"There's somebody climbing over the train," called one of the searchers to the train manager.
All hands turned, gazing off toward Phil. He swung his hands toward them, whereat they recognized the lad and went on about their work.
"Wonder they saw even me!" grumbled the lad, moving slowly along. It seemed almost impossible that one could hide on a train like that. Here and there men were sleeping under the wagons, and Phil made it his business to get a look into the face of each of them. Not a man did he find who bore the slightest resemblance to Red Larry or Bad Eye.
"It doesn't look very promising, I must say," he muttered, jumping lightly from one flat car to another.
Phil had searched faithfully until finally he reached a "flat" just behind that on which stood the great gilded band wagon. Now, under its covering of heavy canvas, none of its gaudy trimmings were to be seen.
Phil sat down on the low projection at the side of the flat car, eyeing the band wagon suspiciously.
Somehow he could not rid himself of the impression that that wagon would bear scrutiny.
"I'll bet they never looked into it. Last year when we were a road show, I remember how the men used to sleep in there and how Teddy got thrown out when he walked on somebody's face," and Phil laughed softly at the memory. "I'm going to climb up there."
To do this was not an easy matter, for the band wagon seemed to loom above him like a tent. The canvas stretched over it, extending clear down to the wheels, to which it was secured by ropes. The only way the Circus Boy could get up into the wagon seemed to be to crawl under the canvas at the bottom and gradually to work his way up.
"I'm going to try it," he decided all at once. "Of course they didn't look into it. Maybe they are afraid they will find someone. Well, here goes! If I fall off that will be the last of me, but I am not going to fall. I ought to be able to climb by this time if I'm ever going to."