"Think the weather is shaping up for a gale this afternoon, Joe?" queried Matt.
"Nary, pard. There's not a cloud in the sky, and it's as calm a day as any that ever dropped into the almanac."
"Not exactly the day to worry, eh?"
"Well, no; but I'm worrying, all the same. What are you going to do now?"
"Catch forty winks of sleep in the calliope tent. We didn't get our full share of rest last night, and I'm feeling the need of it."
When they got to the "lean-to" Matt laid a horse blanket on the ground, close to the wheels of the canvas-covered calliope, and stretched himself out on it. A band was playing somewhere about the grounds, and the sound lulled him into slumber.
The cowboy was not sleepy, and he was too restless to stay in the "lean-to." Matt was hardly asleep before McGlory had left on some random excursion across the grounds.
A man entered the calliope tent. He came softly, and halted as soon as his eyes rested on the sprawled-out form of Motor Matt.
The man was Dhondaram. A burning light arose in the dusky eyes as they continued to rest on the form of the sleeper.