"He is one of the best bareback riders who ever entered the forty-two foot ring," continued the assistant manager.
"What has he ever done before? I never heard of him."
"He has been with Sparling, I think, about five years.
I understand he never did any circus work before that."
"I want that young man," announced the general manager decisively.
"Probably money will get him," smiled the treasurer.
"I do not wish to do anything to offend Sparling, for he is an old friend, and one of the best showmen in the country. I'll write him today, and see what he has to say. That young man, Forrest, or whatever his name may be, is giving us more trouble than we ever had before. He is practically putting our men all out of business. We shall have to change our route, or close, if he keeps on heading off our advance cars."
"It has come to a pretty pass, if a green boy with no previous experience is to defeat us. What is the matter with our advance men?" demanded the assistant manager.
"That is what I should like to know," answered Mr. Starr.
"I will write Sparling today about this matter."
Weeks had passed and Car Three had worked its way across the plains, on into the mountainous country. Car managers had again been changed on the yellow car; another car had been sent in ahead of Phil, but to no better purpose than before.
Car Three moved on, making one brilliant dash after another, sometimes winning out by the narrowest margin and apparently by pure luck. Still, Phil Forrest and his loyal crew were never caught napping and were never headed off for more than a day at a time.