The crowd that watched this contest was not of the circus. It was a gathering of those who came to the lot at an early hour to watch the Circus City set up shop for the one-day stand in this western metropolis. Some of the onlookers were railroad men, off duty; some were cow hands from nearby ranches; a few Indians from the reservation beyond the willow-fringed Lodgepole Creek, lent their stoical presence, while several soldiers from the newly christened Fort Warren with or without official sanction, were on hand to witness the setup. It was the accepted judgment of those present that the midget and the lout were staging a ballyhoo--a "come-on"--preliminary to the opening of the Kid Show. There was no applause as the little man outwitted his follower by an adroit dodge under the ticket wagon. No one tripped the lout as the race led through the assembled crowd. If the contest was a part of the day's program, no spectator seemed willing to play "stooge" in this preliminary performance. Some distance to the north where the two great tents of the main show came together, a group of workmen were operating a stake driver. In this gang the midget knew he would find understanding friends. If he could gain sufficient distance to undertake this straightaway, he would find help. He dived between a spectator's legs, turned to the right, and ran for this haven of hope. Two things interrupted his plans. A ramshackle auto moved across his path. To avoid collision, the midget veered his course to step in a hole and fall sprawling at the feet of the man clambering out of the machine. His pursuer was on him in an instant. "I tole ye I would cut yer heart out," he panted as he brandished the knife. But before he could execute the threat, the knife was struck from his uplifted hand. The lout screamed with pain as he grabbed his wrist. "Yu've broke my arm," he shouted as he danced around the big man. "Why don't ye pick on one of yer size?" The stranger took in the situation at a glance. The slanting forehead and the evil though childish face revealed a moron with whom words of reason would have little effect. He said nothing. It was the midget who took charge. He scrambled to his feet, took a few deep breaths, brushed the dust off his coat, and ordered the moron back to the side show. "Go back to your mother," he commanded. "Go right back to Mamie and tell her what you've been doing, and tell her all of it. Don't look for your knife; I'll get that for you when you get over your tantrum." The midget watched the retreating figure. "His mother is a fine woman," he explained to the stranger. "Has charge of costumes and assists in makeup. That dunce is with her on a few days vacation from a school for the feeble-minded.