efoot guide, but
on the look-out, half suspecting it was one of Tim's tricks. They
threaded their way through a maze of carts and circus paraphernalia, out
to the edge of the grounds; past a line of small tents, used as the
encampment of the performers, to a grove of maple trees skirting the
field.

"I say, Tim, what's up, anyway?" inquired Joe Warren presently. "You
needn't think you can fool me--"

"Sh-h-h," warned Tim, turning and raising a hand to silence his
companion. "Here he is."

He took a few steps forward, grasped Joe Warren's arm, brought him to a
stand-still and pointed toward a figure that reclined upon a blanket
spread beneath a tree.

"Well, what of it--what is it?" asked Joe Warren, "I don't see anything
but somebody asleep."

Tim Reardon again gestured for silence and induced his companion to
approach nearer. Whereupon he pointed gleefully at the face of the
sleeper. Young Joe, bending down softly, beheld the painted features of
the great chief, Red Bull.

"Hmph!" he exclaimed. "It's only one of the Injuns. Saw 'em at the show
this afternoon."

Little Tim, in reply, seized Young Joe mysteriously by an arm, drew him
away a few paces and whispered something, excitedly.

Young Joe gave a subdued roar.

"Cracky!" he cried, doubling up. "Tim, you're the craziest youngster.
What put it into your head? We couldn't do it."

"No, you and I couldn't," answered Tim; "but the whole of us could--Jack
Harvey and Henry Burns, and the rest of the fellers. Gee! Joe, just
think of it. A real live Injun--a live one-'twould be just like the Last
of the Mohigginses."

"What would we do with him if we got him?" asked Joe.

"Nothin'," replied Little Tim--"Oh, yes, we could,--take him off up
stream to the camp and--dance 'round him, like they do in the show."

"Come on," said Joe Warren. "Let's find Jack and Henry Burns and
George. They won't do it, though."

If one could have seen Henry Burns's eyes twinkle, when they had found
the three a few moments later, however, they would have thought
differently.

"Tim, you're all right," he said. "But how could we get him away from
here?"

"Why, get the wagon," said Young Joe. "Come on, George, will you? I'll
go down to the house for it, if you'll join. 'Twon't take more'n half an
hour. You find Tom and Bob; they're 'round somewhere. Then wait here
till I come back."

Young Joe, reading a half consent in his elder brother's hesitation,
darted away. George War