He stamped and shook the water from his soaked shoes and clothing.  The mail bag he again suspended across his shoulders.

“Hi, another runaway!” suddenly exclaimed his companion.

Andy traced an increasing clatter of a horse’s hoofs and wagon wheels to a rig descending the hill at breakneck speed.

“No,” he said.  “It’s Ripley.”

“Who’s he?”

“The man who drove that wagon.  Stop! stop!” cried Andy, springing into the middle of the bridge roadway and waving his arms.

The rig came up.  It was driven by a man wearing a badge.  Andy decided he was some local police officer.  Ripley was fearfully excited and his face showed it.

“What did you do with that wagon?” sputtered Ripley, jumping to the plankway.

Andy pointed down at the river bed and then at the distant horse.  Briefly as he could he narrated what had occurred.

Ripley nearly had a fit.  He instantly realized that whoever was to blame for the runaway, it was not Andy.

“Where’s the mail?” he asked.

“There’s the newspaper bag,” said Andy; “here’s the registered mail pouch.  Those thieves took the other bag of mail.”

“They did?  Do you hear, officer?  Get after them quick, won’t you?  Never mind us.  Describe them, kid.”

“How can I, when I never saw them?” said Andy.

Ripley groaned and wrung his hands.  He was in a frenzy of distress and indecision.

“See here,” spoke the officer to him.  “You had better go after that horse.  Your wagon isn’t worth fishing up.  Got all there was in it, lad?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Andy.

“Very well, bundle that bag and those packages in here, and come with me.  It’s good you held on to that registered stuff.”

Ripley started after the runaway horse.  The officer hurried townwards, questioning Andy closely.  He stopped at the post-office and made some inquiries among the crowd loitering about its vicinity.  Then he drove to the town hall, went into his office, jumped in the buggy again, and they proceeded toward the circus.

“I’ve got a vague description of your two men,” he told Andy, “but that isn’t much, with so many strangers in town.  You think they are partners of that Rapp, whom the circus people know?”

“Tapp—­Jim Tapp,” corrected Andy.  “Yes, they mentioned his name.”

“The circus detectives ought to handle this case, then,” said the village officer.  “I’d better see them right away.”

The manager of the show regarded Andy in some wonderment as he and the officer unceremoniously entered his presence.  His excitement increased as Andy recited his story.

“I warned Ripley,” he exclaimed.  “Well, he shan’t play the spoiled pet any longer.  As to you, Wildwood, you deserve credit for your pluck.  I’ll have a talk with you when we get to Tipton.  Too shaken up to do a little general utility work, till I can arrange for something better?”