They had been there for nearly two hours when the rails above them began to snap.
"Guess there's a train coming. Just my luck to have it run off the track and fall on me about the time it gets here."
The sound told him the train was coming from the direction his own train had gone sometime before.
"It's a handcar," shouted the lad as a car swung around the bend and straightened out down the track.
"Oh, help," wailed the Fat Woman.
"Hey, hey!" Teddy shouted.
Someone on the handcar waved a hat and shouted back at him.
"It's Phil, it's Phil! They're coming for us, Marie," cried Teddy. "Now, you've got to climb that bank unless you want to stay here and starve to death. Let me tell you it's me for the handcar and a square meal."
Phil, hearing of his companion's misfortune, had requestedMr. Sparling to get him a handcar that he might go in search ofMarie and Teddy. This had been quickly arranged, and with threeItalian trackmen Phil had set out, he himself taking his turn atthe handle to assist in propelling the car.
"What's happened?" shouted Phil, leaping from the car and running down the bank, falling the last half of the way and bringing up in a heap at the feet of Teddy Tucker.
"That's the way we came down, a couple of times," grinned Teddy."Marie took a header into the creek and I went along.Got a rope?"
"Yes, there's one on the handcar. Why?"
"Marie can't get up the bank. You'll have to pull her up."
The rope was hurriedly brought, and after being fastened about her waist, the Italians were ordered to pull, while Phil and Teddy braced themselves against the Fat Woman's waist and pushed with all their might. At last they landed her, puffing and blowing and murmuring for more help, at the top of the embankment. She was quickly assisted to the handcar, when the return journey was begun.
"Next time you fall off a train, I'll bet you go to the bottom alone," growled Teddy. "The show ought to carry a derrick for you."
"Oh, help!" moaned the Fat Woman, gasping for breath as she sat dangling over the rear end of the handcar.
"We shall miss the parade, I fear," announced Phil consulting his watch.
"Well, I don't mind for myself, but I could weep that Fat Marie has to miss it," answered Teddy soberly. "I don't like to see her miss anything that comes her way."
"She doesn't, usually," grinned Phil.
After a long hard pull they succeeded in reaching the next town with their well loaded handcar. With the help of Phil and Teddy, the Fat Lady was led puffing to the circus lot. The parade had just returned and the paraders were hurrying to change their costumes, as the red flag was up on the cook tent. Mr. Sparling saw the Circus Boys and their charge approaching, and motioned them to enter his office tent.
"Where did you find them, Phil?"
"At the bottom of a railroad embankment, about five miles back, according to the mile posts."
"A couple of fine specimens you are," growled the showman."Well, Marie, what have you to say for yourself?"
"I—I fell down the bank."
"Pshaw! What were you doing on the bank?"
"I got off to pick some flowers when the train stopped, and whenI tried to get back I—I couldn't."
"Don't you know it is against the rules of the show to leave the train between stations?"
The Fat Lady nodded faintly.
"Discipline must be maintained in this show. You are fined five dollars, and the next time such a thing happens I'll discharge you. Understand?"
"Help, oh help!" murmured Marie.
Teddy was grinning and chuckling over the Fat Lady's misfortune.
"And, young man, what were you doing off the train?" asked the showman, turning sternly.
"Me? Why, I—I went to Marie's rescue."
"You did, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"I reckon it will cost you five dollars, too."
The grin faded slowly from Teddy's face.
"You—you going to fine me?" he stammered.
"No, I'm not going to. I already have done so."
"It doesn't pay to be a hero. A hero always gets the sharp end of the stick. But who's going to pay me for the clothes I ruined?"
Mr. Sparling surveyed the boy with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes.
"Well, kid, I reckon I shall have to buy you a new suit, at that.Marie!"
"Ye—yes, sir," responded the woman.
"Go downtown and see if you can find some new clothes that will fit you. If not buy two suits and splice them together."
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir."
"Have the bill sent to me. Tucker, you do the same. But remember, discipline must be maintained in this show," warned the owner sternly.
The lesson lasted Teddy for a few hours; then he forgot all about it. But he was made the butt of the jokes of the dressing tent for several days.
That afternoon Phil, while attending to some correspondence for Mr. Sparling, had occasion to write to a trapeze performer about booking with the Sparling show for the coming season.
"I have been thinking, Mr. Sparling," said Phil, "that I should like to perform on the flying trapeze next season. You know I have been practicing for sometime."
Mr. Sparling glanced up from his papers.
"I'm not surprised. I guess that's the only thing you haven't done in the show thus far."
"I haven't been a fat woman or a living skeleton yet," laughed Phil.
"What can you do on the bars?"
"I can do all that your performers do. Sometimes I think I might be able to do more. I can do passing leaps, two-and-a-halfs, birds' nest and all that sort of thing."
"Is it possible? I had no idea you had gotten that far along."
"Yes. I have been wishing for a chance to see how I could work before an audience."
"Haven't you enough to do already?"
"Well, I suppose I have, but you know I want to get along. The season is nearly closed now, and I shall not have another opportunity before next spring, possibly. As long as you are going to engage some other performers for next year I rather thought it might be a good plan to offer myself for the work."
"Why, Phil, why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't like to."
"You can have anything in this show that you want. You know that, do you not?"
"Yes, sir," answered the Circus Boy in a low tone. "And I thank you very much."
"When do you want to go on?"
"Any time you think best. Would you prefer to have me go through a rehearsal?"
"Not necessary. You have been practicing with Mr. Prentice, the head of the trapeze troupe, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"If you say you are fit, I am willing to take your word for it. In view of the fact that you already have worked with the aerial people all you will have to do will be to go on. I shall enjoy seeing you do so, if you think you can stand the added work."
"I can do so easily. When shall I try it?"
"Whenever you wish."
"What do you say to trying it tonight?"
"Certainly; go on tonight, if you want to. I'll make it a point to be on hand and watch the act."
"Thank you, very much. You are more kind to me than I have any reason to expect."
"No such thing," snapped the showman. "Send Mr. Prentice to me and I will give the necessary orders."
Phil, full of pleasurable anticipation, hurried to convey the good news to Mr. Prentice. The result was that, instead of four performers appearing in the great aerial act that evening, there were five.
Phil shinned the rope to the trapeze perch, hand over hand, the muscles standing out on his arms as he made the ascent, with as much ease as he would walk to the dressing room, and perhaps even with less effort.
Phil, with perfect confidence in himself, swung out and back to give himself the momentum necessary to carry him to where Mr. Prentice was now hanging head down ready to catch him.
The catcher slapped his palms sharply together, the signal that on the return flight Phil was to let go and throw himself into the waiting arms of the other.
In a graceful, curving flight the Circus Boy landed in the iron grip of Mr. Prentice, and on the return sweep sprang lightly into the air, deftly catching his own trapeze bar which carried him to his perch.
Next he varied his performance by swinging off with his back to the catcher, being caught about the waist, then thrown back to meet his trapeze bar.
"He's the most graceful aerial performer I ever saw on a bar," declared Mr. Sparling. "He is a wonder."
The next variation of the act was what is known as a "passing leap," where, while the catcher is throwing one performer back to his trapeze bar, a second one is flying toward the catcher, the two supple bodies passing in the air headed in opposite directions. In this case, his opposite partner was a young woman, the successor to little Zoraya who had been so severely injured earlier in the season.
"Fine, Phil!" she breathed as they passed each other, and theCircus Boy's face took on a pleased smile.
"Try a turn next time," said Mr. Prentice, as he threw Phil lightly into the air toward his trapeze. "Think you can do it?"
"I can try, at least."
Phil got a wide swing and then at a signal from the catcher, shot up into the air. He threw a quick somersault, then stretched out his hands to be caught. He was too low down for Mr. Prentice to reach him and Phil shot toward the net head first.
Though he had lost his bearings during the turn he had not lost his presence of mind.
"Turn!" shouted a voice from below, the watchful ringmaster having observed at once that the lad was falling, and that he was liable to strike on his head in the net with the possible chance of breaking his neck.
Phil understood, then, exactly what his position was, and, with a slight upward tilt of his head, brought his body into position so that he would strike the net on his shoulders.
He hit the net with a smack, bounded high into the air, rounding off his accident by throwing a somersault on the net, bounding up and down a few times on his feet.
The audience, quick to appreciate what he had done, gave Phil a rousing cheer.
He shook his head and began clambering up the rope again.
"What happened to me?" he called across to the catcher.
"You turned too quickly."
"I'll do it right this time."
The band stopped playing, that its silence might emphasize the act. Then Phil, measuring his distance with keen eyes, launched into the air again. But instead of turning one somersault he turned two, landing fairly into the outstretched arms of Mr. Prentice, who gave him a mighty swing, whereat Phil hurled himself into a mad whirl, performing three more somersaults before he struck the net.
The audience howled with delight, and Mr. Sparling rushed forward fairly hugging the Circus Boy in his delight.
"Wonderful!" cried the showman. "You're a sure-enough star this time."
>From that moment on, until the close of the season, Phil Forrest retained his place on the aerial trapeze team, doubling up with his other work, and putting the finishing touches to what Mr. Sparling called "a great career on the bars."
But Phil, much as he loved the work, did not propose to spend all his life performing above the heads of the people. He felt that a greater future was before him on the ground at the front of the house.
Only a week remained now before the show would close for the season. Even in Texas, where they were showing, the nights had begun to grow chilly, stiffening the muscles of the performers and making them irritable. All were looking forward to the day when the tents should be struck for the last time that season.
"What's the next stand?" asked Phil in the dressing tent a few nights after his triumphal performance on the trapeze.
"Tucker, Texas," answered a voice.
"What's that?" shouted a clown.
"Tucker, I said."
"Any relation to Teddy Tucker?"
"I hope not," laughed the head clown.
"A place with that name spells trouble. Anything by the name of Tucker, whether it's Teddy or not, means that we are in for some kind of a mix-up. I wish I could go fishing tomorrow."
All in the dressing tent chuckled at the clown's sally.
"I know what you'd catch if you did," grumbled Teddy.
"Now, what would I catch, young man?" demanded the clown.
"You'd catch cold. That's all you can catch," retorted Teddy, whereat the laugh was turned on the clown, much to the latter's disgust.
Tucker proved to be a pretty little town on the open plain. There was nothing in the appearance of the place to indicate that they might look for trouble. However, as the clown had prophesied, trouble was awaiting them—trouble of a nature that the showman dreads from the beginning to the end of the circus season.
The afternoon performance passed off without a hitch, the tent being crowded almost to its capacity, Phil Forrest throwing himself into his work in the air with more spirit and enthusiasm than he had shown at any time since he took up his new work.
At Mr. Sparling's request, however, the lad had omitted his triple somersault from the trapeze bar. The showman considered the act too dangerous, assuring Phil that sooner or later he would be sure to break his neck.
Phil laughed at the owner's fears, but promised that he would try nothing beyond a double after that. He remembered how quickly he had lost himself when he attempted the feat before. Few men are able to do it without their brains becoming so confused that they lose all sense of direction and location.
The evening house was almost as large as that of the afternoon, as usual the audience being made up principally of town people, the country spectators having returned to their homes before night. The night set in dark and oppressive.
Soon after the gasoline lights were lighted the animals began growling, pacing their cages restlessly, while the lions roared intermittently, and the hyenas laughed almost hysterically.
It sent a shiver down the backs of nearly everyone who heard it— the shrill laugh of the hyenas reaching clear back to the dressing tent.
Teddy Tucker's eyes always grew large when he heard the laugh of the hyena.
"B-r-r-r!" exclaimed Teddy.
"You'll 'b-r-r-r' worse than that before you get through," growled a performer.
"Why?"
" 'Cause it means what somebody said the other night—trouble."
"What kind of trouble does it mean?" asked Phil.
"I don't know. Some kind of a storm, I guess. You can't always tell. Those animals know more than we human beings, when it comes to weather and that sort of thing," broke in Mr. Miaco the head clown.
"Well, you expected something would happen in a town calledTucker, didn't you?"
"Are you going to be with this show next season, Teddy?" questioned the clown who had taunted him before.
"I hope to."
"Then I sign out with some other outfit. I refuse to travel with a bunch that carries a hoodoo like you with it. I feel it in my bones that something is going to happen tonight, and just as soon as I can get through my act I'm going to run—run, mind you, not walk—back to the train as fast as my legs will carry me. That won't be any snail's pace, either."
The performers joked and passed the time away until the band started the overture, off under the big top. This means that it is about time for the show to begin, and that the music is started to hurry the people to their seats.
All hands fell silent as they got busy putting the finishing touches to their makeup.
"All acts cut short five minutes tonight," sang the voice of the ringmaster at the entrance to the dressing tent.
"You see," said the clown, nodding his head at Teddy.
"No, I hear," grumbled Teddy. "What's it all about?"
"Don't ask me. I don't know. I'm not running this show."
"Lucky for the show that you aren't," muttered the Circus Boy.
"What's that?"
"I was just thinking out loud, I guess."
"It's a bad habit. Don't do it when I'm around. All hoodoos talk to themselves and in their sleep."
The show was started off with a rush, the Grand Entry having been cut out again, as is frequently the case with a show where there is a long run ahead, or a storm is expected. That night those in the dressing tent could only surmise the reason. The hyena's warning was the only thing to guide the performers in their search for a reason for the haste. But they took the situation philosophically, as they always had, and prepared for the performance as usual.
The performance had gotten along well toward the end, and without the slightest interruption. All hands were beginning to feel a certain sense of relief, when the shrill blasts of the boss canvasman's emergency whistle were heard outside the big top.
Phil had just completed his trapeze act and was dropping into the net when the whistle sounded.
He glanced up and made a signal to the others in the air. They dropped, one by one, to the net and swung themselves to the ground, where they stood awaiting the completion of the piece that the band was playing.
"Wind, isn't it?" questioned Mr. Prentice.
Phil nodded.
He was listening intently. His keen ears caught a distant roar that caused him to gaze apprehensively aloft.
"I am afraid we are going to have trouble," he said.
"It has been in the air all the evening," was the low answer."Wonder if they have the menagerie tent out of the way?"
It was being taken down at that moment, the elephants having been removed to the train, as had part of the cages.
All at once there was a roar that sent the blood from the faces of the spectators. The boss canvasman's whistle trilled excitedly.
"There go the dressing tents," said Phil calmly as a ripping and rending was heard off by the paddock. "I hope it hasn't taken my trunk with it. Glad I locked the trunk before coming into the ring."
The band stopped playing suddenly. The tent was in absolute silence.
"It's a cyclone!" shouted a voice among the spectators.
A murmur ran over the assemblage. In a moment they would be in a mad rush, trampling each other under foot in their efforts to escape.
Phil bounded toward the band.
"Play! Play!" he shouted. "They'll stampede if you don't.Play, I tell you!"
The bandmaster waved his baton and the music of the band drowned out the mutterings of the storm for the moment.
Suddenly the roaring without grew louder. Ropes were creaking, center and quarter poles lifting themselves a few inches from the ground, dangerously.
"It's blowing end on," muttered Phil, running full speed down the concourse in his ring costume.
"Keep your seats!" he shouted. "There may be no danger. If the tent should go down you will be safer where you are. Keep your seats, everybody."
Phil dashed on, shouting his warning until he had gotten halfway around the tent. Mr. Prentice had taken up the lad's cry on the other side.
Then the blow fell.
The big top bent under the sweep of the gale until the center poles were leaning far over to the north. Had the wind not struck the tent on the end it must have gone down under the first blast. As it was, canvas, rope and pole were holding, but every stitch of canvas and every pole was trembling under its burden.
"Sit steady, everybody! We may be able to weather it."
Phil saw that, if the people were to run into the arena and the tent should fall, many must be crushed under the center and quarter poles.
Up and down he ran shouting words of encouragement, and he was thus engaged when Mr. Sparling worked his way in from the pad room, as the open enclosure between the two dressing tents is called. Phil had picked up the ringmaster's whip and was cracking it to attract the attention of the people to what he was trying to tell them.
Somehow, many seemed to gain confidence from this plucky, slender lad clad in silk tights, who was rushing up and down as cool and collected as if three thousand persons were not in deadly peril.
Nothing but Phil Forrest's coolness saved many from death that night.
A mighty roar suddenly drew every eye in the tent to the south end where the wind was pressing against the canvas with increasing force.
Phil stood near the entrance, the flap of which had been quickly laced and staked down when the canvasmen saw the gale coming upon them.
He turned quickly, for the roar had seemed to be almost at his side. What he saw drew an exclamation from Phil that, at other times, might have been humorous. There was no humor in it now.
"Gracious!" exclaimed the lad.
There, within twenty feet of him stood a lion, a huge, powerful beast, with head up, the hair standing straight along its back, the mane rippling in the breeze.
"It's Wallace," breathed the lad, almost unable to believe his eyes. The biggest lion in captivity, somehow in the excitement had managed to escape from his cage.
"Now there'll be a panic for sure! They've seen him!"
"Sit still and keep still! He won't hurt you!" shouted Phil."Now, you get out of here!" commanded Phil, starting towardWallace and cracking the ringmaster's whip in the animal's face.
Just for the briefest part of a second did Wallace give way, then with a terrific roar, he bounded clear over the Circus Boy's head, bowling Phil over as he leaped, and on down to the center of the arena.
Phil had not been hurt. He was up and after the dangerous beast in a twinkling. The audience saw what he was trying to do.
"Keep away from him!" bellowed Mr. Sparling.
"Throw a net over him!" shouted Phil.
However, between the storm and the escaped lion, none seemed to have his wits about him sufficiently to know what was best to do. Had the showmen acted promptly when Phil called, they might have been able to capture the beast then and there.
Seeing that they were not going to do so, and that the lion was walking slowly toward the reserved seats, Phil sprang in front of the dangerous brute to head him off.
The occupants of the reserved seats were standing up. The panic might break at any minute.
"Sit down!" came the command, in a stern, boyish voice.
Phil faced the escaped lion, starting toward it with a threatening motion of the whip.
"Are you ever going to get a net?"
"Get a net!" thundered Mr. Sparling. "Get away from him, Phil!"
Instead of doing so, the Circus Boy stepped closer to the beast. No one made the slightest move to capture the beast, as Phil realized might easily be done now, if only a few had the presence of mind to attempt it.
Crack!
The ringmaster's whip in Phil's hands snapped and the leather lash bit deep into the nose of Wallace.
With a roar that sounded louder than that of the storm outside the lion took a quick step forward, only to get the lash on his nose again.
Suddenly he turned about and in long, curving bounds headed for the lower end of the tent. Mr. Sparling sprang to one side, knowing full well that it would be better to lose the lion than to stir up the audience more than they already were stirred.
Phil was in full pursuit, cracking his whip at every jump.
Wallace leaped through the open flap at the lower end of the tent and disappeared in the night.
Just as he did so there came a sound different from anything that had preceded it. A series of reports followed one another until it sounded as if a battery of small cannon were being fired, together with a ripping and tearing and rending that sent every spectator in the big tent, to his feet yelling and shouting.
"The tent is coming down! The tent is coming down!"
Women fainted and men began fighting to get down into the arena.
"Stay where you are!" shouted Phil. Then the Circus Boy did a bold act. Running along in front of the seats he let drive the lash of his long whip full into the faces of the struggling people. The sting of the lash brought many of them to their senses. Then they too turned to help hold the others back.
With a wrench, the center poles were lifted several feet up into the air.
"Look out for the quarter poles! Keep back or you'll be killed!" shouted Phil.
"Keep back! Keep back!" bellowed Mr. Sparling.
And now the quarter poles—the poles that stand leaning toward the center of the arena, just in front of the lower row of seats—began to fall, crashing inward, forced to the north.
The center poles snapped like pipe stems, pieces of them being hurled half the length of the tent.
Down came the canvas, extinguishing the lights and leaving the place in deep darkness. The people were fairly beside themselves with fright. But still that boyish voice was heard above the uproar:
"Sit still! Sit still!"
The whole mass of canvas collapsed and went rolling northward like a sail suddenly ripped from the yards of a ship.
The last mighty blow of the storm had been more than canvas and painted poles could stand.
For a moment there was silence. Then the people began shouting.
"Bring lights, men!" thundered the owner of the show.
Being so near the outer edges of the tent, the people had escaped almost without injury. Many had been bruised as the canvas swept over them, knocking them flat and some falling all the way through between the seats to the ground, where they were in little danger.
"Wait till the lights come! Phil! Phil!"
Phil Forrest did not answer. He had been knocked clear into the center of the arena by a falling quarter pole, and stunned. The Circus Boy's head was pretty hard, however, and no more than a minute had passed before he was at work digging his way out of the wreck.
"Phillip!"
"Here!"
"Thank heaven," muttered the showman. "I was afraid he had been killed. Are you all right?" Mr. Sparling made his way in Phil's direction.
"Yes. How—how many were killed?"
"I hope none," replied Mr. Sparling. "As soon as the lights are on and all this stuff hauled out of the way we shall know."
Most of the canvas had been blown from the circus arena proper so that little was left there save the seats, a portion of the bandstand, the wrecks of the ruined poles and circus properties, together with some of the side walls, which still were standing.
By this time the tornado, for such it had developed into, had passed entirely and the moon came out, shining down into the darkened circus arena, lighting it up brightly.
About that time torches were brought. The people had rushed down from the seats as soon as the big top had blown away.
"I want all who have been injured to wait until I can see them," shouted Mr. Sparling. "Many of you owe your lives to this young man. Had you started when the blow came many of you would have been killed. Has anyone been seriously hurt?"
A chorus of "no's" echoed from all sides.
The showman breathed a sigh of relief. A bare half dozen had to be helped down from the seats, where they had been struck by flying debris, but beyond that no one obeyed Mr. Sparling's request to remain.
The men had run quickly along under the seats to see if by any chance injured persons had fallen through. They helped a few out and these walked hurriedly away, bent on getting off the circus lot as quickly as possible after their exciting experiences.
"No one killed, Phil."
"I'm glad of that. I'm going to look for Wallace. Better get your men out right away, or he'll be too far away for us ever to catch him again. Have the menagerie men gone to look for him?"
"I don't know, Phil. You will remember that I have been rather busily engaged for the past ten or fifteen minutes."
"We all have. Well, I'm going to take a run and see if I can get track of the lion."
"Be careful. Better get your clothes on the first thing you do."
"Guess he hasn't any. His trunk and mine have gone away somewhere," nodded Teddy.
"Never mind the clothes. I'm on a lion hunt now," laughed Phil, starting from the enclosure on a run.
"Nothing can stop that boy," muttered Mr. Sparling. The owner was all activity now, giving his orders at rapid-fire rate. First, the men were ordered to gather the canvas and stretch it out on the lot so an inventory might be taken to determine in what shape the show had been left. Others were assigned to search the lot for show properties, costumes and the like, and in a very short time the big, machine-like organization was working methodically and without excitement.
It must not be thought that nothing was being done toward catching the escaped lion. Fully fifty men had started in pursuit immediately after the escape. They had been detained for a few minutes by the blow down, after which every man belonging to the menagerie tent, who could be spared, joined in the chase.
The lion cage, one of the few left remaining on the lot, had been blown over as it was being taken away. The shock had burst open the rear door and Wallace was quick to take advantage of the opportunity to regain his freedom. An iron-barred partition separated him from his mate. Fortunately this partition had held, leaving the lioness still confined in the cage.
The attendants quickly righted the cage, making fast the door so that there might be no repetition of the disaster.
Seeing Phil hurrying away Teddy took to his heels also, and within a short distance caught up with his companion.
"You going to look for that lion, Phil?"
"Yes."
"So am I."
"You had better stay here, Teddy. You might get hurt."
"What about yourself?"
"Oh, I'm not afraid," laughed Phil.
"Don't you call me a coward, Phil Forrest. I've got as much sand as you have any time."
"Why, I didn't call you a coward. I—"
"Yes, you did; yes, you did!"
"Don't let's quarrel. Remember we are on a lion hunt just now. Hey, Bob." hailed Phil, discovering one of the menagerie attendants.
"Hello."
"Which way did he go?"
"We don't know. When the blow down came we lost all track of Wallace. He's probably headed for the open country."
"Where are the searchers?"
"All over. A party went west, another north and the third to the east."
"What about the village—did no one go that way to hunt for him?"
"No; he wouldn't go to town."
"Think not?"
"Sure of it."
"Why not?"
"He'd want to get away from the people as quick as he could. You don't catch Wallace going into any town or any other place where there's people."
"I noticed that he came in under the big top where there were about three thousand of them," replied Phil dryly.
"He was scared; that's what made him do that."
"And that very emotion may have sent him into the town.I'm going over there to start something on my own hook.Are you going along Teddy?"
"You bet I am. I always did like to hunt lions."
"When you are sure you are going away from the lion, instead of in his direction," suggested Phil, laughingly. "What's that you have in your hand?"
"It's an iron tent stake I picked up on the lot. I'll fetch him a wallop that'll make him see stars if I catch close enough sight of him."
"I don't think you will get quite that close to Wallace."
"I'll show you."
By this time the word had spread all over town that the whole menagerie of the Sparling Combined Shows had escaped. The streets were cleared in short order. Here and there, from an upper window, might be seen the whites of the frightened eyes of a Negro peering down, hoping to catch sight of the wild beasts, and fearful lest he should. "If it was an elephant we might trail him," suggested Teddy.
"That's not a half bad idea. The dust is quite thick. I wish we had thought to bring a torch with us."
"I'll tell you where we can get one."
"Where?"
"One of the markers set up to guide the wagon drivers to the railroad yards. There's a couple on the next street above here. I saw them just a minute ago."
"Teddy you are a genius. And to think I have known you all this time and never found it out before. Come on, we'll get the torches."
They started on a run across an open lot, then turning into the street above, saw the torches flaring by the roadside half a block away. Jerking the lights up the lads ran back to the street they had previously left.
"Where shall we look?"
"We might as well begin right here, Teddy. I can't help believing that Wallace is somewhere in the town. I don't believe, for a minute, that he would run off into the country. If he has he'll be back in a very short time. You remember what I tell you. If we can get track of him we'll follow and send word back to the lot so they can come and get him."
"Why not catch him ourselves?"
"I don't think we two boys had better try that. I am afraid it would prove too much for us."
"I've got a tent stake. I'm not afraid. Why didn't you bring a club?"
"I have the ringmaster's whip. I prefer that to a club when it comes to meeting a wild lion. Hello, up there!" called Phil, discovering two men looking out of a window above him.
"Hello yourself. You fellows belong to the circus?"
"Yes. Have you seen anything of a lion around this part of the town?"
"A tall fellow about my size, with blue eyes and blonde hair," added Teddy.
"Stop your fooling, Teddy."
"A lion?"
"Yes."
"Only one?"
"That's all," replied Phil a bit impatiently. "Have you seen him?"
"Why, we heard the whole menagerie had escaped."
"That is a mistake. Only one animal got away—the lion."
"No; we haven't seen him, but we heard him a little while ago."
"Where, where?" questioned the boy eagerly.
"Heard him roar, and it sounded as if he was off in that direction."
"O, thank you, thank you," answered Phil.
"Say, are you in the show did you say?" now catching sight ofPhil's tights under the bright moonlight.
"Yes."
"What do you do?"
"I am in the big trapeze act, the flying rings and a few other little things."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Well, you'll have to excuse us. We must be going."
"You boys are not going out after that lion alone, are you?"
"Yes, of course."
"Great Caesar! What do you think of that? Wait a minute; we'll get our guns and join you."
"Please, I would rather you would not. We don't want to kill the lion, you see."
"Don't want to kill him?" questioned the man in amazement.
"Certainly not. We want to capture him. If the town's people will simply stay in their homes, and not bother us, we shall get him before morning and no one will be the worse for his escape. Wallace is worth a few thousand dollars, I suppose you are aware. Come along, Teddy."
Leaving the two men to utter exclamations of amazement, the lads started off in the direction indicated by the others.
"What did I tell you, Teddy? That lion is in the town at this very minute. He's probably eating up someone's fresh meat by this time. Hold your torch down and keep watch of the street. You keep that side and I'll watch this. We will each take half of the road."
The Circus Boys had been around the animals of the menagerie for nearly three years now, it will be remembered, and they had wholly lost that fear that most people outside the circus feel for the savage beasts of the jungle. They thought little more of this lion hunt, so far as the danger was concerned, than if they had been chasing a runaway circus horse or tame elephant.
All at once Teddy Tucker uttered an exclamation.
"What is it?"
"I've landed the gentleman."
"You sure?"
"Yes; here are his tracks."
"That's so; you have. Don't lose them now. We'll run him down yet. Won't Mr. Sparling be pleased?"
"I reckon he will. But we have got to catch the cat first before we can please anybody. I wonder how we're going to do it?"
"We shall see about that later."
The boys started on a trot, holding their torches close to the ground. Their course took them about on another street leading at right angles to the one they had been following.
All at once they seemed to have lost the trail. Before them stood a handsome house, set well back in a green lawn. The house was lighted up, and evidently some kind of an entertainment was going on within.
"He's gone over in some of these yards," breathed Phil. "Let's take the place that's lighted up, first. He'd be more likely to go where there is life. He—"
Phil's words were cut short by a shriek of terror from the lighted house followed by another and another.
"He's there! Come on!"
Both boys vaulted the fence and ran to the front door. By this time shriek upon shriek rent the air. The lads burst into the house without an instant's hesitation.
"Upstairs!" cried Phil, bounding up three steps at a time.
A woman, pale and wide-eyed, had pointed that way when she saw the two boys in their circus tights and realized what they had come there for.
In a large room a dozen people, pale and frightened were standing, one man with hand on the door ready to slam it shut at first sign of the intruder.
"Where—where is he?" demanded Phil breathlessly.
"We were playing cards, and when somebody looked up he saw that beast standing in the door here looking in. He—he went down in the back yard. Maybe you will be able to see him if you go in the room across the hall there. There's a yard fenced off there for the dogs to run in."
Phil bounded across the hall followed by two of the men.
"Does that stairway lead down into the back yard?" questioned Phil.
"Yes, yes."
"Was the door open?"
"Yes, yes."
"Is it open now?"
"Yes. We can feel the draft."
"Show me into the room and I'll take a look."
One of the men, who evidently lived in the house, stepped gingerly across the hall, turned the knob and pushed the door in ever so little. Phil and Teddy, with torches still in hand, crowded in.
As they did so their guide uttering a frightened yell, slammed the door shut, and Phil heard a bolt shoot in place.
The boys found themselves in a large room running the full depth of the house. It had been rigged up, as a gymnasium, with the familiar flying rings, parallel bars and other useful equipment.
All this they saw instinctively. But what they saw beyond all this caused the Circus Boys to pause almost spellbound.
"He's in there! He's in there!" shouted half a dozen voices at the same moment. Then the lads heard the people rush down the stairs and out into the street shouting and screaming for help.
Crouching in the far corner of the room, lashing its tail, its evil eyes fixed upon them, was the lion Wallace.
"Wow!" breathed Teddy.
Phil with eyes fixed upon the lion reached back one hand and tried the door behind him. It was locked.
"Teddy, don't make any sudden moves," cautioned Phil in a low voice. "We're locked in. Give me your torch. Now edge over to that open window and drop out. We can't both try it, or Wallace will be upon us in a flash. When you get out, run for the lot. Run as you never ran before. Get the men here. Have them rush Wallace's cage here. Be careful until you get out. Those people have locked us in. I shouldn't dare open the door anyway, now, for he'd catch us before we could get out. I know the ways of these tricky cats."
"Phil, he'll kill you!"
"He won't. I've got the torches. They're the best weapons a man could have—they and the whip."
Teddy edged toward the window while Phil with a stern command to the lion to "charge!" at the same time cracking the whip and thrusting the torches toward the beast, checked the rush that Wallace seemed about to make.
Teddy dropped from the window a moment later. Then began an experience for Phil Forrest that few boys would have had the courage to face.
Not for an instant did the Circus Boy lose his presence of mind. He took good care not to crowd Wallace, giving him plenty of room, constantly talking to him as he had frequently heard the animal's keeper do, and keeping the beast's mind occupied as much as he could.
Now and then Wallace would attempt to creep up on Phil, whereupon the lad would start forward thrusting the torches before him and crack the whip again. Wallace was afraid of fire, and under the menacing thrusts of the torches would back cowering into his corner.
For a full half hour did Phil Forrest face this deadly peril, cool, collected, his mind ever on the alert, standing there in his pink tights, almost a heroic figure as he poised in the light of the flaring torches, the smoke of which got into his lungs and made him cough. He did all he could to suppress this, for it disturbed and irritated Wallace, who showed his disapproval by swishing his tail and uttering low, deep growls of resentment.
Phil backed away a little so as to get nearer the window that he might find more fresh air. Wallace followed. Phil sprang at him.
"Charge!" he commanded making several violent thrusts with the torches, at which Wallace backed away again and crouched lower. Phil saw that the lion was preparing to jump over his head; and, discovering this, the lad held one torch high above his head and kept it swaying there from side to side.
Suddenly he made another discovery.
The light seemed to be growing dim. A quick glance at the flames of the torches told him what the trouble was.
He dared not let his eyes dwell on the flame for more than a brief instant for the glare would so blind him that he would not be able to clearly make out the lion. To lose sight of Wallace for a few seconds might mean a sudden and quick end to Phil Forrest, and he knew it full well.
The lad backed a bit closer to the window, keeping his torches moving rapidly to hide his movements.
Wallace, watching the torches did not observe the action.
"The torches are going out," breathed Phil. "If the folks don't come soon I've got to jump through window glass and all or Wallace will spring."
Phil was in a desperate situation.
"Down, Wallace! Charge!"
The Circus Boy's whip cracked viciously, while the dying torches formed thin circles of fire as they were swung above the lad's head.
"I shan't be able to hold him off much longer. Wallace knows, as well as I do, that his turn is coming in a short time. If I happen to be within reach then, something surely is going to happen. Hark! What's that?"
Distant shouts were borne faintly to Phil's ears. He listened intently, catching another and welcome sound. The latter was the rumble of a heavy wagon, being driven rapidly along the paved street of the town.
"It's a circus wagon," breathed the lad, recognizing the sound instantly. "I hope it is the wagon."
He listened intently, keeping the torches moving, now and then cracking his whip and uttering sharp commands to Wallace.
The animal was growing more and more restless. His wild instincts were returning to him.
The torches were so low, now, that Phil could scarcely see the beast. Then, all at once, he realized that Wallace was creeping toward him unmindful of the lash or of the fading torches.
Phil waited, peering into the shadows. He was not afraid, as he recalled his sensations afterwards; but a strange little thrill seemed to be racing up and down his spinal column.
Then the lad did a daring thing. He sprang forward to meet Wallace. The astonished lion halted for a brief instant, and in that instant the Circus Boy thrust one of the torches full in his face. The flame burned the nose of the king of beasts and singed his brow as well.
Uttering a mighty roar Wallace cleared the floor, springing backwards and landing against the wall with such force as to jar several panes of glass from the window nearby.
"Phil! Phil! Are you there?" came a hesitating voice from behind the lad. It was the voice of Teddy Tucker on a ladder at one side of the window from which he had jumped earlier in the evening.
"Yes, yes. Be careful. Did you bring them?"
"We've got the cage. Mr. Sparling is here, too. He's half worried to death. What shall we do?"
"Have them draw the cage up in the back yard and back it against the open door. When that's done some of you come upstairs and throw the door open. Be sure to leave a light in the hall, but jump into the room across the hall as soon as you open the door. Wallace will scent his mate and I'll wager he'll trot right downstairs and jump into his cage. Have someone standing by to close the doors on him. Hurry now. Tell them my torches won't last five minutes longer."
Teddy slid down the ladder without waiting to place feet or hand on the rungs, and Phil's anxious ears told him the men were drawing the cage around to the rear yard.
Soon he heard footsteps on the back stairs. Wallace was showing new signs of agitation.
"All ready, in there?"
"All ready," answered Phil.
Teddy jerked the door open and leaping across the hall, shut himself in the room opposite. Wallace paused, his tail beating the wall behind him; then uttering a roar that shook the building, the shaggy beast leaped into the hall. There he paused for an instant. One bound took him to the foot of the stairs. The next landed him in the cage next to his mate. The cage doors closed behind him with a metallic snap.
Wallace was safe.
"Got him!" shouted a voice from below.
Phil drew a long sigh of relief. Someone dashed up the stairs on a run. It was Mr. Sparling. He grabbed Phil Forrest in his arms, hugging him until the dead torches fell to the floor with a clatter and the lad begged to be released.
"My brave Phil, my brave boy!" breathed the showman. "No one but you could have done a thing like that. You have saved the lives of many people this night, and what is more you have captured the most valuable lion in the world—you and Teddy. I don't know what to say nor how to say it. I—"
"I wouldn't try were I in your place," grinned Phil. "I presume you will have to settle with these people for the slight damage that has been done to their house."
"I'll settle the bills; don't you worry about that."
"Any more lions lying around loose in here?" questioned Teddy, poking his head in through the open door. "I and my little club are ready for them if there are."
"Shall we be going, Mr. Sparling?"
"Yes."
Together the three made their way down the stairs just as the cage was being driven from the yard. As soon as he could find the owner of the house the showman paid him for the damages.
"What shape is the big top in?" asked Phil as they walked slowly back toward the lot.
"Bad, very bad. I might say that it comes pretty near being a hopeless wreck. Still it may be patched up."
"I am sure of it. I know a blown-down tent is not half as hopeless as it looks. I saw the Robinson shows with a blown-down tent once."
"I have been thinking the matter over, Phil."
"Yes."
"We have only a few days more to go before the close of the season, and it seems to me that the best plan would be to close right here and go in. What do you think?"
"I think," answered Phil Forrest slowly, "that I should turn all hands loose and fix that tent up so the show will be able to make the next stand and give a performance by tomorrow night at latest. It can be done. If the tent is too badly torn to set up a six pole show, make it a four pole show, or use the menagerie tent for the circus performance. I should never have it said that the Sparling Combined Shows were put out of business by a gale of wind."
Mr. Sparling halted.
"Phil, there is an old saying to the effect that you can't 'teach an old dog new tricks.' It's not true. You have taught me a new trick. The Sparling shows shall go on to the close of the season. We'll make the next town, somehow, and we'll give them a show the like of which they never before have seen."
"If they had been here tonight they would have seen one such as they never saw before," grinned Teddy.
"Yes."
"A sort of Wild South instead of Wild West show," added the irrepressible Teddy.
All that night the showmen worked, Phil not even taking the time to discard his gaudy ring clothes. The next morning both he and Teddy were sights to behold, but the show had been loaded, and the big top straightened out and put in shape so that it could be pitched when the next town was reached. At last the boys decided to hunt up their trunks. They found them, after a long search. Getting behind a pole wagon they put on their clothes. An hour later they were on their way to the next stand, tired but proud of their achievements and happy.
The news of the accident to the show, as well as the capture of the big lion, Wallace, by the Circus Boys, had preceded them to the next town. Once more Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker were hailed as heroes, which they really had proved themselves to be.
A very fair performance, considering their crippled condition, was given that afternoon. By the next day the show was on its feet again, and from then on to the close of the season, no other exciting incidents occurred.
Two weeks later the big top came down for the last time that year. On the afternoon of that happy day, the associates of the Circus Boys gave a banquet for the two lads under the cook tent, at which Teddy Tucker distinguished himself by making a speech that set the whole tent in an uproar of merriment.
Good-byes were said, and the circus folks departed that night bag and baggage to scatter to the four quarters of the globe, some never to return to the Sparling shows. Phil and Teddy returned to Edmeston to finish their course at the high school, from which they were to graduate in the following spring.
How the lads joined out with the circus the next season will be told in a succeeding volume entitled, "THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI; Or, Afloat with the Big Show on the Big River." This was destined to be one of the most interesting journeys of their circus careers—one filled with new and exciting experiences and thrilling adventures.
Until then we will leave them to continue their studies in the little village of Edmeston.