Chapter IX: Black Magic

While the parade was passing through town, Carl had been "sleuthing." The fact that he was wearing McGlory's working clothes gave him an idea. He didn't look like himself, so why not be some one else? All the detective books he had ever read had a good deal to say about disguises. Carl was already disguised, so he made up his mind that he would be a dago laborer.

After watching the parade file out of the show grounds, he slouched over to the side-show tent. A man was just finishing lacing the picture of a wild man to the guy ropes. Carl shuffled up to him.

"I peen der Idaliano man," he remarked, in a wonderful combination of Dutch and Italian dialect, "und I, peen make-a der look for a leedl-a gal mit der name oof Manners. Haf-a you seen-a der girl aroundt loose some-a-veres?"

The canvasman looked Carl over, and then, being of a grouchy disposition, and thinking Carl was trying to make fun of him, he gave him a push that landed him against a banner containing a painted portrait of the elastic-skin man. The banner was even more elastic than the image it bore on its surface, for Carl rebounded and struck one of the "barkers," who happened to be passing with his hands full of ice-cream cones for the bearded lady and the Zulu chief.

Disaster happened. The "barker" fell, with the Dutch "tedectif" on top of him--and the ice-cream cones in between.

The "barker" indulged in violent language, and began using his hands. Carl was pretty good at that himself, and retaliated. Two canvasmen pulled the two apart. Carl had the contents of a cone in his hair, and the "barker" had the contents of another down the back of his neck.

"Where'd that ijut come from?" yelled the "barker," dancing up and down among the broken cones.

"Who left der cage toor oben?" cried Carl, digging at his hair. "Der papoon vas esgaped."

"You put up your lightning rod," growled the "barker," "or you'll git hit with a large wad of electricity."

"Come on mit it!" whooped Carl, fanning the air with his fists. "No vone can make some ice-gream freezers oudt oof me mitoudt hafing drouples!"

"That'll do you," snorted the canvasman who had hold of Carl, and thereupon raced him for twenty feet and gave him a shove that turned him head over heels across a guy rope.

"Dot's der vay," mourned Carl, picking himself up and gathering in his hat. "Der tedectif pitzness comes by hardt knocks, und nodding else. Vere can I do some more?"

His head felt cold and uncomfortable, even after he had mopped it dry with a red cotton handkerchief.

He went over to the horse tent. The tent was nearly empty, all the live stock except a trick mule being in the parade. The mule would not have been there, but he was too tricky to trust in the procession. A man with a red shirt, and his sleeves rolled up, sat on a bale of hay close to the mule. The man was smoking.

"Hello, vonce," flagged Carl.

"Hello yourself," answered the man.

"I peen some Idaliano mans," remarked Carl, "und I vas make-a der look for Markaret Manners, yes. Haf-a you seen-a der gal?"

"Take a sneak," said the man.

"She iss-a leedle-a gal aboudt so high, yes," and Carl put out his hand. "I peen-a der poor Idaliano man, aber I gif-a you fife tollars, py shiminy, oof-a you tell-a me where-a der gal iss."

"You can't josh me," went on the man earnestly. "Hike, before I knock off your block."

Carl continued to stand his ground and ask questions; then, the next thing he knew, the hostler had jumped up and rushed for him. Carl sprang back to get out of the way, unfortunately pushing against the hind heels of the mule. The mule knew what to do, in the circumstances, and did it with vigor.

Carl was kicked against the man with the pipe, and that worthy turned a back somersault as neatly as any "kinker" belonging to the show.

The Dutch boy limped hastily around the end of the horse tent and crawled into an empty canvas wagon. The mule's heels had struck him with the force of a battering-ram, and he felt weak up and down the small of the back. Besides, the wagon was a good place in which to hide from the hostler.

Cautiously he watched over the wagon's side. The hostler came around the side of the tent, looked in all directions, and then retired, muttering, in the direction of the bale of hay.

Carl chuckled as he dropped down on a roll of extra canvas, but the chuckle died in a whimper as he became conscious of his sore spots.

"I vonder how Cherlock Holmes efer lifed to do vat he dit," he murmured, curling up on the canvas. "Der tedectif pitzness iss hit und miss from vone end to der odder, und den I don'd get some revards. Meppy I vill shleep und forged id."

When Carl woke up, he looked over the side of the wagon and saw a burning flying machine in the air, and he heard the wild yells of the crowd. Probably it was the yelling that awoke him.

"Py shinks," he cried, "dot's my bard, Modor Matt! He iss purnin' oop mit himseluf. Fire! Fire! Helup!" and Carl rolled out of the wagon and raced toward the spot where the machine seemed to be coming down.

McGlory, white-faced but determined, was marshaling a lot of men with buckets of water. Carl dropped in. When the machine landed, he set to with the rest and helped extinguish the flames.

Then, after he had congratulated Matt, Carl and Ping were placed on guard.

In spite of the fact that Carl had shaken hands with Ping, he continued to have very little use for the Chinaman. And Ping, to judge from appearances, had no more use for the Dutchman. They did not speak. One sat down on one side of the machine and the other sat down on the other. Then a brown man, wearing an embroidered coat and a turban, drove up on a small cage wagon drawn by one horse. He got off the wagon and stepped up to Carl.

"How-do, sahib?" said the man.

Carl remembered him. He was the fellow who had been dozing on Rajah's back at the river. Also he was the man who had taken charge of the girl who had dropped off the trapeze when the burning aëroplane came down.

Carl had a startling thought--it flashed over him like an inspiration.

"How you vas?" answered the Dutch boy genially.

"You come 'long with Ben Ali," said the man.

"Nod on your dindype," replied Carl. "I vas vatching der machine for Modor Matt."

"_You come!_" hissed Ben Ali.

Then Carl noted something very remarkable. The Hindoo's eyes began to blaze, and dance, and show wonderful lights in their depths.

"Shtop mit it!" said Carl. "You peen a mesmerizer, und I don'd like dot."

Carl knew he couldn't be hypnotized against his will, but the Hindoo's eyes were working havoc with his nerves.

"_You come!_"

The words of Ben Ali were imperative. Carl, seemingly unable to remove his own eyes from the Hindoo's, followed as Ben Ali retreated toward the wagon. At the end of the wagon Ben Ali made some passes with his hands in front of Carl's face, then opened the door.

"You get in, sahib!"

Carl climbed into the wagon mechanically. Slam went the door and click went a key in the padlock.

The _Comet_ had come down from its disastrous flight at a considerable distance from the tents. There were no people in the immediate vicinity save Ping.

The little Chinaman, on hands and knees under the lower wing of the aëroplane, was watching covertly all that took place.

After locking the door of the cage wagon, Ben Ali took a cautious look around him. He saw no one.

Climbing up on one of the forward wheels, he took a slouch hat and a long linen duster from the seat, removed his embroidered coat and his turban, got into the hat and duster, climbed to the seat, picked up the reins, and drove off.

Ping had seen it all, but had made no attempt to interfere. And he made no attempt now.

He did not like the "Dutchy boy." He was afraid Carl would take away from him his job with Motor Matt.

It was with secret rejoicing, therefore, that the Chinaman saw Carl locked in the wagon and hauled away.

"Hoop-a-la!" chattered Ping, as he returned to his place and once more went on watch.

The wagon used by Ben Ali, on this momentous occasion, was technically known as the monkey wagon. Two of the monkeys had eaten something which did not agree with them, and had died in Indianapolis. The three that remained had been taken out and put in another cage, with a collection known as "The Happy Family." This, of course, left the monkey wagon empty.

Burton was figuring on using it for one of the ant-eaters, but there were some repairs to be made before the wagon could be put to that use. The repairs dragged, and so Ben Ali found his opportunity to use the cage.

Straight across the show grounds drove the disguised Hindoo. None of the employees who saw him recognized him or questioned his right to use the monkey wagon. Different gangs had different duties, and no one knew but that this strange driver was off to town on some important mission.

Ben Ali drove within a hundred feet of the calliope tent. When he was well beyond it, a yell came from inside the wagon.

"Helup! Helup, somepody, or I vas a goner!"

A shiver ran through Ben Ali. He made ready to leap from the wagon, but thought better of it when he saw that the call had attracted no attention and was not repeated.

"Sahib keep still!" he called, kicking the end of the wagon with his heels.

And thus, with not a sound coming from the interior of the monkey wagon, the artful Hindoo adept drove into the road and headed the horse away from the town and into the country.