Chapter 12

AN ARM OF THE LAW

The circus manager followed Andy, as the latter darted past the band stand and into the passageway leading to the performers' tent.

His face was a blank of wonderment. The ringmaster joined him, and so did one or two others as he hurried after Andy.

They found the latter holding to a guy rope, Andy's head was spinning. The reaction from intense excitement made him weak and breathless for some moments.

The audience was still in a pleasant flutter of commotion over the unique act that had caught their fancy.

The Benares Brothers went on with their performance, They cut out "the dive for life," but they made up for it by some dazzling aerial evolutions that thrilled the spectators, and everybody seemed satisfied.

Five minutes later they joined the group crowding around Andy. The manager had just finished questioning the lad as to details of the remarkable story he had told.

His face was stern and angry as he uttered some quick words to the ringmaster. Then the latter, taking a weighted coiled-up toe rope in his hand, went out into the ring.

From where he was Andy could see this flung aloft. It caught across the bar of the "doped" trapeze.

At a touch this latter came hurtling to the ground. Old Benares, watching also, trembled with intense anger.

"It is infamoos!" he declared. "Where should my partner be, but for this boy?"

The ringmaster examined the loosened trapeze bar. Just as Andy had stated, two slight threads alone had held it to the supporting ropes.

Thacher laid a friendly, grateful hand on Andy's shoulder. He was too full of emotion to speak. Andy looked up and smiled brightly.

"Good thing I was around, wasn't it?" he said carelessly. "Oh, there's Mr. Marco."

The Man with the Iron Jaw came up to the group at this juncture.

"You, Andy Wildwood!" he said. "I heard of the trapeze. So it is you again? Come with me. No, don't keep him," continued Marco to Thacher in a hurried way that made Andy curious. "You can see him again. Come, lad."

"What's the trouble, Mr. Marco?" asked Andy.

Marco did not answer. He kept hold of Andy's arm and led him to the rear. About to enter the performers' tent he dodged back.

"Keep close to me," he directed in a tone of suppressed excitement. "Quick, Wildwood--out this way. Hurry, now."

He had darted towards the bottom of the canvas strip siding the passageway. Lifting this up, he thrust Andy under it. Crawling after him and arising to his feet, he again grasped Andy's arm.

Headed for the open space the main entrance faced, Marco suddenly jerked Andy to one side. He now made swiftly for some small tents abutting the performers' tent.

"Hey! hi! hello!" some one had yelled out at them, and Andy saw two skulking forms making towards them.

A third figure joined them. Andy discerned evident pursuit in their manner and actions.

"Keep with me. Run in," directed Marco.

He had thrust Andy into one of the little tents the boy recognized as a dressing room. Marco dropped the flap and stood outside.

"Where's the boy gone to?" puffed out a labored voice.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy, under cover, but with a gasp of sheer dismay. "I understand now."

Andy recognized the tones of this last speaker. They belonged to Wagner, the village constable of Fairview.

"He's in that little tent," spoke another voice.

"Surround it," ordered Wagner. "Here, you stand aside. The boy I've been looking for all day is in that tent. I want him."

"Hold on," retorted Marco. "This is private circus property."

"Yes, and I'm a public officer, I'd have you know!" said Wagner. "No use. Don't interfere with the course of justice, or you'll get into trouble."

There was no light in the tent. The many flaring gasoline torches outside, however, cast a radiance that enabled Andy to pretty accurately make out the situation.

He traced two shadowy figures making a circuit of the tent. He could see Marco push back Wagner.

The latter was unsteady of gait and voice. Andy theorized that he had been commissioned by his aunt to pursue him.

Wagner had come down to Centreville with two assistants. Their expenses were probably paid in advance, and they had made a kind of individual celebration of the trip.

"I've been looking for that boy all day," now spoke Wagner.

"I know you have," answered Marco, standing like a statue at the door of the tent.

"He's a fugitive from justice. I'm bound to have him. I'm an arm of the law."

"What's he done?" inquired Marco.

"He's nearly broken his poor old aunt's heart."

"I didn't ask about his aunt's heart. What's he done?"

"Oh, why--hum, that's so. Well, he's been expelled from school because of his crazy circus capers."

"Indeed. I'm a circus man. Do you observe anything particularly crazy about me?" demanded Marco. "Say, my friend, you get out of this. I'm Marco, the Man with the Iron Jaw. It won't be healthy for me to tackle you, and I will if you make yourself obstreperous. You won't get that boy until you show me convincingly that you have a legal right to do so."

"Legal right? Why!" cried Wagner, drawing out a paper, "there's my warrant."

"Let me look at it, please. Oh," said Marco, examining the document. "Issued in another county. We're pretty good lawyers, us show folks, and I can tell you that you will have to get a search warrant issued in this county before you dare set a foot in that tent."

The Fairview constable was nonplussed. Marco was right, and Wagner knew it. He threshed about, fumed and threatened, and finally said:

"All right. I guess you know the law. We may have no right to enter that tent without a local search warrant, but the minute we get the boy outside we can take him on sight."

"You won't have the chance," observed Marco.

"We'll see. Hey," to his two assistants, "keep a close watch. I'm going for a local search warrant. Don't let Andy Wildwood leave that tent. The minute he does, nab him. Mister, I hereby notify you that these two men are my regularly appointed deputies."

"All right," nodded Marco calmly.

"Watch out, boys. I won't be gone half-an-hour."

At that moment a waddling man came up smoking an immense pipe.

"Ha," he said to Mr. Marco, "I vant mine drums."

"Wait a minute, Snitzellbaum," directed Marco.

Marco held the newcomer at bay until Wagner had disappeared in the direction of the town.

Then, leaning over, he whispered in the ear of the rotund musician.

"Ha! ho! hum! vhat? ho--ho! ha--ha!"

"Hush!" warned Marco, with a quick glance at the constable's deputies patrolling up and down. "Will you do it?"

"Vill I--oh, schure! Ha-ha! ho-ho! Mister Marco, you are von chenyus."

"Want your drum, eh?" spoke Marco in a loud tone. "Well, go in and get it."

Andy knew something was afoot from what he observed. He hoped it was in the line of preventing his return to Fairview.

In about five minutes the fat German came out of the tent, lugging his big bass drum with him.

"I put him on dot vagon," he puffed. "Good night, Mr. Marco. Vat dey do mit dot poy in dere, hey?"

"Oh, I'll attend to him," declared Marco.

Another half-hour went by. At its end Wagner came hurrying up to the spot. He had a companion with him, a keen-eyed, shrewd-faced fellow, evidently a local officer.

"I have a search warrant here," said the latter.

"All right," nodded Marco accommodatingly, "go on with your search."

"Told you I'd get that boy," announced Wagner, with a chuckle lifting the flap of the tent. "Say! How's this? Andy Wildwood is gone!"