"Hey, Rube!" he shouted in a sing-song voice that was heard in the dressing tents and even out in the menagerie tent.
His first care, then, was to pinion the man so he could not use his hands, for the Circus Boy knew that his captive had a knife in one hand.
Men came running from all directions, Mr. Sparling among the number, for he had been in the menagerie tent when the cry reached him, and feared some fresh trouble was at hand.
"What is it? Where is it?" roared the showman.
"Here, here! Bring lights. Bring—"
The man beneath him began to struggle. In fact the fellow staggered to his feet, the boy being too light to hold him down.
Phil grabbed him about the waist, pinioning the man's arms to his sides. Then began a desperate struggle, during which the combatants fell to the ground, rolling over and over in their fierce battle.
"It's Phil Forrest!" shouted the owner.
He sprang forward and with a mighty tug, jerked the tentman free of the Circus Boy's body. At that instant the fellow leaped to his feet and started to run.
"Stop him!" howled Phil.