a minute, or scarcely a second. With a yell equal to that of a wild In- dian, the elerk sprang from his chair, stared with a bewildered expression at the clock, which was still clanging away like a boiler factory, and then in the direction of the door. Then, all of a sudden, he appeared to col- lect his wits, and, grabbing a bundle of baggage from behind the counter, hastened to the door. By this time the boys had moved along a short distance and stood concealed in the shadow of a sign. The clerk soon appeared at the door, and the expression of surprise on his counte- nance. \ He looked all around in a dazed sort of way, looked up the street .and down the street and straight across the street, and finally muttered with fearful imprecations: “ Where in blazes did that "bus go to so sudden?” ~ But the boys were too full of laughter to hazard waiting for any further devel- opments, lest they might burst ouf and be- tray themselves. “T s'pose d’at cove wonders wot makes |) it so dark at four o’clock,” said Mugsy, — when they were far enough away. “T suppose he also wonders why the plaguey ’bus don’t arrive from the depot,” added Billy, laughing, “But d’e funniest part of it is d’at de busman toots d’e horn w’en he drives up, an’ as d’is rooster heard d’e horn, he’s rackin’ his pore t’ink-box ter know w’ere d’e blamed bus’s dropped to. He'll be surchin’ d’e cellar purty soon.” “Well, hére is another ‘joint,’ as you would say,” interrupted Billy, as they ar- rived in front of a quiet, Deat little house with the sign “Hotel’’ over the sidewalk. “Shall we tackle it?” “© course, Never let er oppertunyty pass, as d’e tramp said w’en he drank d’e ‘monia w’ich wos in er beer bottle. Go in an’ nit his ducklets in ye’r most dress- shoit fashion, An’ d’en if youse fails, let ye’r ’umble servant have er whack at ’im.” When the boys got inside, they found a neat, but homely room, which had more the appearance of a farm-house sitting- room than the office of an inn. A respectable old gentleman was sitting there in his shirt-sleeyes reading a soiled newspaper, with his glasses on the very tip of his hospitable-looking nose. He raised his eyes Over his spectacles as the boys entered, and puckered h's mouth, but said nothing. Billy related their story in his usual po- lite manner, and the old gentleman listened attentively to the end, and then, after looking the boys over carefully, said: “You don’t look to me like tramps, and I don’t believe you’d run off with any of my chickens if I let you stay. Do you say that there’s a slight chance of your being able to pay me some time?” “Oh, we'll pay you some time,” replied Billy, earnestly, ‘if we have to go to work on a farm to earn the money. But I ap- prehend nothing so desperate as that. I anticipate that our proprietor will either come along some time to-morrow, or send the necessary money to relieve our tem~ porary distress, and the first money we get you shall be paid.” y * Spoken like a man,” said the kindly old gentleman, ‘and I believe you. Come this way and I will show you to a room big enough for both of you.” With which he picked up a candlestick, lighted the candie at a gas-jet, and started toward the rear of the house. “Stay!” he said, suddeny, “have. you lads had supper?” Billy informed him that they had, and the. old gentleman resumed his ¢ourse. At*the rear of the hall there was a short fight of steps that led to the floor above, and these the host mounted, and was closely followed by the two boys. They were soon ushered into a very ” stopping, small and very stuffy room, the windows | of which had not apparently been raised since the house had been built, but every- thing was clean, and that, was much. When the kindly host had bidden the boys good-night and the door was closed, Mugsy said : “ D’at’s w’ot-I call winnin’ wi’dout play- in’ yer cards.” “What do you mean, Mugsy?” asked Billy, curiously. “Youse worked d’e racket like er charm, wi'd ye’r lace-hankercher ellykence; whur’- as, ef I’d ‘a’ stuck me onvarnished nozzle | inter de soup d’ere’d ’a’ b’in er fermenta- tion, an’ his w’iskers’d 'a’ got er sour stum- ~ mick. But, say, d’is rume’s like er pid- geon’s nes’ fer hotness an’ feather-bed smell. Yer could hatch crockydiles in tag Lemme see if I cain’t h’ist d’at win- er.” ; With that he walked to the window, and, seizing the sash, lifted till he saw stars, ; t |
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' ti \ = a but it was no go. The window would not budge. 2 ““T wonder if d’ey didn’t make d’is win- der firs’, au d’en buil’ d’e shanty roun’ it,” he observed, spitting on his hands for another effort. “It’s like liftin’ er mort- gage offen er saw-mill ter h’ist d’is peep- hole. Come, give us er lift, Bareback.” The two boys exerted their utmost ef- forts to raise the window, but without success, The sash had become glued down by the various coats of paint, and was as firmly rooted in its place as if it had grown there. ; ‘Oh, well, I s’pose we'll hafter grin an’ bear it, as d’e allygator said w’en he got d’e lockjaw w’id his mout’ wide open.” “Something like a Turkish bath, eh, Mugsy ?” “You bet. We'll ’semble d’em steamed- over biskits d’ey have in cheap bean’ries in d’e mornin’.” Nevertheless, in spite of the heat, so weary were the boys that they had scarce- ly more than touched the pillow before they were asleep. ; Mugsy was the first to wake in the morning, and, rolling out of bed in a muck of perspiration, he examined himself eritically, and then observed: area ‘ “ Well, I’ve offen heerd tell 0’ d’e lux’ry o’ feather beds, but ’atween de’m an’ er wet biskit-pan fer sleepin’ purposes, give me er hot grate over a puddin’ fact’ry.” “What's the matter, Mugsy?’ queried his friend, waking up. 2 _“Oh, nuttin’, on’y I wos a-wonderin’ wedder I wos a roas’ er a stew.” CHAPTER XIV. IN A HOT BOX, After the discomforts of the hot bed- room, it was a decided pleasure to come down into a cheery little dining-room to an excellent breakfast of fried spring chicken, trout fresh from the lake that “morning, lettuce that had been growing in the garden *half an hour before, and strawberries with the dew still on them. The landlady was a sweet-faced, moth- erly old lady, and she was exceedingly kind to the boys. : “T hope you slept well last night,” she said, in her gracious Way. “Very well, thank you,” replied Billy. “You had cover enough on your bed, I hope?” “Oh, yes,” said Billy, scarcely able to suppress his laughter. *D’ere mighter b’in a comforter er two more,” interposed Mugsy, with a serious face, “er mabby a sheepskin ’ud ’a’ b’in d’e proper dinctum to increase d’e c’loric.” The landlady regarded the boy with a puzzled countenance for some seconds, and finally appeared to abandon the hope- less task of trying to unravel his.meaning, and turned to Billy and asked him if he would have another cup of coffee. In addition to the landlady and her hus- band and an old-maid daughter, there were four or five boarders at the table, ~ down to within two inches of their plates, ate with their knives, and drank coffee out of their saucers with a hissing sound that reminded Mugsy of a sewer-pump. There was also an elderly man, an in- valid. There is always at least one in- valid in all well-regulated country fam- ilies, it seems. This person was an uncle or something to Mrs. Hargrave, the landlady. He had a very grave, disappointed coun- tenance, and there was something about him that interested Mugsy at once. Perhaps it 7as the number of hot bis- cuits he ate, for Mugsy had passed him _ .the plate no less than ten times, and then ae dull, silent fellows, who put their faces The Circus Detective. when the old chap asked the boy to pass it again he did so, with the observation: ““Youse is rudder fond of biskits, I take it?” ““Very—when they’re good,” returned the old man, splitting the hissing-hot edi- ble open with his knife and spreading something less than a pound of butter on it. “Well, feller?” “These are not just what they ought to be,” growled the invalid. ‘* Searcely enough short’in’ in ’em.” “T noticed d’at yer didn’t seem ter rel- ish ’em like yer orter. I s’pose w’en dey’re jes’ d’e correc’ kibosh yer kin stow away a couple o’ bar’ls on ’em?’ “T can eat a good many,” grinned the old chap, flattered at the compliment. “ Although my appetite’s nothin’ to what it used to be.” Mugsy reflected a moment, meanwhile Watching the invalid devour the indi- gestible food, and thought that he would like to match him against an ostrich, even money. At last he asked, innocent- l +* how does d’ese strike yer, ol’ ry Yer never tackled er Park Row sink- er, did yer?” “No, I don’t think I ever did,” returned the invalid, becoming interested. ‘ Are they fine?” “Tine? Fine ain’t no name fer ‘em! An’ den d’ei’r’ so useful in udder ways ‘sides fer eatin’.” “Indeed? How is that?’ “wy, yer see d’e winds in Noo York is somethin’ dreadful. Sometimes folks is carried up to d’e tops o’ d’e tallest build- in’s, an’ d’en carried out ter sea an’ dropped.” “Ts it possible?” gasped the invalid. “Shure. But dere is w’ere d’e Park Row sinkers comes in.” “ Yes?’ - “Yep. Yer see on er windy day d’e chief injuneers of d’e bean’rys bakes up a extry supply o’ sinkers an’ ev’ry gent an’ lady in town goes down an’ fills d'eir- selves up on ’em. W’ot’s d’e result? D’e wind blows an’ howls, an’ tears all d’eir close off, but it’s no go, d’e folks d’eir- selves won’t budge. D’e Park Row sink- ers holds ’em down like er chooner loaded wi’d pig-iron.” “This is most remarkable,” gasped the invalid. ‘I wonder, though, if these biscuits are digestible?” “D’at’s d’eir on’y fault,” returned Mug- Sy, With a serious face. ‘ But it makes bizness good fer d’e dynamite manyfac- tors.” “ How is that?” asked the man, greatly astonished. “W'y, de on’y ting w’ot’ll digest d’e sinkers is dynymite, so d’e manyfactors put d’eir stuff up in little capsules, ter be taken arter eatin’, an’ d’at does d’e work.” “You don’t mean to tell me that they swallow the dreadful explosive?” ex- claimed the invalid, with a horrified ex- pression. 7. inert”? “This is most femarkable!” “So ’tis; but d’e folks down d’ere don’t mind it er little bit.” “ But is there not some internal injury sustained by this dreadful practice?” , “Not a bit,” replied Mugsy, coolly. “Yer see, w’en d’e dynymite is swallered, d’e capsules sticks in d’e sinkers like er blastin’ shell in er rock, an’ we’n d’e ex- ploshun goes off d’e folks don’t feel it.” After breakfast the boys paid a visit to the depot to ascertain whether anything had been heard from the proprietor of the circus or not. Mr. Gogsell, the manager, was_ there, Ad be along about noon; that he would doubt- less fix matters, when the boys would get their money. This had the effect of cheering them up a good deal, and Mugsy proposed, as they - had nothing else to do, that they go for a walk and search for adventures, “ For,” observed the Bowery boy, “d’is is er sort of er sleep-an’-eat village, d’at ‘minds er feller of his gran’mudder’s fun- ‘ral. I like sumpin’ giddy an’ gay, as d’e kid said w’en he put d’e wasp-nest in his pants pocket.” They walked about the town for some time without finding anything to interest them, and about noon, beginning to feel hungry, considered the possibility of be- ing able to stand the good-natured land- lord off for another meal. “ Oh, I t'ink it'll be all right,” said Mug- Sy. ‘“W’en a cove gives yer his coat it’s a easy matter ter persuade him ter give ye his vest.” And so they started to retrace their Steps in the direction of the inn. They had gone but a litlle way, how- ever, when, as they were passing a small restaurant, the neatness of the place at- tracted their attention, and induced them: to stop and look in. A good-natured, circular-faced individ- ual stood at the door, and he appeared to be quite as much interested in the boys as they were in the restaurant. “ Good-day, gentlemen,” he said. trifle warm.” “Yep,” answered Mugsy, “but d’ere’ll be snow afore mornin’.” “You joke,” smiled taurant-keeper. “Not er bit on it. If youse’ll take er short trip ter d’e Ricky Mount’ins ye'll see all d’e snow yer want.” This was an unusually stupid joke for Mugsy, but it struck the jolly man as ex- cruciatingly funny, and he laughed till he shook his fat sides. “It’s easy seeing,” he said, “that you're a showman. I kin allus tell ’em.” “No?” chuckled Mugsy. ‘“ Would yer, dough? How d’ye tell?’ “Oh, there’s somethin’ about a show- man that’s different from other men.” “T s’pose d’ere is, now. But w’ot sort of a actor would ye take me fer, fer in- stincks?” “Oh, that’s easy,” laughed the fellow, confidently. ‘Anybody kin see that you're the funny clown.” es “D’at’s right. But, say; youse has some udder way 0’ tellin,’ ain’t d’at right?’ “Only from instinct.” , “Gee whizz!” Then turning to Billy, he whispered: “ Who'd ‘a’st’ought he could ’a’ smelt d’em onions I et fer breakfas’ yit?”’ “The gentleman means that he had an intuition that you are a clown and a showman.” 7 as “Oh! Kinder feel it in his innerds, as a feeler feels a spell o’ sickness comin’ on?” “Yes, anybody would know that you was a clown, an’ a good one at that,” ‘n- terjected the restaurant man. “ You can’t help being funny if you try.” “D’at’s right,” said Mugsy, with great sobriety. ‘An’ it’s ’stressin’ at times w’en I wanter be sober. Fer instincks, dere wos w’en I went to me mudder’s fun’ral. A feller orter be sober d’en, if ever, ain’t d’at so?” , oe the jolly res- “Indeed he ought,” returned the other, with a deep sigh. “D’at’s w'ot I said; but it wos dif- frent wi'd me. I tried wi'd all me might ter be sober, but somehow d’ere wos d’at — funny streak struck me jes’ as d’ey wos lettin’ d'e old lady down, an’ I called and informed them that the proprietor | out to der men w'ot wos a- y de had been heard from and would probably ‘ coffin down ter be keerful 0’ d@’e ol’ ———
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‘ 7 . iy ¥ - / ‘ eae ty Mirco ot, , a SUF ep AS a) ae stopped over night, ceed on its way. eiNhet, . 12 un’s back as she never could stan’ a sudden shock; not tinkin’ d’at I wos a-sayin’ anyt’ing funny, but d’at grave- digger sniggered right out an’ let de rope slip outen his han’ an’ d’e ol’ lady 749? went down head firs’! CHAPTER XV. A TURN IN THE TIDD. The restaurant keeper langhed hilarious- ly at Mugsy’s droll speech, and said: “That was very funny; but I can easily See that it was unintentional on your part, and that made it all the funnier, But you'll have to excuse me, gentlemen, I must look after thése customers.” Two men had just passed into the res- taurant at the moment. “ Good-day,” said Mugsy. **Good-day,” returned the restaurant man. “By de way,’ interjected the boy, “youse folks out here don’t seem ter be up wi'd d’e lates’ fad.’ ‘What is that?” asked the man, hesi- tating nervously. ““W’y, d’e worl’ over mazoo, d’ere’s a fad to *vite showmen to eat. Not d’at we wanter eat—oh, no! I jes’ mentioned d’e fae’ in case yer wanted ter be up ter date. See? W’en me an’ me fr’en’ here goes ter Delmonyco’s d’ey never t’inks o’ chargin’ us anyt’ing; but we're too independent ter eat fer nuttin’, 60 d’e way we gen’rally git eaven’s to drop a fifty in our plates afore we goes.” The man looked at the boy quizzically for a moment, and then observed, dryly: “Yes; but that game don’t go in Kala- mazoo.”’ And turning upon his heel he walked away, leaving the two aspirants for a free meal standing there. “D'ere wos a fine investment d’at didn’t pan out, as d’e gent said w’en he bought d’e chiny aigs ter make er cept here in Kala- . om’let.” The boys, with a good deal of re- luctance, therefore, returned to Mrs. Har-* grave’s boarding-house, to try their luck ‘there. To their surprise and delight they were received with as much cordiality as if they had been regularly paying boarders. After partaking of a hearty mid-day meal, the two boys started out to learn what had been done with regard to the affairs of the stranded circus. “We should be very grateful to these people, Mugsy,” remarked Billy, as they went along. “It is a great pleasure to find such generous, unselfish people when away from home like this,” “D’at’s right,” rejoined Mugsy, with a serious countenance. “It’s like pickin’ up manna in d’e street. But d’ese folks hasn’t been in d’e bizhess long. D’ey’ll know better later on.” “What do you mean?” “Wren one er two regular well-trained barnstomers strike d’eir joint an’ do d’em up fer a week er two, an’ d’en show d’eir _gratytood by walkin’ off wid d’eir bed linen, d’ese folk’s hearts ‘ll git as hard mer pavin’ stones, an’ dey’ll git ter charg! a guests fer usin’ deir own quill toot’- picks.” The boys learned where the manager was stopping and made their way to his _ hotel without delay. The manager, Mr. Gogsell, informed them that the proprietor was in town, and that it was likely that he would fix things up so that the cireus could pro- “How ‘bout sal’ries?” asked Mugsy. i Sian will be paid all in good ane € the rmeegerh oe : good time ’u F4 t now, ; ed oad a | philosophy and bring to light the shining f 5 Sed r é The Cireus Detective. “Oh, there is no hurry,” said the other, carelessly. ‘‘ You people are not suffer- ing.” “Oh, o’ course not. D’e on’y question wi'd us is d’e interes’ we're losin’ on d’e money. As fer eatin’, d’ere’s no trouble *bout livin’ on d’e gen’rous atmos-speer like frogs.” The manager eyed the boy for ment, and then said, sneeringly: “Say, what do you people do with your money, anyway? You shouldn’t be short.” “D’at’s what I said. D’e trouble is d’at d’ere’s no place ter invest our plunks out here.” The man reflected a moment, continued: ‘You have enough to carry for the present, haven't you?’ “Nuff w'ot?” * Money.” “Oh, I tought youse meant cheek. D’at’s d’e on’y commodity we've got lef’, an’ dat’ll be runnin’ short purty soon if we don’t git a lif’.” The manager put his hand in his pocket a mo- and then you over and pulled out a roll of bills and gave: cach of the boys a five-dollar bill. “There,” he said, “that ought to carry you along till the old man gets things settled.” “D’at’s de stuff,” chuckled Mugsy, as he stuffed the bill into his wach fob. “ Er fiver ain’t much at er race, but it’s a wad at er charity meetin’. T’anks, awful.” “Where is the proprietor stopping?” in- quired Billy. “ He’s stopping here; but he is out just now,” , “ How soon will he be back?” “T have no idea. You couldn’t see him, anyway, for he’s going to be very busy, as he has to return to Chicago to-night.” However, the boys were pretty well contented with the little money which Mugsy’s quaint eloquence had wormed out of the manager, and they started out for more adventure. In the course of their loitering tour they where they had |‘came upon one of the actors who had been with the stranded circus. He was a sword swallower, and his name was Signor Campabello. He was rather past the age of useful- ness in the show business, and had fallen into that sere stage of seediness peculiar to actors of a certain type. “Well, boys, how are you making out?” he questioned, in a hoarse voice, which indicated that he had taken something be- sides water the previous night. “ Firs’ class,” answered Mugsy, cheer- fully. “T’ings is swimmin’, as d’e Mis- sissippi farmer said w’en ‘he seen his house floatin’ away.” The actor glanced at the boy with an amused expression and said: “You are facetious; lad.” “Oh, d’at’s on ’count 0’ d’e wedder. In real col’ wedder it turns ter noomony.” ‘Ah, my lad,’ sermonized the grave man, “your spirits are light. Your soul has never drunk the bitter hemlock of woe, as mine has, or you could not wear the motley and jingle your frivolous bells on all occasions. Your heart would bleed —bleed.” And the grave man struck a tragic atti- tude and thrust his hand in the bosom of his shabby Prince Albert. “D’at depends,” observed | Mugsy. “ Anyway, if I wos ’flicted d’at way I’d wear a liver-pad.” “You do not comprehend, ignorant youth. Thy soul is too flippant. You can- not plunge to the profound depths of treasures that lie hidden there.” “Drat’s right,” replied Mugsy, soberly. “T never wos much on divin’. I plunged 4 offen er dock in de Eas’ River onct, wen d’e udder kids said d’ere was er trezur’ at de’ bottom, but d’e on’y ting I fetched ter light wos er broken beer-bottle an’ er fruit can full o’ sand.” “Thou deal’st in jests.” “Yy’er dead wrong, covey. I ain’t never sold nuttin’ but ice col’, ‘cept w’en I uster help d’e ol’ man w’en he wos a-peddlin’ soft-shells in er push-cart.’’ Again the grave man stared at the im- perturbable youth. At length he said, in even a graver tone than ever: “Youth with the sparkling spirit, which knows no care, have you such a thing as filthy lucre about your person?” “Meanin’ dust, I reckon?” “ By the mean and vulgar sometimes so denominated.” “Well, I ain’t quite broke, replied the boy, “tanks to d’e gen’rossity of an angel we just’ met,” “Ah! then you are my jewel, my af- finity, mine other self, lightsome youth! Would’st part with the paltry price of a glaws of beer?” “Well, I don’t drink meself, ’cept d’e ice- col’, but seein’ as ye'’r’ coppers seems ter be hissin’, I don’t min’ partin’ w’id d’e price of er snifter, if ye’ll wait till I git change.” “Never mind the change, my boy,” said the man, with a watery mouth. “Give me the bill, and the publican will soon sever it into the required fractions.” Mugsy looked at the grave, man and closed one eye. “ Say,” he said, ‘‘w’ot d’yer take me fer? D’yer t’ink I lef’ d’e festive Bow’ry ter come all d’er way out here ter git buh- coed? If yer wanter wet whistle, me fr’en’, do so.at ye’r own expense, er hang up d’e barkeep. Yer can’t play me fer no Jersey Reuben jes’ yet.” And, returning the bill to his pocket, he took Billy’s arm, and the two boys re- sumed their walk. “Say, w’ot fer er vinegar-john is d’at bloke, anyway?” he said, as they walked along. “He’s got d’e mug an’ gab of er gospil sharp, an’ d’e liver of er green- goods man.” “But is neither,” returned his friend. “He is simply one of those men who have been up in the world, and is down on his luck. He is reckless and wanting in man- hood, and would not scruple at much to satisfy his beastly cravings.” ' Anyway, he couldn’t work me fer no sucker.” “T didn’t think he could. But I was watching, and if you had been foolish enough to have given him the bill I should have interfered.” “Still, I’d ’a’ liked ter've give him er snifter, fer he looked jes’ like me ol’ dad w’en he’d been on er bender over night an’ said his coppers wos hot in d’e morn- in’. bh The boys spent the better part of the afternoon in walking about and seeing whatever there was to be seen in the little city, and late in the day they again called at the hotel where the managcr was stop- ping, and made inquiry as to the state of the business pertaining to the stranded show, “Nothing new,” sighed the manager, who seemed himself to be somewhat de- spondent by this time. ‘The proprietor has been trying to effect a settlement with his creditors, but they have arrived at no definite understanding yet.’ \ “Js the proprietor going back to Chicago to-night?” asked Billy. “He has already gone,” . “Then what is going to be done?” “TI can’t tell. If the creditors agree to his terms, they are to wire him, and the matter will be settled up.” “In d’e mean time me an’ youse is ter live on d’e wild wane! observed Mugsy. ** | eee
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Pt i cried Billy, jumping up. “I must see him “There seems little hope of anything else just at present,” responded the man- ager. “W’ot’re ye a-goin’ ter do, Bareback?” questioned the boy, as they walked away together. ‘ “I know what I'm going to do,” re- joined Billy, sternly. “That man owes me over two hundred dollars in salary, and I propose to see him if I have to walk to Chicago to do it.” “D’at’s d’e stuff, an’ I'm wi'd yer.” The boys returned to the boarding-house, and with less compunction this time, ow- ing to the cordiil welcome they had. re- ceived before, and were kindly received again. After supper Billy got into conversation with the landlord, and detailed the exact status of their affairs. “Then there appears to be little chance of you ever receiving anything from these people?’ said the kindly old gentleman. Billy shuddered, for he expected that a negative reply on his part would result in himself and his friend being thrown out of the house. Névertheless, Billy was too honest a boy to dissemble, and replied: “The only chance we have, it seems, is to see the proprietor, He is in Chicago.” “ But is there any likelihood of his pay- ing you if you should see him?” “T can only hope that he would, sir.” “Um. How do you expect to get to ‘Chicago, my boy? It is nearly two hun- dred miles from here.” “We have a little money,” answered Billy, bravely, “and when that is gone, we ean walk the rest of the way.” The old gentleman reflected a moment or two, and then ssid: “No, that won’t do. If you think you will be justified in making the trip I wiil furnish you the money for one of you to go, and the other can remain here till the one who goes comes back.” Billy was overwhelmed with gratitude at the génerous offer, and it was agreed that he was to start the following morning. While this interview was in progress Mugsy had paid a clandestine visit to the hotel where the manager was stopping, and came in just as the arrangement was concluded, and announced; “Dere’s no use goin’ ter Chicago; d’e perpri’ter’s here, an’ he’s d’e same bloke We was a-watchin’ in d’e circus!” CHAPTER XVI. AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY. - Billy was so excited over the announce- ment made by Mugsy that he was unable to speak for a minute or two. : But at length he controlled his emo- tions enough to ask: _“Do you mean to say that the man we have been watching in the circus is the proprietor?” } “Pat's right, ‘less d’ere’s two on ‘em dat looks erlike, an’ d’at ain’t likely.” “But the manager said he had gone to Chicago.” ' “Wich goes ter show d’at d’e manager is likely ter pervarycate, ’cos’ his niblets is right here.” a _* How did you happen to see him?” “He was jes’ a-goin’ inter d’e hotel,” “Was he alone?” , “No; d’e manager wos wi'd ’im.” “And you think there can be no mis- take about it?” “No more’n I could be mistaken in me own ‘flection in d’e lookin’ glass.” “Did you learn whether he intended to leave to-night or not?” “Yep; d’e manager said he wos a-goin’ ter leave at midnight, he t’ought.” “Then I will have plenty of time,” Y The Circus Detective. | et: &° 5 before he goes, as it will save a trip to Chicago.” Then, turning to Mr. Hargrave, he said: “This is better news, sir, than we had expected. It may not be necessary for us to go to Chicago after all.” “That is good, my boy,” replied the old man. “But, remember, if it is necessary, the money is at your disposal.’ “You are very kind, sir, and I_.ean never thank you enough. But I hope that it will not be necessary to ask your generosity.” When the boys were outside, Mugsy asked: “D’yer mean ter say d’at d’e ol’ angel perposes ter give us d’e sand ter go ter She-cago?” “Yes; he has very kindly offered to de- fray the expenses of one of us, if it be- comes necessary to go.” “Wy, say, d’at ol’ gent oughter have er crown!” declared the boy. “I t’ought d'ey’d quit makin’ folks as good as d’at.”’ “Tt seems that there are a few left, Mugsy.” When they reached the hotel, at Billy’s advice, Mugsy remained outside, while Billy went in to seek an interview with the proprietor of the cireus. He inquired at the desk whether Mr. Rawlding was in or not, guessing at that being the gentleman’s name. To his. sur- prise and delight he was informed tht he was. Billy went boldly about it, and sent up his card. Here he was treated to a second sur- prise, for the boy came back to announce that Mr. Rawlding was in his, room, and would see Mr. Bristol. Billy was greatly pleased to find the gentleman alone, for he had feared that the manager would be with him, and that would have precluded the asking of cer- tain questions which were in the young man’s mind, ; The proprietor sat at a table writing when Billy entered, and did not raise his head for a moment or two after the boy had got into the room. : Then, suddenly, he looked up, and the moment his eyes fell upon Biily, he said: * Oh, it’s the bareback rider! Do you know I have been racking my brain to make out who Mr. William Bristol was? Now, if you had had on your card just ‘Bareback Billy,’ I should have known who you were in a minute. You should have your cards printed in that way, my boy.” “T have some cards printed in that way,” answered the boy, “but unfortunately they are at present in my trunk—”’ “ Ah, and that is with the other baggage which is tied up,” interrupted the gentle- man. “Well, we shall have all that out to-morrow. “But, sit down, my boy. What can I do for you?” It is needless to say that Billy, had al- ready recognized in the man the same that he had seen sitting on the seats at the circus, and he was at a loss to under- stand why the proprietor of a circus should remain in the auditorium and in- cognito to the members of his own troupe. There was certainly a, great mystery about the transaction, and the boy could not but associate it with some evil design. | At the same time, when he came to look the man in thé face as he now sat before him, Billy was impressed with the frank- ness and benevolence of the man’s coun- tenance. Answering Mr. Rawlding’s question, Bil- ly said: “TI called, Mr. Rawlding, to see what you were going to do about, going on with the circus.’’. “That will all be fixed up to-morrow, | my boy,” answered the man, pompously. 7 7 Billy hesitated, and then made bold to ask: “And the salaries?’’ “Will all be settled some time to-mor- row.” “It is none of my concern, but I am curious to know—I suppose you will leave the settlement in the hands of Mr. Gog- 4 sell?” The man looked up at the boy in sur- prise. ; “Why do you ask?” he demanded. “Only that I heard you were going back to Chicago to-night,” “You have been wrongly informed, sir. I shall not leave this place until this mat- ter is all settled up. Who told you that I was going to Chicago to-night?” Billy was in a sad quandary, but he hit upon an outlet very soon, and replied: “Tt was one of the employees of the show, sir; I don’t suppose you would know him if I should tell you.” * What is his name?’ demanded the pro- prietor, sternly. “His name is Mullen,” returned Billy, with a good deal of misgiving “Mullen, Mullen? I don’t recall. him, What is his line?’ * Really, sir, I do not recall.” Billy had had a hard struggle for the falsehood, but he auickly qualified the as- sertion somewhat by saying: “Tt seems to me I heard him say some- thing about a tumbler, and I am led te think that he acts in that capacity.” * You think he is a tumbler, then?” “T wouldn’t say that, exactly, sir; but I am quite sure that he has something to do with the tumblers.” The man scowled and growled: “Has something to do with the tum- blers? That is very strange. What can he have to do with the tumblers, unless he > is one himself? It can’t be that he is a mere roustabout, and places the spring- boards for the tumblers, and such lackey work?” “T don’t know, sir,” replied Billy. And he was relieved when he found that the man appeared to be satisfied with the explanation; but he was not, for, after a little talk upon other topics, he reverted to this again, and grumbled: “Mullen? Has something to do with the tumblers? who the fellow is, and it will go hard with him. I wonder what motive he could | have had in telling such stories?’ “T think, sir, that he got it from some other source, and told me because he knew I was anxious, as we all are, to learn something about what to depend on with regard to the future of the circus.” “That is very true, my boy,” said the man, ina modified tone. “I hadn't thought of that. The fellow was probably not so much to blame, after all.” : This had the effect of lifting a great load off of Billy’s mind, and, having nothing more to say to the gentleman, he arose to depart, when the latter stopped him sud- denly by asking: “By the way, Bristol, I don’t want to make you any trouble, but I really think I ought to see this fellow Mullen and have ‘a talk with him. If he has meant nothing by telling about that I intended to go to Chicago to-night, all well and good, but I _ really ought to see him. You could iden- tify him if you saw him, I suppose?” — “T think I could, sir.” “Very well; I may have to ask you to — do it to-morrow.” By George, I must find out ai
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= oe = - The Circus Detective. — a — —$<—<$—— “By the way, there is quite a sum in back salary coming to you, is there not, my boy?” * About two hundred dollars, possibly a little more, but about that, I think.” “Very well, here are two hundred dol- lars. Whatever difference there is we can make it up after we get out of our tan- le.” Billy took the money gratefully, thanked the gentleman, and was once more on the point of withdrawing,- when Rawlding again arrested him with the question: “Do you remember that tall man—I think his name was Hunter—whom I saw with you on several occasions?” Billy’s heart sank, but he returned a timid affirmative. ‘What has become of him?” “T don’t know, sir,”” answered the boy. “Well, good-by. I shall see you to- morrow.” As he put out his hand to take Billy’s, the later was astonished at sight of a pe- culiar ring on the man’s finger. CHAPTER XVII. + A CLOSE CALL. When Billy returned to the street he found Mugsy anxiously awaiting him. “W’ot luck, Bareback?’ inquired the boy. “ Great luck,” replied Billy. “Good! W’ot is it?” “Well, to begin with, I have got my salary, so that we can go back and pay the old landlord.” “Yer don’t mean to say it?” “Tt is true. Here it is.” And Billy pulled out the roll. “D’at’s better luck d’an we wos alook- in’ fer, as d’e cove said w’en he expected he’d git a life sentence an’ was con- temned to be ’lectrocuted. I wondeh if d’e ol’ cove won’t give us er better rume ter-night, one wi’d er air-hole inter it?” “Perhaps. But that is not all the luck I ‘have had.” “'W’ot, more? Out wi'd it.” “Wait till we get further along where no one can hear us.” They walked along for some distance, and then Billy resumed: “You remember I told you there were certain pieces of jewelry stolen at the ne of the robbery in New York?” “ ep.” “T think I showed you the list of con- spicuous pieces that could be readily rec- onized?” “So yer did, Bareback.” “Do you recall any of them?” The boy reflected for some moments, and finally mused: . “D’ere wos one, I ’member. It wos er , S8naik coiled ’roun’ an’ d’e eyes wos red _Tubies. Is d’at right?” “Strange that you should have hit upon the particular one at once. Do you know that the fellow has that identical ring on his hand at this moment?” “Yer don’t palaver?”’ “Yes, Sir; I couldn’t help noticing it when he shook hands with me at part- ing.” “D’at’s er clincher! do?’ “T am to see him to-morrow with re- gard to another matter ,and I shall make W’ot’re a-goin’ ter further investigation, and if I discover au anything further I shall use the authority _ #this warrants vests in me and have him ‘arrested on suspicion. Once under ar- rest and the man is examined,. the rest will doubless come out.” : “Yer say he’s ter see yer ter-morrer?”’ “ee “ Yos,” ; “But I tought he wos a-goin’ ter She- cago ter-morrer?’ “Be denies it, and it is with regard to that yery thing that I am to see him.” , i hee sz “Wot d’ye mean?” *T’ll tell you, Mugsy, and I. don’t want you to feel harsh toward me, for it was unavoidable under the circumstances. I had to tell him that a man by the name of Mullen told me he was going to Chi- eago.” Mugsy scowled. “ As I say, it was unavoidable under the circumstances, and after all, I don’t know but we can make capital out of it.” “ How's d’at?” ‘Suppose I take you to his room and identify you as the person who told me?” “ Wot?” gasped Mugsy. ‘“ Put my neck inter a halter?” “Not a bit of it. Listen. You will confess that you told me, and make any excuse that comes uppermost. Tell him that somebody else told you—the chap who wanted to take your five-dollar bill, for instance. The point is to get into conversation with him, get as much out of him as possible, and if, in the end, we feel that we are justified in doing so, we shall put this warrant into the sheriff’s hands and let him serve it on him.” “But w'ot will his joblots say ter me, in der mean time?” “What do you care what he says? You certainly are not afraid of him, es- peciglly as there are two of us, and you alone got away with the detective.” “Oh, I ain’t afeered on ’im, on’y d’e tongue-lashin’, d’at’s w’ot I hates.” “That won’t hurt you,” laughed Billy. With happy hearts the boys returned to the house of their kindly benefactor that night. Billy pulled out his roll and paid for the time they had stopped at the house and for the night’s lodgings and the breakfast they were to get in the morning. aoe old man was equally as happy, and said: “IT knew you were honest boys. I have never been fooled in my life. I would have trusted you with any amount that I could have afforded.” How easy it is to say such things when you have struck luck so that you can pay! But what would have been the tone had the boys been disappointed? Early the following forenoon the boys called at the hotel where Rawlding had been stopping, but only to find that the rumor of his going to Chicago was well grounded, for he had left the night before Billy was greatly put out, for he had anticipated that they should soon have the fellow in the toils. Billy, explaining the status of affairs to the landlord, was permitted to go up and examine the room lately occupied by the circus proprietor. ; Everything had been removed which had belonged to the lodger, and there ap- peared nothing by which he could be iden- tified as the wanted man. The boys were on the point of quitting the room, when Mugsy’s attention was drawn to an envelope which had got shoved under the edge of a clothes-press, so that the corner only remained stick- | ing out. The boy picked it up and read the su- perscription. It.read: “Mr. David S. Fielding, — West Mad- ison, Street, Chicago, Ml.” Mugsy handed the envelope to Billy, whose first move, after reading the direc- tion, was to look inside for a possible letter. _ But there was none. “This is a lucky find, Mugsy,” assumed Billy. “This not only fixes the identity of the man, but gives us the direction where to find him.” ““D’yer ’spect ter foller ’im?” “Certainly. We shall start on the first train.” “D’at’s funny,” “What is funny?’ : “D’at d’e bloke gived yer d’e stuff las’ | ,7 night ter foller *im d’is mornin’. “It is a little singular. But, perhaps he did not surmise that the money would be put to that use when he gave it to me, or he would not have been so gener- ous.” As they were leaving the hotel, they met — the manager, Mr. Cogsell. “ Hullo, Mr. Cogsell!’” greeted Mugsy. “T t’ought youse tol’ me d’at d’at per- pri’ter wos agoin’ ter fix tings up ter- day ?”’ “So he is,’ replied the manager, gruff- ly. “I am expecting a check from him every minute with which to pay every- thing off.” “He has returned to Chicago, then?” put in Billy. “Certainly. He went last night, as I told you he intended doing.” “Ah, you forget, Mr. Cogsell,” ob- jected the boy, laughing. “If you remem- ber, you told me that he had already one.” “Well, it is the same thing,” answered Cogsell, angrily, growing very red. *Tt is not quite the same thing, sir. I saw and talked with Mr. Rawlding at least four hours after you told me he had gone,”’ “Then, sir, you mean to tell me I lied!” snarled the fellow, growing furious. “Drat’s "bout d’e size on it,’ put in Mugsy, stepping up. ‘Some calls it per- varycaytin’, an’ some calls it eggsajjer- atin’, and’ some calls it amplyfyin’ d’e varassyty, but we calls it plain lyin’ in d’is country.” The manager glared first at one of the boys and then at the other, but muttering an imprecation, he turned and strode away. -“D’at’s d’e bes’ way outen it, sonny,” called out Mugsy. ‘“ D’ere’s a heeps 0’ ways ter win in er fight, but d’e easies’ way is ter run away afore it begins. Youse’s head’s level, if it is a little soft.” “There is more evidence of the crook- edness of this crowd,” observed Billy, “ And now, after hearing what this man- ager said, I believe he is as crooked as ~ Rawlding himself.’ “Oh, d’ese show people’s er awful set!” moaned Mugsy. “It don’t seem d'at d’ere wos er hones’ one among ’em. D’ere wos d’e soobret w’ot wanted ter tech me d’e udder night, an’ d’en d’ere wos d’e cove wi'G d’e vinegar phiz, w’ot wanted ter bunco me fer me five-plunk note, d’en d’ere is his w’iskers, d’e boss, doin’ me outen me sal’ry, an’ on top of all comes d’is measley shape doin’ d’e An- anias ac’. Oh, if ever I git outen d’e show business ye'll never ketch me inter it ag’in.” About noon the boys took the train for Chicago. : CHAPTER XVIII. . THH MYSTERY OUT. When they had been seated in the train for a little while Mugsy noticed a man, who sat in the seat directly in front of them, watching him and his companion. At least, so it appeared to the boy from New York. The man occupied the whole seat by himself, and sat lengthwise on it, with his back against the window and his legs ane arm of the seat at the other end. He was pretending to read a newspaper, but Mugsy noticed that his eyes were glinting over or to one side of the paper most of the time and directed at himself and Billy, Ad He was an odd-looking chap, short and thick-set, with a beefy face and that gen-
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The Circus Detective. ~ eral bulldog look we see in many men who hang about the race-track. - His attire also bore out the impression of “sportiness.” “I wondeh w’ot his pimples over d’ere sees in us ter admire?’ observed Mugsy, Jz at last. é “Maybe he thinks he knows you, Mug- sy?’ suggested Billy, laughing. “He looks as if he might be a product of the purlieus of the Bowery or some other tough district.” “W'ot’s d’at? D'e Bow'ry er tough deestrick?” muttered Mugsy. ‘Say, me fren’, w’en yer steps on d’e Bow’ry’s toes yer steps on mine. D’e Bow’ry’s d’e gar- den spot o’ d’e world! W’ot yer ecain’t find in d’e Bow’ry ain’t wort’ havin’. » See?” “Oh, the Bowery is all right,’’ laughed Billy. ‘“ But you’ve run away from your subject. We were discussing. the gent in the next seat,” and glancing at the party, Billy saw his fishy eyes staring out from behind the newspaper at him. Billy was somewhat startled at the manner in which the fellow stared, and then, before he had time for a second thought, the man put down his news- paper and spoke. “Excuse me,” he said, “but if I am not mistaken, you gentlemen belong to the show that was stranded back at Kala- mazoo?”’ Billy was on the point of giving the questioner some evasive answer, when he was forestalled by Mugsy, who said: “No, we don’t b’long ter d’e show, mis- ter, but d’e show belongs ter us—d’at is, er part on it.” “T see,’ laughed the fellow, good-na- turedly. “Something like myself. I have a small claim in that direction. Going’ over to Chicago to look after your claim, I suppose?’ There was a frankness and apparent honesty about the fellow that at once ; disarmed Billy of suspicion against the i stranger, and he replied: * Well, yes, we thought we'd run over and see what we could do in the mat- ” “T’'m afraid you'll: have a wild-goose 4 chase, Same as myself,’ chuckled the man; “it’s generally a very cold day when anybody gets any dust out of Dave Field- jing. But he won’t beat me this time, if I know myself. I'll take it out of his hide if I can’t do any better.” “David Fielding?’ gasped _ Billy. “Why, the proprietor of the show is named Rawldings.” “ Sure!” laughed the stranger. ‘“ On the bills. Same’s yours is Bareback Billy on the bills, but in private life our friend is known as David Fielding, just as you are known as William Bristol.” _ This was a startler for Billy. How came the stranger to know his name? Billy was certain that he had never seen him before. And then the man put him at his ease by saying: , “You're surprised that I should know your real name. Well, that is not. un- natural, seeing the position you hold; but I got it in another way. Do you re- raember Hunter?’ ‘ Ye Ss ” “Ob, dat poor shape?” put in Mugsy. “Well, Hunter was on Fielding’s trail ; as the possible robber who did the job in 6 Maiden Lane. Hunter was pretty near Ht right, but not quite. He would have struck it in time, maybe, as he had a list of the property stolen, but he got into a a row in Big Rapids and during the melee - lost the paper out of his pocket. So, thinking that he could do nothing wtthout it, he gave up the job and went back to Se New York.” ¥ —-— —_ _ he “What did Hunter tell you about me inquired Billy, anxiously. * Oh, not much. He said he had given you a picture of Fielding with the idea of having you discover him in the au- dience some time while doing your acts.” “But you say that Hunter was not quite right?’ interposed Billy, eagerly. “Do you mean to intimate that Fielding is not the man?” <C wG0u, Billy hesitated, and then asked: “You seem to know a good deal about this affair; would it be asking too much to inquire how you know that he js not the man?” * Certainly not,” replied the stranger, promply. ‘‘The way I happen to know that he is not the man is by knowing who the real man is.” Billy stared at him inquiringly, but did not deign to ask the question that he would have liked to ask. But it was not necessary, for the fellow quickly followed his last remarks with: “What put Hunter off the track was a statement in the newspapers directly after the robbery to the effect that it had been committed by Fielding. And so it ‘had, but not by Dave Fielding. Dave has a brother, a worthless scalawag, who hangs out when it is necessary for him to keep shady at Big Rapids, where he has some relatives. Dave is none too good to go into a thing of this kind, but he’s too big a eoward; so he lets Tom do the dirty work, and he generally reaps the better part of the profits.” “ How is that?” asked Billy. “Why, you see, thief-like, Tom never has a cent a week after making a haul, and he lives off of Dave between times. So when he makes a strike he has to whack up with Dave, and very liber- ally, too.” Billy reflected for some time. There were several things he would have liked to have asked the fellow, but was averse to letting him know that he (Billy) was in any way interested in the ease; but he finally plucked up courage to ask the question: “Has Hunter discovered his mistake et?” me Oh, yes; he knows by this: time that it was Tom, and not Dave,” was the an- Swer. “Why does he not run Tom in, then?” “He has good reason for not doing so. In the first place, as I told you, he has lost the list of articles stolen, which was the only clew he had to work on—the only evidence he could have brought against the man; and in the second place, if he had the list now it would do him no good, as Tom has already disposed of all the goods.” ; “T suppose that Daye got some of them?” “ Possibly, but he is too cunning to keep them in his possession.” After a long silence, Billy asked: “Have you any idea what arrangements Fielding is going to make with regard to the circus?” The fellow laughed heartily, and then answered: “He isn’t going to make any arrange- ments about it. It isn’t for him to make the arrangements. I own the show, at present. If he can settle my claim when I get over here, however, the show will again be his, and he can make any blessed arrangements he sees fit.. At present, Joey Stubble holds the key to the prob- lem, and it will take just fifteen thous- and bills to solve it.” Billy was perplexed. If what the fellow had said was true, his trip to Chicago would be for nothing. Likewise, if it was true, he should be 15 going in the opposite direction, for the man he was after, and for whom he held the evidence which would convict him—pro- vided he still retained any of the jewelry. But if he did not, even that would be a wild-goose chase, and in the mean time Billy’s money was being eaten up, with neither prospect of profit from the in- vestment nor hope of earning any more at an early date. It was in something of this bewildered state of mind that he alighted from the train at Chicago a little before ten o’clock at night. “W’ot’s d’e lay now, Bareback?” asked his companion. * Blessed if I know which way to turn,” replied Billy. “From what that man has told us, I’m afraid we will have had. our trip for nothing. I am sorry we were so precipitate.” “Say, Bareback, I wouldn’t take no more stock in w’ot d’at bloke was ablow- in’ at yer d’an I would in d’e reckymen- dashuns of er Baxter Street barker as ter d’e quality of der duds inside d’e joint. In my ’umble ’pinion, d’at rooster’s got er bugle in his t’roat, an’ ever’ time he breads he w’istles.” “You wouldn’t put much reliance in what he says, then?” “No more’n I would in d’e woid of er Bow'’ry moosyem puller-in.” “Well, late as it is, I think we had bet- ter make a call upon Mr. Rawlding, alias Dave Fielding,” suggested Billy. Engaging a cab, the boys were in a short time set down at the address in West Madison Street. They stopped to perfect their plans of action before entering the house, and while they stood in the shadow of the steop talking, two men emerged from the front door and came down the stoop, / CHAPTER XIX. IN THE TOILS AT LAST. It was too dark for Billy and his friend to be able to discern positively who the /men were, but from the figure of one, which was short and thick-set, they / guessed at once that this was the same ‘Man they had seen and talked with in the ear. The other person was a tall, trim man, and it was not much of a stretch of the imagination to put him down as Fielding. At all events, they concluded that it Would be safe to shadow the pair, and, as they strode away from the stoop as soon as they reached the sidewalk, the boys put off after them, taking care not to get close enough to make. themselves— conspicuous enough to attract the two men’s attention. As the pair passed under a street lamp; the young shadowers observed that the’ tall man carried a tin box, similar to that used by treasurers of theaters and such like institutions, where large sums of money have to be transported. The men had gone in the direction of the river, and the boys soon found them- Selves in the low, vicious quarter ad- jacent to Canal Street. Only four or five blocks had been tray- ersed altogether, when the men turned into a narrow side street, and shortly afterward stopped at a tumble-down rook- ery, that looked as if it might be the hab- itation of a beggar. The tall man opened the door with a key. which he had taken from his pocket and the pair passed in and closed the door. The place was in darkness, but shortly after the men went’ in a light appeared and shone through the shutters, which were closed. : “D'at’s de stuff, Bareback,’ whis- pered Mugsy. “ Dis is wot @ey call.
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16 It beats all d’e dime row-mans, I reckon. novels—”’ “Never mind the romance.” interrupted Billy, impatiently. ‘ Let us get to busi- ness. You remain here, while I go to the back of the house, and if those chaps come out before I return, lose no time in giving me the tip, and in the meantime don’t, for your life, lose sight of them,” * Right here I stand’s, like Casybianker on d’e burnin’ deck,’ murmured Mugsy, defiantly; ‘an’ all d’e hoodlums in Shecago cain’t make me skedaddle!” Billy hastened to the rear of the shanty. There was a shed or kitchen at the rear of the house, with only a single small win- dow, and this was closed with a solid shutter, except for a star-shaped hole sawed out in the center. This was at a height some distance above the boy’s head, so he looked about and soon found a box to stand on, When elevated upon the box, he could look through the hole in the shutter, and ” had a fair view of the interior of the ‘ shanty, for the back door of the main reom was open and the light shone out into the shed into which he was looking. The men were sitting at a table, al- though Billy could see only one of them, the tall man, whom he nad no trouble in recognizing as Fielding. The tin box was before him, and he was taking something which sparkled from it. They were laughing and talking, but he could make out nothing of what they were saying. So only remaining long enough to satis- fy himself on the points mentioned, the boy hastened back to the front of the house, and hurrying up to his comrade, said: “It’s all right. The game is safe so far. Stay right here while I rum to the he nearest police station for a squad of po- lice. If they should attempt to leave the } place, shadow them and find out where § they go.” ft “Gome one, come all, d’is board side- it walk shall fly f'om it’s muddy foundashun quicker’n me!’ cried the boy, heroically. But Billy had not remained to hear the last of it, for he was off in the direction of the police station. When he had told his story, and exhib- jted his warrant to the sergeant, the lat- ter looked at him in astonishment. “It strikes me that you’re pretty young to be a detective,” he said, “especially on a case like this. Why, do you know that some of the best men in the country have been working on this case, and given it up?” “Perhaps, sir,” replied Billy, impatient- ly, “but I'll be awfully obliged to you if you will kindly detail a squad of men to go with me to the place where I have + the game treed.” The sergeant hesitated a moment, and then responded: “Blamed if I don’t do it!. There is something in that honest face of yours : that tells me you are a hero in disguise,” tes and the sergeant called the doorman and fe. ordered him to send six men who were there in reserve. The men at once reported, and the ser- ny instructed. them to accompany the y. The whole transaction had occupied but a few minutes, and in ten minutes more Billy, with his squad at his heels, ar. rived in front of the shanty. * All right, Mugsy?” he inquired, in a low tone, when he met his companion. “Right as er right,’”’ replied the boy, at the same time saluting the officers as if he had been a subordinate, . ‘In my ’pinion d’eir jes’ "bout in d’e ac’ of en- joyin’ er bottle as d’is preshus momint.” “Better surround the house, hadn't et 4 OU . AY * eit Meee ee See Be ~ The Circus Detective. we?’ suggested the acting sergeant in charge of the squad. ) “That -will be the best thing to be | ” done,” rejoined Billy. ‘*There is only one outlet from the-rear, a single door, so that a couple of men will be enough to guard that.” Two minutes later this was arranged; then Billy, with the squad of four at his | back, rapped at the front door. There was no response, although hum of conversation which had heard a second before ceased. Billy repeated the summons, and that not having the desired effect, the sergeant adminjgtered a number of vigorous blows with his blackjack, Still there was no response, and Billy said: “The quickest and simplest way is to smash the door in, What do you think, air?” ‘‘In She goes!’ muttered the sergeant, and, summoning a couple of men, they threw their weight against the panels, and all went in with a crash. And the crash was followed, simul- taneously, with another crash, for the moment the door flew open there were two quick, almost Simultaneous shots from the men within. This was followed, instantly, by a volley from the police, and a groan was heard within the room, which was now in dark- ness. the men haying dashed the light, evidently, at the first alarm, There was a pause and a moment of silence; then the sergeant, who stood lis- tening, heard a scuffle going on in the darkness, and was mystified at it, But these significant words explained all: “No yer don’t, Mister Joey Stubble! Yer don’t use no sticker on your'n trooly! D’ere! How’s dat fer er air-brake grip? How’s d'at feel on ye’r mixed-ale canal?” This was followed by a low gurgling sound, as of some one being choked. There was also the sound of scuffling in another part of the room, mingled with muttered imprecations and an occasional groan, The sergeant struck a match and held it over his head, to behold on the floor two pairs of scufflers. Billy had the circus proprietor down, but it was a question which would win in the long run, as Fielding was clearly the stronger man of the two, The case was different, however, with Mugsy and his antagonist. The boy was on top and had his horny fingers clinched around the sporting man's jugular like rods of steel; the man was alr_ady pur- ple in the face, and evidently rapidly approaching insensibility. The sergeant, recognizing. the status of affairs with Billy, hastened to relieve him of his strain by administering a sounding blow or two with his night-stick on the head of the crook professional. Mugsy’s man required no such treat- ment, for the boy arose, a moment later, but his antagonist remained prostrate on the floor. “Well, you're a champion, my boy!’ commented the sergeant. “Oh, d’at’s nuttin’, assevyerated Mug- the been sy, coolly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘D’at's on’y pastime, wras’- lin’ wi’d ducks like him.” The eandle, which was found on the floor. was relighted; the men were at once handcuffed, and soon were in the patrol wagon on the way to the station. The following day Billy and Mugsy took the train for New York. In due course Fielding was ertradited and taken back to the city where the rob- bery had been committed, and was there tried and convicted. | Billy received the reward of ten thous- _ and dollars, which he had worked so hard to earn, and immediately made an even | division with his faithful friend, Mugsy Mullen. “D’at beats sellin’ d’e ice-col’,” ob- served the boy, as he folded the bills | and put them into his pocket. “I wondeh : if dis duck won't make d@’em coves on / the ol’ Bow’ry open d’eir eyes w’en I gits ! On me new togs an’ me blazer? Say! | d’ey’ll take me fer Jimmy Corbett! D’at's | right.” THE END. Next Haur-Dre Lrprary, No, 958. Paddy's Trump Card; SILVER SALLY, THE GIRL SPORT BY J, C. COWDRICK. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. BY HAROLD PAYNE. 848 Dan, the River port; or, Foiling the Frisco Sharp, 892 Bowery Ben in Chinatown, 911 Bowery Bob, the Enst-side Detective, BY J. 0. COWDRIOK, 490 Brondway Billy, the Bootblack Bravo. 514 Broadway Billy’a Boodle; or, Clearing a Strange Case, 586 Broadway Billy’s _‘ Dilikilty.” 557 Broadway Billy’« Peath Racket. 5 Broadway Billy’s Surprise Party. 605 Broadway Billy; or, The Boy Detective’s Big Inning, 628 Broadway Billy’s Dead Acts or, The League of Seven. 669 Broadway Billy Abroad; or, The Bootblack to Frisco. 675 Broadway Billy’s Beat; or, Beating San Francisco's Finest. 687 Broadway Billy itn Clover. 696 Broadway Billy in Texas; or, The River Rustlers. 708 Broadway Rilly’s Brand. T711L Broadway Billy at Santn Fe; or, The Clever Deal, 720 Broadway Billy’s Full Hand: or, The Gamin Detective. 785 Broadway Billy’« Business. Broadway Billy’s Curious Case. Broadway Billy tin Denver. Broadway HBilly’s Bargain; or, The Three Detective. Broadway Billy, the Retriever Detective. Broadway Billy’a Shadow Chase. Broadway Billy’s Beagles; or, The Trio’s Quest, Broadway Billy’s Team; or, The Combine’a Big Pull. Broadway Billy’s Brigade; or, The Dead Alive, Billy’a Queer Bequest, Billy Baffled, BbDly’s Signal Scoop. Billy's Wipe Out. Billy’s Bank Racket. Bie secon! s Th y Amon ersey uge. Billy’ Raid Billy's Big Room. 2 © ~ wa Zz reeks beta ke bel SCRRAIAD SaRASOS 844 Broadway Billy’« Big Bulgec. 849 Broadway RBilly’« #100 ooo Snap. 856 Broadway HEilly’sa Blind; or, The Bootblack Stowaway. Billy in London. Billy Shadows London Slums. Billy’s French Game, Billy and the Bomb-Throwers, 918 The Trump, Dock-Boy. 912 Train Boy Trist’a Hot Hustle, Cyele Sport. ubilee. 860 Silver-Mask, the Man of Mystery; or, The Golden Keys, Ss0 The pei the Go A tl A Boy Witheet e Detective’s rentice; or, y out a Name, 424 Clbuta John}; or, Pe Hot Times at Ante Bar, 489 Randy Sam, the Street Scout, 467 Diaco Dan, the Daisy Dude. ‘ O06 Redlight Ralph the Prince of the Road. 524 The Tnaineer Detective; or, Redlight Ralph's Resolve 548 Mart, the Night Ex Detective. 571 Alr-Line Luke the Young Engineer; or, The Double Case 592 The Boy Pinkerton; or, Running the Rascals Out. 615 Fighting Marry the Chief of Chained Cyctone. 40 Rareback Beth, the Centaur of the 647 Tynewrlter_ Tilly, the Merchant’s Ward. 659 Moonlight Morenn the“ Pizenest ” Man of Ante Bar, 894 Arizona Dick’s W itpe-Out, 924 Rig Roota Bob, the Fire-Laddle. 980 Kuatler Ralph, the Roy Spotter. 85 The Ex-Newsboy Detective’s Chum. 941 The Bowling Green Detective’s Drop. 944 Cowboy' Charlie's Double, 947 The Bowery Wrestler; or, The Butcher-Boy’s Backer, 1 LATEST ISSUES. q 948 Buffalo Rill’« Snap-Shot ¢ or, Wild Kid’s Texan Tally. By Col, P. Ingraham. 949 The Three Liewtenantas; or, Gentlemau George on Deck. By T. J Flanagan. 950 The Steeple-Climber'’s Close Call; or, Tho East Side Ronghs of the Tower. By Jo Pierce. : 951 Dendwood Dick, Jr.’s, Right Bower. By Edward { L. Wheeler, NEW ISSUES, 952 The Circus Detective; or, Bareback Billy’s Big Round- up. By Harold Payne, 7 ait c s 958 Padd beck trad ard; or, Silver Sally, the Girl Sport, 4 The Dock-Boy Shadow’ ' s 95 } Sa dg a 3 oy Herteceh, & Swoop} or, Sleek Sly’s Stool 955 The Dandy Dead-Shot; or, Old Kit Bandy’s Compromise. By O11 Coomes. A New lesue Every Tuesday. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by al! newsdealers, five Gents por copy, or sent by tomtl te Soodapt of sl sooth cath. BEADLE AND ADAMB, Publishers, 98 William Street, New Veork,