“The young liar!” ejaculated Fox, wrathfully. “Where is he now?”
“Is he in your wagon?” put in Joel, sharply.
“If he were you’d see him, wouldn’t you?”
“In behind you?”
“Yes, are you kidnapping him?” demanded Fox, fiercely.
“There is a boy in the back part of my wagon,” said the magician, coolly. “If you ain’t afraid of smallpox, you may see him. Which shall it be, you or the boy?”
A pallid hue overspread the face of John Fox, which was increased by an agonizing moan, which appeared to proceed from behind the magician.
“Turn the horse, Joel,” was all he said.
He whipped up his horse without a word, and did not pull up for half a mile.
“You can come out now, Harry,” said the professor, with a queer smile. “I am a ventriloquist, and that moan did the business.”