"
"Yes," urged the showman as Phil paused.
"A round hole about a foot deep had been dug in the ring.
This had been covered with a shingle and the sawdust sprinkled
over to hide the shingle. It was a deliberate attempt to do
someone an injury."
Mr. Sparling eyed him questioningly.
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be. Jim didn't happen to step on the
shingle until we were doing the pyramid, then of course
something happened. It is a wonder that neither Little
Dimples nor myself was injured."
"Phil, we simply must find out who is responsible for this
dastardly work."
"Yes, sir."
"And when we do--when we do--"
"What then, Mr. Sparling!"
The showman was opening and closing his fingers nervously.
"Don't ask me," he replied in a low, tense voice. "I don't want
to see the man. I should do something I would be sorry for all
the rest of my life. Good night, Phil."
Phil Forrest left the cabin and strode thoughtfully away to his
own room, where he was soon in bed. Phil, however, did not sleep
very well that night.
CHAPTER XV
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
The boats of the Sparling fleet had been moving steadily
downstream for several hours, their passengers, in the majority
of instances, sound asleep, lulled by the gentle motion and the
far away "spat, spat, spat," of the industrious paddle wheel at
the stern of each craft.
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