ld you about,
eh?" said Henry Burns--"all about Uncas and the rest."

"That's it," cried Little Tim. "Wouldn't I like to be Un-cuss, though,
and scalp Red Bull."

"Fine!" laughed Henry Burns. "Come on, we'll go up to the circus
grounds."

To Little Tim the afternoon was one glorious dream; a dream through
which there pranced horses in bright trappings, ridden by be-spangled
men and women; chariots rumbled in mad races; bicyclists shot down
fearful inclines; and the whole proceedings made glad to the heart of
the youngster by the roaring of wild beasts.

The impending torture of Gen. Miles's scout was happily averted by the
timely arrival of a band of mounted soldiers, whose cracking rifles laid
in the dust the painted warriors--barely in time to save Little Tim,
also, from utter collapse. He emerged from the tent, some hours later,
wild eyed; so freighted down with red lemonade and peanuts that if
dropped overboard he must surely have sunk without a struggle.

Evening came, and with it the night performance. Night found Little Tim
again on the grounds. True, he had no money for a ticket, but it was a
delight to wander about the grounds; to climb upon the great carts and
be chased off by angry circus men. The gaudy canvases, stretched here
and there, reminded him of what he had seen inside; and he eyed them
affectionately.

Once there was a thrill of excitement for him, when the Indian warriors,
their evening act over, hurried past him in a group and disappeared
within the opening of a small tent, on the outskirts of the grounds.

Time passed, and it had struck nine o'clock a half hour ago. The show
would be over in half an hour more. Young Joe Warren, who had seen the
main circus in the afternoon and who was strolling in and about the
side-shows, suddenly found himself accosted by Tim Reardon, who gasped
out a greeting as though the words choked him.

"Hello, Tim," replied Joe, eying him with astonishment. "Say, what's the
matter? Any of the snakes got loose? You look as though they were after
you."

Tim was breathless, sure enough, as though he were being pursued. His
very eyes seemed to have grown larger, and he was hardly able to stand
still long enough to reply.

"Come on, Joe," he whispered. "I'll show you something. Better'n snakes,
a big sight. Easy now, don't talk. Follow me."

Young Joe Warren, a boy slightly taller than Tim and perhaps a year
older, ready at all times for a lark, followed his bar