"Circle around the canvas, an' crawl underneath, so's that gang won't see where you've gone!"
The fugitives understood the scheme at once, and making a short detour as if to avoid him, dashed under the guy-ropes at one end, gaining the interior of the tent before the pursuers arrived.
Mr. Sweet had just started toward the flap to ascertain the cause of the commotion when the boys entered, and, thinking himself about to be attacked, leaped quickly back as he seized an ironbound stake.
"Oh, it's you, eh?" he said, on recognizing the intruders. "What's up? Are you the thieves they're yellin' for?"
Teddy was hardly able to speak; but he held up the satchel, as he panted:
"Hazelton's—they're killin' him—he—wants—this—saved."
"Yes, I understand it now. Jump into the wagon an' get under the stuff there. I'll take the valise. Them kind of fakirs are bound to come to grief sooner or later, an' honest people get into a muss tryin' to help 'em. I'd like to see the fair where them kinds of games wasn't allowed; but don't s'pose I ever shall, although it's always promised."
While Mr. Sweet had been grumbling, and at the same time concealing the satchel under the box containing the snakes, the boys were doing their best to hide themselves beneath the litter of ropes and canvas which had been carelessly thrown into the wagon.
In the meantime the pursuers came up, discovered the unpleasant fact that the fugitives were no longer in sight, and began to parley with the barker.
"I tried to catch 'em," the boys heard the latter say; "but they got around the tent before I had time to find out what the matter was."