Phil was urging the animal with voice and whip, but it was difficult to get the animal into a faster pace than his regular ring gait—the gait that he had been following for many years. This was scarcely faster than a man could trot.
Phil espied a pole wagon partially loaded, just ahead of him.
At sight of it a sudden idea occurred to him. He acted at once.
Riding close to the wagon the lad slipped off and, giving the horse a sharp blow with the whip over one hip, Phil ducked under the wagon.
The ring horse galloped on a few rods and then stopped.
"I guess it's time I was getting away from here," decided the lad. "I'll be caught sure, if I do not hurry."
The lot was in an uproar. Men were running this way and that, and above the din could be heard the voice of the owner, roaring out orders.
Phil, being still in his pink tights, was a conspicuous figure. He knew that if a ray from a torch should chance to rest on him for a moment, they would discover him at once.
Running in a crouching position the boy made for the further side of the lot, where he hoped to get far enough away so that he could straighten up and make better time.
He did finally reach a safe place, and climbing a board fence, dropped on the other side and lay down to await developments. These were not long coming. All at once he discovered half a dozen men running directly toward him. Whether they had caught sight of him or not, he did not know. He did know that it was time to leave.
Phil left. Springing up, he fairly flew over the ground.