“How far do we move?” asked Johnny, a bit anxiously.
“Only forty miles, and that leaves us less than thirty miles from their grandfather’s place. They can make it back all right.”
“I’ll borrow one of the rough riders’ ponies, and hoof it back with them,” said Johnny. “But remember,” he turned to the twins, “remember, this is the last. To-morrow morning you turn your faces toward home. And by thunder! I wish I could go along to stay!”
“Why? Why can’t you?” cried Marjory. “We want you to. Indeed, we do.”
“I can’t tell you now. Maybe some time. You stay right here. I’ll send Ma Kelly around. Then I’ve got to go box the bear.”
Johnny rushed away, and that was the last they saw of him for some time.
CHAPTER XVI
THE WRECK OF THE CIRCUS
That night, as Johnny listened to the chant of the negroes as they went about their tasks of breaking camp and loading, he fancied that there was a weird and restless tone to it, foretelling some catastrophe brooding over all.
The night was dark, with black, rainless clouds hurrying across the sky. Johnny shivered as he walked toward his sleeping car. His hand was on the rail when someone touched his arm. It was Pant.
“Johnny,” he whispered, “how’d you like to ride with me in the gondola to-night?”