CHAPTER XXI
RECOGNITION
There were a creaking of wheels, a shrill screeching of brakes, footings of whistles, and shouts of men. Then the long, heavy trains came to a halt.
"Where are we?" asked sleepy voices.
"I guess we've arrived," came an answer from no one in particular.
"Well, we don't have to get up yet," was announced from one of the berths, where the sound of a shade being pulled up could be heard, indicating that the occupant of the bed had looked out to see how near daylight it was.
Then followed a confused jumble of sounds, amid which the performers tried to get a little more slumber.
The circus train was in.
Big rumbling wagons were eased down off the flat cars on heavy runways. From some of the wagons came frightened whimperings or saucy chatterings—the monkeys. From others came snarls and deep-throated roars—the cats, as lions and tigers are called. Then, from other wagons came more queer noises, a sort of combined bellowing and rumbling as if in protest. That was the "hippo" and the "rhino," the short names the circus men used for the hippopotamus and the rhinoceros.
Seemingly there was a riot of confusion, but in reality everything moved along like clockwork. Each man knew what he had to do, and did it. With the exception of the cooks and their assistants, whose duty it was to get ready the meals for the performers and the hands, the canvasmen were busiest of all, for the animal tent must be put up ready to receive the denizens of forest, field or jungle, and there must be shelter for the hundreds of horses.
The putting up of the main-top could be attended to later.
The elephants came shuffling on their padded feet from their cars where they had been swaying to and fro all night, and for several nights, for the circus had been four days on the road. Once the elephants had descended, first gingerly trying the runway with their feet to see if it would hold their enormous weight, they were put to work pushing the heavy wagons into position so that the big teams of horses could be attached to haul them to the circus lot.
Through all the noise and confusion the men and women performers slept, for they were used to the racket, and would probably have apprehended something queer had it been missing.
"Well, now the work begins," murmured Tonzo Lascalla, stretching lazily and thrusting his head out between the curtains of his berth.
"Work! You mean the fun!" exclaimed Joe Strong, who was across the aisle. "I'm tired of this railroad traveling. I want to get under the main-top again, and see the crowds, hear the music and——"
"It's easy to see you're young at the business," commented Tonzo. "You will lose your enthusiasm."
"I hope not!" returned Joe. "I don't want to get old."
The gray dawn slowly broke. Already much of the circus paraphernalia was unloaded, and hundreds of men were on the lot arranging the tents. From the cook wagons and from the big soup caldrons on the ground, came the appetizing odors of breakfast. In their tents many horses were already munching hay and oats from canvas mangers.
The performers, in their sleeping cars, began to rouse, to stretch, to wash and make ready to get their morning meal. Some were cross—"temperamental," it might be called. Others were jolly, calling and laughing one to another.
"Are you glad to be on the road again?" asked Helen of Joe, as they walked together to the breakfast tent.
"Indeed, I am," he said. "I've never been West, and I know I'm going to like it. Fine air you have out here."
"Yes," admitted Helen, with a laugh that showed her white teeth, "it is nice. I've always liked the West, though I haven't seen much of it since I was a child."
"And I'm glad to be able to get at my act again," said Joe. "The days on the road have made me a bit rusty, I'm afraid."
"Oh, no!" protested Helen.
The circus had made an unusually long jump from New York, and now it would finish the season out West. It was the intention to winter in one of the Southern states, and work back East again with the advent of spring.
After Joe and Helen had eaten with some of their friends, they separated, Helen to get ready for the parade, for she now took part in that as a princess. She had to see to Rosebud. As for Joe, he wanted to see that all of his high-wire apparatus was on hand and ready for setting up.
He strolled over toward the spot where the big tent would be erected, and found his helpers already on hand.
"Everything here?" asked Joe.
"Seems so," answered Ryan. "We've just been checking up, and nothing seems to be missing. Feel all right?"
"Fit as a fiddle. I'm anxious for a little practice though, so I think I'll go off for a spin, if you can manage things here."
"Oh, sure, we'll be all right," said Jeroleman.
Joe got his road motor-cycle out from his baggage and was soon spinning down a pleasant country road. He was one of the more privileged performers, and there was little for him to do except to ride in his thrilling act. His men did all the hard work, though many persons thought Joe's act was hard enough work in itself.
"This is great!" exclaimed Joe, as he spun along at high speed. He breathed in deep of the crisp air, filling his lungs as he had done when performing in the tank.
As he rode along the highway on his return, he saw many farm wagons with laughing crowds of young and old folk on their way to the show. He felt in fine form when he returned to the circus lot, and quite ready to do his act.
"I hope we have a good audience," mused Joe, as he went to look over his apparatus, which had been put up in the big tent.
His hope was confirmed, for the canvas shelter was crowded when the band blared out the opening notes for the grand entry. Around the circle went the elephants, the camels, the horses and the performers. The show was playing its first date in the West.
"Now, Joe, ready for you!" called the ring-master, for a slight change had been made in the time of some of the acts, and Joe's came on a little earlier.
Joe had made certain that everything was in good order. With a rattle and bang of his machine he started across the ground toward the inclined wire. Another instant he was up on it and was getting ready to break the colored glass balls, a feature which had made such a sensation. Then, with practiced aim, Joe shattered them both, while the crowd applauded. He then shot down the other inclined wire. But he was going faster than he realized, or perhaps he did not have as good control of his machine as he thought, for he rode past his usual stopping place, on toward the crowded seats of the grand stand, before which his wire was stretched.
"Look out!" shouted some apprehensive ones.
"Oh, there's no danger," answered Joe with a laugh, as he put on the brake extra hard and stopped a safe distance away. Some of the men and women in the lower seats had jumped out of the way, fearing Joe would run into them, but they now laughed and made ready to resume their places.
"Don't be alarmed," went on Joe. As he spoke he saw a man looking intently at him; and something in the man's face attracted his attention.
"Where have I seen him before?" he asked himself, as he dismounted from the machine so Ryan could take it.
The man himself seemed strangely affected. He advanced toward Joe with his hand half extended.
"I'm not quite sure," he began, "but I think I have seen you before."
"And I'm sure I've seen you," Joe said. "But I can't place you."
"Aren't you the young man who so kindly aided us when our automobile turned turtle in a stream in some little country town back East?" asked the man.
Then, in a flash recognition came to Joe.
"Of course!" he cried. "You're Mr. Floyd Strailey, and your friend Mr. Forrest Craige was with you." And then Joe's memory served him another turn. He recalled a certain voice in a crowd.
"Where is Mr. Craige?" he asked eagerly. "I want very much to meet him!"
"I can tell you where he is," answered Mr. Strailey. "We both tried to find you, afterward, but could not."
"And I tried to find you," returned Joe, while to himself he said: "I believe I'm on the track of solving the mystery."