Blake was not the first nor the last
confident officer of the law to more than meet his match in the effort
to outwit an old-time road circus. He was butting his head against a
stone wall. Consummate rascality on one hand, unwavering loyalty on
the other: he had but little chance against the combination. The
lowliest peanut-vender was laughing in his sleeve at the sleuth; and
the lowliest peanut-vender kept the vigil as resolutely as any one
else.
Despite his uncomfortable position and the natural thrills of
excitement and peril, David was sound asleep before the wagon was
fairly under way. Complete exhaustion surmounted all other conditions.
He was vaguely conscious of the sombre rumbling of the huge wagon and
of the regular clicking of the wheel-hubs, so characteristic of the
circus caravan and so dear to the heart of every boy. His bones ached,
his stomach was crying out for food, and his body was chilled; but
none of these could withstand the assault of slumber. He would have
slept if Blake's hand had been on his shoulder.
Out into the country rolled the big wagon, at two o'clock in the
morning, following as closely as possible the flickering rear lantern
of the vehicle ahead.
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