"When I first got acquainted with Carl," said Matt reminiscently, "he was having trouble with a Chinese laundryman. That was 'way off in Arizona."
For a time there was silence between the friends, broken at last by the cowboy.
"What can we do now, pard?"
"It's a waiting game for us, and if Ping doesn't know something that will help Carl out of the hole he is in, we'll have to hunt for some other clues."
"Dhondaram is a smooth article, and no mistake. If he really stole the money, who helped him? And why is he staying with the show?"
"I don't know, pard," returned Matt. "We'll have to let the thing work itself out, somehow."
"You don't intend presenting Burton with our wages for a month, do you?"
"That's the very last thing I'd ever do!" declared Matt.
"Then, if that's the case, we can't keep up this waiting game too long."
The afternoon performance was over, and the crowd of people began filing out of the tents. Only the "grand concert" remained, and that would soon be at an end, and the time would arrive for another ascension with the aëroplane.