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I have no knowledge of this region, but the creek empties into the Washita without doubt." "That would be my judgment. Sparling and I were just talking it over. I shall wait here until Custer comes up; my force is too small to attack openly, and my orders are not to bring on an engagement. Custer has some Osage scouts with him who will know this country."

"Where are we going?" demanded Teddy suspiciously. "For a walk. You need not go along, unless you wish to," added the showman. "Of course I wish to go. Do you think I want to stay on the lot when anything is going on somewhere else, eh?" "There would be plenty going on, if you remained. I am sure of that," replied Mr. Sparling, with a short laugh. "Come along, boys."

There was something about the situation that gave the lad a sudden half-formed idea. "Yes, I have seen him," answered the showman, his face sobering instantly. "Where is he?" "He has gone away. I might as well tell you, boys. Mr. Snowden is no longer manager of this car. He is no longer connected with the Sparling Show in any capacity, nor ever will be again," announced Mr. Sparling decisively.

"I have been thinking of giving you some additional work." Phil glanced up at his employer with quickened interest. "Yes, I am thinking of closing you." "You mean you are thinking of dropping me from the show?" asked the lad, gazing at the showman with steady, inquiring eyes. "Well, I should hardly say that. I am afraid the Sparling Show could not get along without you.

He was thrown and sprained his ankle. He won't ride for sometime, I reckon. But come over here and sit down. I want to have a little chat with you." Mr. Sparling crossed the tent, sitting down on a bale of straw just back of the monkey cage. The simians were chattering loudly, as if discussing the exciting incidents of the morning.

The season was drawing to a close. One day Phil received a wire from Mr. Sparling reading: "Close at Deming, New Mexico, September fifteen." "Boys, the end is in sight; and I, for one, shall be glad when we are through," announced Phil, appearing in the men's part of the car, where he read the telegram from the owner of the show. The men set up a cheer.

I shouldn't be surprised if I got fined for that." With a certain nervousness, Phil hurried out around the dressing tent, and skirting the two big tents, sought out Mr. Sparling in his office. The lad was not far wrong in his surmise. That Mr. Sparling was angry was apparent at the first glance. He eyed Phil from head to foot, a fierce scowl wrinkling his face and forehead.

"I can come pretty close to it," grinned the showman, whereupon he named the towns on Phil's route list without so much as missing one of them. But the stake and chain foreman did not stop here; he went on and gave a further list that Phil only knew of as having heard mentioned by Mr. Sparling in his various conversations with the circus lad. Phil was amazed. "Then they must be going west.

Sparling has been here today, as you probably know." Some of the men nodded. "The next piece of news is that Mr. Snowden has closed with the car. He is no longer manager." Phil paused, as if to accentuate his words. The men set up a great shout. It was a full minute before they settled down to listen to his further remarks.

No more had been seen of the Sully Hippodrome Circus after the meeting of the two organizations in Corinto, though that crowd had been heard of occasionally as hovering on the flanks of the Sparling shows. "I don't care where they go," said Mr. Sparling, "so long as they don't get in the same county with me.