_Go it,_ Emperor! Go faster!" Emperor flapped his ears in reply and swung off at an increased gait. The darkness of early morn was soon succeeded by the graying dawn, and Phil felt a certain sense of relief as he realized that day was breaking. On they swept, past hamlets, by farmhouses, where here and there men with milkpails in hand paused, startled, to rub their eyes and gaze upon the strange outfit that was rushing past them at such a pace. Phil could not repress a chuckle at such times, at thought of the sensation he was creating. The hours drew on until seven o'clock had arrived, and the sun was high in the heavens. "I must be getting near the place," decided Phil. He knew he was on the right road, for he could plainly see the trail of the wagons and of the stock in the dust of the road before him. "Yes; there is some sort of a village way off yonder. I wonder if that is it?" A fluttering flag from the top of a far away center- pole, which he caught sight of a few minutes later, told the boy that it was. "Hurrah!" shouted Phil, waving his hat on high. At that moment a distant chorus of yells smote his ears. The lad listened intently. The shout was repeated. Holding fast to the headstall, he glanced back over the road. There, far to his rear, he discovered a cloud of dust, which a few minutes later resolved itself into a party of horsemen, riding at top speed. "They're after me! Go faster! Go faster!" shouted the lad. As he spoke a rifle cracked somewhere behind him, but as Phil heard no bullet the leaden missile must have fallen far short of the mark.
As he neared the village Phil began to shout and wave his hat. After a time his shouts attracted the attention of some of the people on the circus lot, which was on his side of the village. "It's Emperor coming back!" cried someone. "There's somebody on him," added another. "I'll bet the day's receipts that it's that rascally Phil Forrest," exclaimed Mr. Sparling, examining the cloud of dust with shaded eyes. "How in the world did it ever happen? I've been hunting all over the outfit for that boy this morning. Young Tucker said he thought Phil had remained behind, and I was afraid something had happened to the boy or that he had skipped the show. I might have known better. What's that back of him?" "Somebody chasing them, boss," a tentman informed him. "And they're going to catch old Emperor sure." "Not if I know it," snapped Mr. Sparling. _"Hey, Rube!"_ he howled. Canvasmen, roustabouts, performers and everybody within reach of his voice swarmed out into the open, armed with clubs, stones and anything they could lay their hands upon. "There's a posse trying to catch Phil Forrest and old Emperor. Get a going! Head them off and drive them back!" Every man started on a run, some leaping on horses, clearing the circus lot, riding like so many cowboys. As they approached the lad perched on the bobbing head of the elephant the showmen set up a chorus of wild yells, to which Phil responded by waving his hat. He tried to stand up on Emperor's head, narrowly missing a tumble, which he surely would have taken had not the elephant given him quick support with the ever-handy trunk. "They're shooting at me," cried Phil, as he swept by the showmen. "Line up!" commanded Mr. Sparling. His men stretched across the highway, with the mounted ones in front, his infantry behind. Soon the horsemen of the pursuing party came dashing up and brought their horses to a sudden stop. "What do you want?" "We demand the turning over of the elephant which one of your men stole from us. They've wrecked the blacksmith shop and there'll be a pretty bill of damages to pay! Come now, before we take you back with us." Mr.
