“Yes, I own four camels,” repeated Vic Belton, as evenly as if he had said that he owned a pocketknife.
“It sounds like a fairy story,” said Randy Powell as he glanced quickly at Mr. Strapp to see how he took it. The Westerner sat with his eyes fixed on Vic. He was studying him curiously. However, he made no comment.
“What kind of camels?” suddenly burst out Pep. “Real camels—live ones?”
“Awfully alive,” replied Vic, promptly. “Guess you’d think so if you knew some of their doings when they get on a rampage.”
“Where are these animals you speak of?” asked Mr. Strapp.
“Either at Wardham, a little town in Connecticut, or on their way there.”
“How?” inquired Pep.
“On a train, of course,” was the reply; “for they came clear from the Pacific Coast. You see, it’s this way: My dead father was a circus man. So was my uncle. It was Uncle Gregory who put me in charge of Mr. Dorsett at Home Farm. He’s sort of looked after me for the last two years. Well, just a week ago I got a letter I didn’t expect. It was from Bill Purvis.”
“Who’s Bill Purvis?” queried Pep, almost breathlessly, so immersed was he in the outcome of Vic’s narrative.
“Bill is an old menagerie roustabout,” explained Vic. “He used to be with my father. Afterwards he was Uncle Gregory’s handy man. No one could ever keep Bill straight except those two. Well, Bill had got someone to write me the letter I’m telling you about, for he can’t write himself. The letter told me that Uncle Gregory was dead and buried and the show he was with had broken up. They divided the animals and their traps among the people they owed for salaries. Besides that, my uncle had a lot of money invested, so he got the camels for his share.”