The balloon man's head was poking out of the ground, and the earth was like a damp, lumpy black collar around his neck.
"Well, what do you know!" Tibul said.
The balloon man stared at him with the bright-blue sky reflected in his round eyes.
"I gave the kitchen-boys my balloons. They helped me escape.
Oh, look! There's one of my balloons now."
Tibul looked up and saw a tiny orange ball high up in the sky.
It was indeed one of the balloons the kitchen-boys had let goof.
The three men who were standing on the other side of the fence, trying to think of a plan of attack, also noticed the balloon.
The Spaniard forgot about everything else in the world.
He jumped two feet off the ground, rolled his eye and took aim, for he loved nothing better than target practice.
"Look!" he shouted. "That silly balloon is ten bell-towers high.
I'll bet anybody ten pieces of gold that I can hit it.
There's no better shot than I!"
No one wanted to take him up on the bet, but that didn't stop him.
Both the strong man and the showman were furious.
"You stupid idiot!" the strong man growled. "This is no time to go shooting up balloons!
We have to catch Tibul!
Don't waste your bullets."
It was no use.
The balloon was too tempting a target for the good shot.
The Spaniard took aim again, closing his rolling eye.
Meanwhile, Tibul pulled the balloon man out of the ground.
What a sight he was!
His clothes were covered with icing and syrup, with gobs of mud and lovely candied-fruit stars!
There was a black hole in the ground where Tibul had yanked him up like a cork from a bottle.
Lumps of earth rolled back down the tunnel. It sounded like rain beating on a roof.
The Spaniard pulled the trigger.
But he didn't hit the balloon.
Alas!
All he hit was the showman's green tophat, which was nearly as tall as a bell-tower.
Tibul scaled the next fence and was gone.
The green tophat fell to the ground and rolled off.
The Spaniard looked very embarrassed.
His reputation as the best shot in the country was now ruined.
Not only that, but the showman would never respect him again.
"You scoundrel!" The showman was in a rage. He slammed the paper hoop down over the Spaniard's head.
The paper burst, encircling his neck in a jagged paper collar.
Lapitup, meanwhile, was standing by not knowing what to do.
The neighbourhood dogs were excited by the shot.
One of them dashed round the corner and headed straight for the strong man.
"Run for your life!" he shouted and was off.
The three of them scattered.
The balloon man was left all alone.
He climbed over the fence and looked around.
The three men had tumbled down a green hill.
There Lapitup was hopping along on one foot, holding on to where the dog had nipped his fat leg. The showman had climbed a tree and was hanging on for dear life, looking very-much like an owl. The Spaniard was wagging his head in the paper ring and shooting blindly at the dog, but hitting a scarecrow each time instead.
The dog had come to a stop at the top of the hill. He had apparently decided to stay there.
He was wagging his tail and smiling, with his shiny pink tongue hanging out. He seemed very happy about the bite he had taken out of Lapitup's leg.
CHAPTER SIX
AN UNEXPECTED DELAY