I might have known better. What's that back of him?"
"Somebody chasing them, boss," a tentman informed him.
"And they're going to catch old Emperor sure."
"Not if I know it," snapped Mr. Sparling. _"Hey, Rube!"_ he
howled.
Canvasmen, roustabouts, performers and everybody within reach of
his voice swarmed out into the open, armed with clubs, stones and
anything they could lay their hands upon.
"There's a posse trying to catch Phil Forrest and old Emperor.
Get a going! Head them off and drive them back!"
Every man started on a run, some leaping on horses, clearing the
circus lot, riding like so many cowboys. As they approached the
lad perched on the bobbing head of the elephant the showmen set
up a chorus of wild yells, to which Phil responded by waving his
hat. He tried to stand up on Emperor's head, narrowly missing a
tumble, which he surely would have taken had not the elephant
given him quick support with the ever-handy trunk.
"They're shooting at me," cried Phil, as he swept by the showmen.
"Line up!" commanded Mr. Sparling.
His men stretched across the highway, with the mounted ones in
front, his infantry behind.
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