He bent over and wrote a name in the sand, then quickly erased it.
Johnny had read it. “Who’s Black McCree?” he asked promptly.
“He,” Pant whispered, “is the slickest forger that ever lived, and the worst crook. We’re going to get him, you and I, Johnny. And he’s with the circus.”
“Did—did you ever see him?” Johnny demanded.
“I can’t be sure. Perhaps. But we will, Johnny, we will!”
For a moment they sat there in silence; then Johnny arose and without a word, walked away.
CHAPTER VII
NO BOX-A DA BEAR
There was one particular part of the show that afternoon which Johnny was anxious to see. So anxious was he, indeed, that even the danger and mystery connected with the sale of the counterfeit Liberty Bonds were crowded from his mind. So intent was he upon seeing it, that he half neglected his duties, and received for the first time, directly upon his cheek, a sharp cut from Millie’s whip. Even that failed to make him angry. Once Millie’s act was over, and he had rushed the dapple grays to their stable, he dashed out of the horse tent, through the assembly grounds, under the canvas wall of the big top and found himself at last beneath the bleachers in a very good position to see what was going on in the ring to the south of the center.
He breathed a sigh of satisfaction, as he saw the swarthy Italian bear boxer, dressed in his green suit, come marching pompously down the sawdust trail toward the ring. The lumbering silver tip bear was at his heels.
The first part of their performance, the ball rolling, the stilt walking and bicycle riding, went off very well. The expectant smile on Johnny’s genial face was beginning to fade when finally boxing gloves were produced, and thrust upon the fore paws of the waiting bear.