complain. Their one thought was of Dora and of the rascals who had carried her off.
"We must get on the track somehow," said Dick. But how, was the question. He could not sleep, and after the others had retired took a long walk, just to settle his nerves.
Dick's walk brought him to the lot where the circus had held forth, and for some time he watched the men as they worked under the flaring gasoline torches, packing up what still remained on the grounds. The tent men had to labor like slaves in rolling up the huge stretches of canvas and in hoisting the long poles into the wagons, and he shook his head grimly as he turned away. "No circus life in mine," he mused—"at least, not that part of it."
Dick had moved away from the grounds but a short distance when his attention was attracted to the strange movements of two rough-looking individuals who were hurrying off with a third man between them.
"I don't want to go, I tell you," the middle man muttered; "I don't want more to drink."
"That's all right, Mr. Castor," said one of the other men glibly. " Just have one more glass, that's a good fellow."
"I won't take it, so there!" cried the man called Castor. "I know when I've had enough."
