“Haven’t you heard the news?  I intended to tell you, but must have forgotten.  The last time I was in Strongburg I heard that Riley had resigned, and left the town for the East.”

“I hadn’t heard it.  Then that puts it up to Creviss.”

“But who is the fellow who runs the show?  Ben says his name is Colonel Ben Robinson, and that he is an old circusman down on his luck temporarily.”

“Look around and find out what you can.  They will not suspect you if you ask questions as they would me.  If you find out anything, let me know.”

“All right, Ted, I’ll circulate, and report.”

Ted wandered over to the show tents, and entered them all, with kindly greetings to the performers, who all knew him as the leader of the broncho boys, and asked him if they could be excused from performing while the riding and other cowboy stunts were going forward, and Ted told them to lay off if they wanted to, as most of the guests would be out in the grand stand, anyhow.

In the last tent he entered he found the strong man lifting weights against a lot of husky cow-punchers, and the giant and midget.

But it was the midget that struck him most forcibly.  He had a sly, cunning face and a bad eye, and when Ted came in he tried to hide behind the giant, who picked him up as one would a baby in arms.  But the little fellow wriggled free and climbed down the big man like a monkey down a tree.  Then he slipped across to the middle of the tent and shinned up the pole to the top, and hung there, looking down at Ted.

“What’s the matter with the little fellow?” Ted asked the giant.

“Oh, he ain’t got real good sense,” rumbled the giant.  “His brain stopped growing with his body, I reckon.  But you can teach him tricks the same as you can a dog or a monkey, and he’ll do them all right.  I reckon he’s afraid of you.  He is of some people, the boss in particular.”

“How long have you been with the boss?”

“Not very long.  He just took the show over from the old boss a month ago.  We were going to pieces over to Cheyenne, and he come along and bought us.  He’s been a showman in his time, but says he hasn’t been in the biz for several years.  He knows the biz, though, and has scads of money.  We are well fed and get our salaries regular.  Him and Prince Carl, that’s the midget, are great pals.  The midget sleeps in his tent, and the boss seldom lets him out of his sight.”

“Say, Bellows, how many times have I got to tell you not to stand there gassing with patrons of the show?  Every one don’t want to bother with your theories and troubles.”  Ted turned, to face the boss showman.

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Strong?” he went on.  “I didn’t recognize your back.  It’s all right to talk to you.  But I’ve got to call the giant down once in so often for taking up people’s time, for he’s an awful gabber.”

He walked away, but when Ted tried to get the giant to tell him some more about the midget and the boss, he would not say a word.