Kit's acts thus far had been confined to the ring, but now a new one was expected from him. Early in the performance a series of flying leaps from a springboard, in which all the acrobats took part, was introduced. From a point thirty feet back the performer ran swiftly till he reached the springboard, from which a leap was made accompanied by a somersault, carrying him over a considerable space in advance.
It was the custom to place first one elephant, thena second, and finally a third, in front of the springboard. There was only one man who could leap over three elephants. The two Vincenti brothers took part regularly, but Kit, being a new hand, had thus far been excused. But one of the regular performers being temporarily unwell, it was considered desirable that his place should be supplied.
"Do you think you can do it?" asked Alonzo Vincenti, somewhat doubtfully.
"Yes," answered Kit, confidently.
"It will be sufficient if you jump over one elephant," continued his associate. "Then you can drop out."
"I can do better than that," said Kit.
"I don't know about that. My brother can only jump over two."
"You jump over three elephants."
"Yes; but I am the only one who can do it. It takes a good spring to clear even two. It won't do to lose your head."
"Can I have a chance to rehearse?"
"Yes, I will speak about it."
"Then I will appear this evening."
"But if you fail you are likely to hurt yourself."
"I know that. That is why I would rather make the first trial in the evening. The lights and the crowd will excite and help me."
Kit was not foolhardy in his undertaking, for he had already had some practice in similar feats with his old teacher. Besides, he was ambitious. In school his ambition had shown itself in his attempt to eclipse his schoolfellows in scholarship. In the gymnasium he had ranked first, and now that he had joined the circus he didn't like to be assigned to a place in the rear.
Let me take the opportunity here to advise my young readers not to imitate Kit in essaying dangerous parts. "Be bold, but not too bold!" is a very good motto.
During the forenoon Kit found an opportunity to practice in the empty tent, in order to settle the question whether he had lost any of his old-time skill. The result was satisfactory, and renewed his confidence.
"I can do better before a tent full of spectators than when practicing by myself," he decided.
The evening came.
Standing near the ticket seller half an hour before the show began, Kit heard his name called.
Turning quickly he saw his friends of the previous day, Mayor Grant and his daughter Evelyn.
"Good evening, my boy!" said the mayor cordially. "We have come to see what you can do."
"Then I hope I shall do myself credit," said Kit, shaking hands with the mayor and his daughter. "Have you engaged seats?"
"Not yet."
"Then let me select them for you."
"With pleasure. I am glad to have a friend at court."
Kit selected seats as near as possible to the ring where he was to perform.
"These are splendid seats," said Evelyn. "How soon do you appear?"
"In a few minutes. I shall have to leave you now, but I will be back after my first act."
"What a nice boy he is, papa!" said Evelyn.
"Yes; it is a pity he is attached to a circus."
"Why? Isn't it a respectable business?"
"Yes; but there are many temptations connectedwith it, and most circus performers never rise any higher."
Evelyn was not inclined to discuss the question, though there is no doubt that she took a more favorable view of the circus profession than her father. The procession had just begun to move round the inner ring of the circus, including the elephants, the riders, the clowns, and performers of all kinds. Kit appeared, as in the public procession, driving a span of ponies.
This was the introduction. Then the various parts of the programme succeeded. Soon Kit performed his act in the ring. He had a new act to-night. Standing on the shoulders of one of the Vincenti brothers, he turned a somersault and landed on the shoulders of the other, standing six to eight feet away.
"I don't see how he does it, papa," said Evelyn. "He must be very smart."
"I see you are determined to make a hero of this young man, Evelyn."
"Don't you admire him yourself, papa?"
"Admire is rather a strong word, daughter. I will admit, however, that I like him, and hope he will soon change his business."
After the act was over, Kit came round and received congratulations. Evelyn repeated what her father said.
"I agree with you, sir," said Kit, "I haven't selected this as my life business, but shall keep my engagement till the end of the season."
"How, on the whole, do you like your new associates? I don't need to be told that they are very different from those to whom you are accustomed."
"They are very kind to me, and generous to each other when there is need. They will divide their last dollar with a friend."
"They often come to their last dollar, don't they?"
"Yes; they can't keep money. They are always in debt when the new season opens, no matter how much they brought home with them at the end of the last."
"Are there no exceptions?"
"Yes, a few. I have heard of one circus manager who commenced as a candy butcher, and now is proprietor of a very fair-sized show. Of course he had to save up money or he would never have succeeded so well."
Kit had to cut short his visit, for the new act, already referred to, was near at hand.
In the list of leapers Kit came last. First of all, there was a simple somersault from the springboard. This was easy. Just after Kit came the clown, who, though really a clever acrobat, stopped short when he came to the board and merely jumped up and down to the amusement of the young spectators.
"He can't jump no more'n I can," said one small boy, contemptuously.
"I shouldn't think they'd let him try," said another.
Both boys were surprised when, in the next trial, where the task was to jump over an elephant, the despised clown made a good spring and landed fairly on his feet.
"I guess he was afraid before," said the first boy.
"No; he only pretended for fun. Do you see that boy? I wonder if he can jump over the elephant."
The question was soon answered. Kit took his turn and sprang with apparent ease over the great beast.
Next another elephant was driven in alongside of the first. Again the leapers advanced to try theirskill. But two held back, not feeling competent for the task. The clown once more made a feint of jumping, but only jumped up and retired apparently filled with confusion.
Evelyn gazed in intense excitement.
"It must be awfully hard to jump like that, papa," she said.
"I don't think I shall ever try it, Evelyn."
Another elephant was driven alongside the other two, making three in all. The other contestants retired, for only Alonzo had succeeded hitherto in executing this difficult feat. He expected to be the only one now, but noticed with surprise that Kit seemed ready to follow him.
"You don't mean to try it, Kit?" he said, in amazement.
"Why not?"
"You will fail, and if you do, you may hurt yourself seriously."
"I shall not fail," said Kit, confidently.
Alonzo looked anxious, but there was no time to expostulate. He ran swiftly to the board, made a vigorous spring, and landed handsomely on the bedding which had been provided beyond. He had scarcely stepped aside, when, to the astonishment of the other acrobats, Kit gathered himself up, ran to the springboard, and exerting himself to the utmost, made his leap, and landed a foot ahead of Alonzo.
Then the tent rang with applause, and there were many exclamations of astonishment, not only among the spectators, but also among the circus performers.
Kit's face flushed with pleasure, and bowing his acknowledgments, he withdrew.
"He is certainly a wonderful boy," said the mayor.
Kit received compliments enough to spoil him, if he had not been strong-minded and level-headed boy. Among others Mr. Barlow, who had been present and witnessed his daring act, took the opportunity to congratulate him.
"You seem to be born for a circus performer, my young friend," he said. "You have come to the front at once."
"Thank you, sir," said Kit. "I am glad that I succeeded, but such success as that does not satisfy my ambition."
"You mean, perhaps, that you want to jump over four, perhaps five elephants?" suggested the manager.
Kit smiled.
"No," he answered; "I don't think I shall venture beyond three. But I don't expect to remain in the circus more than this season."
"That is almost a pity, when you are so well qualified to excel in it."
"Mr. Barlow," said Kit, seriously, "if I were a great manager like you, I would not mind, but I don't care to go through life as a circus performer."
"I don't know but you are right, my boy. In fact I know you are. I shouldn't care to be a performer myself."
"I don't think you would excel in that line," saidKit, with a glance at the portly form of the well-known showman.
"You wouldn't advise me to try jumping over elephants, I infer," said Mr. Barlow, with an amused smile.
"No, sir."
"I will take your advice, my boy. Though your share of worldly experience isn't great, you are certainly correct in that. I shall relieve the fears of Mrs. Barlow at once by telling her that I have decided not to enter the ring."
Kit also received the congratulations of the mayor and Evelyn, but the former added: "Though your act was a daring one, I was almost sorry to see it."
"Why, sir?"
"I feared it would confirm you in your love of your present business."
"No, sir, there is no danger," replied Kit. "I have a fair education already, and prefer to qualify myself for something different."
"I am glad to hear you say so. You are undoubtedly right."
"I must say good-by now," said Kit; "for we get off at midnight."
"Shall you not return this way?"
"No, sir; we are to go West, I hear."
"I hope when the season is over, you will make us a visit. Come and stay a week," said the mayor, hospitably.
"Do come," said Evelyn, earnestly.
"How can I thank you for your kindness to a stranger?" said Kit, gratefully. "I shall certainly avail myself of your hospitality. There are not many who would take such notice of a circus boy."
"You are something more than a circus boy," saidthe mayor, "or I might not have been so drawn to you. Good-by, then, and if you ever need a friend, don't forget that you are at liberty to call upon me."
It was a source of regret to Kit that he was obliged to part with friends whom in so short a time he had come to value so highly. He resolved that he would accept the mayor's offer at the close of the season. He would need a friend and adviser, and he felt confident that Mayor Grant's counsel would be wise and judicious.
Kit was already asleep in his bunk when the circus train started for the next place on the route. When he woke up he was in the town of Colebrook. Here a surprise was in store for him in the shape of a letter from his uncle. When he saw the familiar handwriting and the postmark "Smyrna," he broke the seal with a feeling of curiosity. He did not expect to derive either pleasure or satisfaction from the perusal.
We will look over his shoulder while he is reading the letter.
Nephew Christopher,—I cannot express to you my surprise and disappointment when I rode over to Oakford to see you, and learned from Mr. Bickford that you had run away from his house and joined the circus. There must be something low and depraved in your tastes, that you should thus abandon the prospect of earning a respectable livelihood, and go tramping through the country with a circus. What do you think your father would say if he could come to life, and become aware of the course you have so rashly taken?I should be justified in forcibly removing you from your present associations, and returning you to your worthy employer, Mr. Aaron Bickford, and perhaps it is my duty to do so. But I think it wiser for you to realize for yourself the folly of your course. You have deliberately deserted a good home and a kind guardian and become a tramp, if I may so express myself. I cannot imagine my son Ralph doing such a thing. He is, I hope, too dutiful and too sensible to throw away the advantages which fortune has secured him, to become a mountebank.It is very embarrassing to me to answer questions about you. There are some who will be unjust enough, I doubt not, to blame me for your wild course, but I shall be sustained by the consciousness of my entire innocence in the matter. At great expense I have maintained you and paid the cost of your education, giving you privileges and advantages equal to those I have given my own boy. I have done so cheerfully, because you were my nephew, and I am sorry you have made me so poor a return. But I shall look for my reward to my own conscience, and hope you may yet see the folly and wickedness of your course.I have only to add that when that time comes you are welcome to return to my roof and protection, and I will intercede with your excellent employer, Mr. Bickford, to take you back and teach you his trade, whereby you may be enabled to earn a more respectable living than you are doing at present. Ralph joins with me in this wish.Your uncle,Stephen Watson.
Nephew Christopher,—I cannot express to you my surprise and disappointment when I rode over to Oakford to see you, and learned from Mr. Bickford that you had run away from his house and joined the circus. There must be something low and depraved in your tastes, that you should thus abandon the prospect of earning a respectable livelihood, and go tramping through the country with a circus. What do you think your father would say if he could come to life, and become aware of the course you have so rashly taken?
I should be justified in forcibly removing you from your present associations, and returning you to your worthy employer, Mr. Aaron Bickford, and perhaps it is my duty to do so. But I think it wiser for you to realize for yourself the folly of your course. You have deliberately deserted a good home and a kind guardian and become a tramp, if I may so express myself. I cannot imagine my son Ralph doing such a thing. He is, I hope, too dutiful and too sensible to throw away the advantages which fortune has secured him, to become a mountebank.
It is very embarrassing to me to answer questions about you. There are some who will be unjust enough, I doubt not, to blame me for your wild course, but I shall be sustained by the consciousness of my entire innocence in the matter. At great expense I have maintained you and paid the cost of your education, giving you privileges and advantages equal to those I have given my own boy. I have done so cheerfully, because you were my nephew, and I am sorry you have made me so poor a return. But I shall look for my reward to my own conscience, and hope you may yet see the folly and wickedness of your course.
I have only to add that when that time comes you are welcome to return to my roof and protection, and I will intercede with your excellent employer, Mr. Bickford, to take you back and teach you his trade, whereby you may be enabled to earn a more respectable living than you are doing at present. Ralph joins with me in this wish.
Your uncle,Stephen Watson.
Kit's lip curled when he read this hypocritical letter, and was tempted to despise his uncle more now than ever. He lost no time in sending this reply:
Uncle Stephen,—I have received your letter, and can only express my surprise at the view you take of your treatment of me. Whether my father really left me as destitute as you claim, I am not in a position to say. If you have really gone to personal expense in maintaining and educating me up to this point, I shall, when I am able, reimburse you to the last cent. But I cannot forgive you for your trying to force a boy, reared and educated as I have been, to learn the trade of a blacksmith. You say that I have enjoyed advantages similar to those of your son Ralph. I wish to ask whether you would dream of apprenticing him to any such business.You speak of my low associations, and call me a mountebank. In the town I have just left I was the guest of the mayor, and have promised to spend a week at his house on a visit when the circus season is over. Though you have done your best to lower me socially, I am confident thatI shall be able to win a good place by my own unaided exertions.I have no intention in continuing as a circus performer, though I am very liberally paid. It is too soon for me to decide upon my future course, but you may tell Mr. Bickford he need not wait for me to resume my place in his shop.I do not know when I shall see you or Ralph again, but you need have no fear that I shall appeal to your generosity.Your nephew,Christopher Watson.
Uncle Stephen,—I have received your letter, and can only express my surprise at the view you take of your treatment of me. Whether my father really left me as destitute as you claim, I am not in a position to say. If you have really gone to personal expense in maintaining and educating me up to this point, I shall, when I am able, reimburse you to the last cent. But I cannot forgive you for your trying to force a boy, reared and educated as I have been, to learn the trade of a blacksmith. You say that I have enjoyed advantages similar to those of your son Ralph. I wish to ask whether you would dream of apprenticing him to any such business.
You speak of my low associations, and call me a mountebank. In the town I have just left I was the guest of the mayor, and have promised to spend a week at his house on a visit when the circus season is over. Though you have done your best to lower me socially, I am confident thatI shall be able to win a good place by my own unaided exertions.
I have no intention in continuing as a circus performer, though I am very liberally paid. It is too soon for me to decide upon my future course, but you may tell Mr. Bickford he need not wait for me to resume my place in his shop.
I do not know when I shall see you or Ralph again, but you need have no fear that I shall appeal to your generosity.
Your nephew,Christopher Watson.
Stephen Watson read this letter with surprise and chagrin. He was sorry to hear that Kit was doing so well, and alarmed at his implied doubt whether he had really been left destitute by his father.
"That boy is going to give me trouble," he muttered.
Four weeks passed, in which Kit continued to acquit himself to the satisfaction of the manager. His youth and pleasant face, added to his uncommon skill, made him a favorite with the public, and being a boy with a love of adventure he enjoyed thoroughly the constant variety of circus life and travel.
All circus existence is not sunshine, however. There are communities which are always dreaded by circus managers, on account of the rough and lawless element which dominates them.
Early one morning Barlow's circus arrived at the mining town of Coalville (as we will call it), in Pennsylvania. An afternoon performance was given,and passed off smoothly; but in the evening a gang of about twenty miners made their appearance, bent on mischief.
Mr. Clark, the manager, sought Mr. Barlow.
"I think we shall have trouble this evening, Mr. Barlow," he said.
"Guard against it, then. What indications have you seen?"
"A gang of twenty miners have just entered the lot. They look ugly."
"Have the canvas men on guard, and summon the razorbacks, if necessary. Don't provoke a conflict, but be ready for one."
Mr. Clark hastily made his arrangements as quietly as possible. Near the ticket seller lounged a body of men, strong and muscular.
These were the canvas men. Some of them looked as reckless and dangerous as the miners, from whom a disturbance was feared.
These canvas men, whose duty it is to set up and take down the tents, are, for the most part, a rough set. They are paid from fifteen to twenty dollars a month and board. Their accommodations are very poor, but as good perhaps as they are accustomed to. They are not averse to a scrimmage, and obeyed with alacrity the directions of Mr. Clark.
The body of miners marched in procession to the ticket seller and then halted, one serving as spokesman.
"Give us twenty tickets, boss," said the leader.
"Where is your money?" asked the ticket seller, cautiously.
"Never you mind! We're on the free list, ain't we, boys?"
"Yes, we are!" was the chorus from his followers.
"There are no deadheads admitted to the show," said the ticket agent, firmly.
"You'll be a deadhead yourself if you ain't careful, young feller!" was the retort.
"Keep back, men! There are others waiting for a chance to buy tickets."
"Let 'em wait! Just hand over them tickets, or we'll run over you."
The fellow looked so dangerous that the ticket seller saw there was no time to parley.
He raised the well-known circus cry, which is called out in times of danger, like a summons to arms,
"Hey, Rube!"
Instantly the canvas men and razorbacks rushed to the rescue, and made an impetuous attack on the disorderly crowd of miners. They, too, were aching for a fight, and there was a wild scene of battle, in which, as in the ancient days, the opposing forces fought hand to hand.
The canvas men were strong, but so were the miners. Their muscles were toughened by daily toil, and it looked as if the outsiders might win.
Kit was not of course called upon to take part in the contest, but he was unwillingly involved.
One of the miners detached himself from the main body, and creeping stealthily to the big tent, whipped out a large knife, and was on the point of cutting one of the ropes, his intention being to sever one after another till the big tent collapsed. Kit saw his design, and rushing forward seized his arm.
"Hold on there!" he cried. "What are you about?"
"Let me alone, and mind your own business!" returned the miner, in a hoarse, deep voice.
But Kit saw that it was a critical moment, and thatgreat mischief might be done. He looked about him for help, for he was far from able to cope with his brawny antagonist. Still he clung to the arm of the intruder, and succeeded in delaying his purpose.
"Let go or I'll cut you!" said the miner, savagely.
Then Kit in desperation raised the cry, "Hey, Rube!"
But it hardly seemed likely to bring the needed assistance, for all the fighting men were engaged in the battle near the ticket seller.
"That won't do no good, young bantam!" said the ruffian, as he aimed a blow at our hero.
Kit's career would in all probability have been cut short, but for the timely arrival of Achilles Henderson. The giant had heard the boy's warning cry, and being near at hand, rushed to his aid. His arrival was most opportune. He seized the miner in his powerful grasp, and the ruffian, strong and muscular as he was, was like a child in his clutch. His knife fell from his hand, as he was shaken like a reed by the giant.
"Secure the knife, Kit!" cried Achilles.
Kit needed no second bidding. He stooped swiftly and took up the weapon.
But Achilles was needed in another direction.
The contest between the miners and the canvas men still raged fiercely near the ticket stand. It looked as if the intruders would conquer. From the ranks of the defenders rose a wild and desperate cry, "Hey, Rube!"
Achilles heard it.
"Come, Kit!" he said. "We are wanted."
He hurled the miner in his grasp to the ground with such force that the man lay senseless; then he rushed with all the speed which his long limbs enabled him to attain to the scene of the conflict.
Here again he was none too soon. The leader of the miners, who had been the first spokesman and aggressor, was armed with a powerful club with which he was preparing to deal the ticket seller a terrible and possibly fatal blow, when Achilles rushed into themêléelike a hurricane. He snatched the club from the hands of the ruffian, and dealt about unsparingly.
The ringleader was the first to fall. Next Achilles attacked the rest of the brutal gang, till half a dozen men with broken heads lay upon the ground. The attacking force were completely demoralized, and in dismay fled from the field.
The ticket seller breathed a sigh of relief.
"I thought I was done for, Mr. Henderson," he said, when the giant returned flushed with his exertions. "You are equal to half a dozen men."
"I haven't had so much exercise in a long time," said Achilles, panting. "Kit, where is the knife that scalawag was going to cut the rope with?"
"Here it is, Mr. Henderson."
"I will keep it in remembrance of this little adventure. Perhaps I had better go and look after the original owner."
He met the ruffian limping like one disabled. His look was sullen and menacing.
"Give me my knife," he growled.
"I couldn't think of it, my man!" said Achilles blandly. "Evidently you are not old enough to be trusted with a knife."
"I'd like to thrash you!" growled the miner again.
"I've no doubt of it, my friend; your intentions are good, but can't be carried out. And now I have a word to say," he continued, sternly. "Just get out of the lot as fast as your legs can carry you, or I'll serve you worse than I did before."
The ruffian looked toward the ticket stand. He saw several of his friends limping away like himself, looking like whipped curs, and he saw that there was no choice for him but to obey. With a muttered oath and a sullen scowl, he left the grounds.
"Kit," said the giant, "it won't do for me to exercise like this every day. I shall need a second supper."
"You are certainly entitled to one, Mr. Henderson," replied our hero.
It had been a day of exciting adventure, but so far as Kit was concerned the end was not yet. He performed as usual, but as his second act was over at quarter past nine, he thought, being fatigued, that he would not wait until the close, but go at once to the circus car in which he had a berth, and go to bed.
He crossed the lot, and emerged into the street.
It was moderately dark, there being no moon, and only the light of a few stars to relieve the gloom.
Kit had not taken a dozen steps from the lot when two stout men approached him, both evidently miners.
"That's the kid that prevented my cutting the rope," he heard one say.
"Is he? I saw him with the giant."
"I mean to settle his hash for him," said the first.
Kit saw that he was in danger, and turned to run back to his friends. But it was too late! The firstspeaker laid a strong arm upon his shoulder, and his boyish strength was not able to overcome it.
"Don't be in such a hurry, kid," said his captor.
"Let me go," cried Kit.
"You belong to the circus, don't you?"
"Yes."
"What do you do?"
"I am an acrobat."
"What's that?"
"I leap and turn somersaults, and so on."
"Yes, I know. Do you remember me?"
"I might if it were lighter."
The man lit a match and held it close to his face.
"Do you know me now?"
"Yes."
"Who am I?"
"You are the man who tried to cut the ropes of the tent."
"Right you are. I would have succeeded but for you."
"I suppose you would."
"Did you call that giant to pitch into me?"
"No; I didn't know he was near."
"He treated me like a brute," said the man, wrathfully. "My limbs are aching now from the fall he gave me."
Kit did not answer.
"I'd like to give him a broken head, as he gave some of my friends. Where is he?"
"I suppose he is somewhere in the lot. I'll go and call him, if you want me to."
"That's too thin! Now I've got you I won't let you off so easy."
"What do you intend to do?" asked Kit becoming alarmed.
"To give you a lesson."
Kit did not ask what kind of a lesson was meant, but he feared it included bodily injury. Then at least, if never before, he wished himself back at his uncle's house in Smyrna, uncongenial as it was otherwise.
The first speaker spoke in a low voice to the second. Kit did not hear the words, but judged what they were from what followed.
The two men placed him beside them, and he was sternly ordered to move on.
They kept the road for perhaps half a mile, then turned off into a narrow lane which appeared to ascend a hill. Finally they stopped in front of a dark cabin, of one story, which seemed to be unoccupied. The outer door was fastened by a bolt.
One of the men drew out a bolt, and threw open the door. A dark interior was revealed. One of the men lit a match, throwing a fitful light upon an empty room. At one end of the apartment was a ring, fixed in a beam, and in the corner was a stout rope.
"That will do," said the first speaker.
He took the rope, secured one end of it to the ring, and then tied Kit firmly with the balance. It was long enough to allow of his lying down.
"Now," said the first man grimly, "I reckon the kid will be safe here till to-morrow."
They prepared to leave the cabin.
"Are you going to leave me here?" asked Kit, in dismay.
"Yes."
"What good will it do you?"
"You'll see—to-morrow."
Kit had ten dollars in his pocket, and he thought ofoffering it in return for his freedom, but it occurred to him fortunately that his captors would deprive him of it, as it was quite within their power to do, and not compensate him in any way. He understood by this time the character of the men into whose hands he had fallen, and he thought it prudent to remain silent.
As the first captor stood with the door open, while just on the point of leaving, he said grimly, "How do you like it, kid?"
"Not at all," answered Kit.
"If you beg my pardon for what you did, I might let you go."
Kit did not believe this, and he had no intention of humiliating himself for nothing.
"I only did my duty," he said. "I have nothing to ask pardon for."
"You may change your mind—to-morrow!"
Another ominous reference to to-morrow. Evidently he was only deferring his vengeance, and intended to wreak it on his young prisoner the next day.
It was not a comforting thought, nor was it calculated to sooth Kit, weary as he was, to sleep.
The door was closed, and Kit heard the sliding of the bolt on the outside. He was a prisoner, securely enough, and with small chance of rescue.
Now, though Kit is my hero, I do not mean to represent him as above human weakness, and I won't pretend that he didn't feel anxious and disturbed. His prospects seemed very dark. He could not hope for mercy from the brutal men who had captured him. As they could not get hold of the giant they would undoubtedly seek to make him expiate the offenses of Achilles Henderson as well as his own.
"If only Mr. Henderson knew where I was," he said to himself, "I should soon be free."
But there seemed little hope of this. He had not told any one that he intended to retire to the circus cars earlier than usual. The chances were that he would not be missed till the circus company had reached the next town on their route, ten miles away. Then there would be no clew to his whereabouts, and even if there were he might be killed before any help could come to him. So far as he had been able to observe, the miners were—a portion of them, at least—a lawless set of men, who were not likely to be influenced by considerations of pity or ordinary humanity.
Kit had been very religiously brought up during his father's life, at least, and he had not lost his faith in an overruling Providence. So in this great peril it was natural for him to pray to God for deliverance from danger. When his prayer was concluded, he felt easier, and in spite of his disagreeable surroundings he managed to fall asleep.
Meanwhile the circus performance terminated, and preparations were commenced for the journey to the next town. The canvas men swarmed around the tents and swiftly took them down and conveyed them to the freight cars, where they assisted the razorbacks to pack them in small compass.
Harry Thorne, who had his berth next to Kit, turned in rather late. He looked into Kit's bed, and to his surprise found it unoccupied.
"What can have become of the boy?" he asked himself.
He went outside, and espying Achilles Henderson, he said: "Have you seen anything of Kit Watson?"
"Isn't he in his berth?" asked Mr. Henderson, surprised.
"No."
Inquiry developed the fact that Kit had not been seen by any one since the conclusion of his act.
"I am afraid the boy has come to harm," said Achilles. "This is a rough place, and there are plenty of tough characters about, as our experience this afternoon showed."
"What shall we do? The cars will soon be starting, and we must leave him behind."
"If he doesn't show up before that time, I will stay behind and hunt him up. He is too good a boy to be left to his fate."
Kit's principal captor was known as Dick Hayden. He was an Englishman, and a leader in every kind of mischief. If there was any disturbance between the miners and their employers, he was generally found to be at the bottom of it. A naturally quarrelsome disposition was intensified by intemperance. In the attack upon the circus tents he found himself in his element. His ignominious defeat made him ugly and revengeful.
His wife was dead, but he had one child, Janet, a girl of thirteen, who cooked for him and took care of his cabin. The poor girl had a hard time of it, but she endeavored so far as possible to avoid trouble with her brutal parent.
It was near ten o'clock when Hayden came home after locking Kit in the deserted cabin. He had gone away without supper, but late as it was, Janet had something hot ready for him on the stove.
"Well, Janet, child, have you my supper ready?" he said, not unpleasantly, for his victory over Kit and the meditated revenge of the next day had put him in good humor.
"Yes, father; it's on the stove and ready to dish up."
"Lay the table, then, for I'm main tired and hungry."
The little girl quickly spread the cloth, and Dick Hayden ate like a voracious animal.
When supper was over he sat back in his chair and lit a pipe. A comfortable supper made him loquacious.
"Well, Janet, you don't ask where I've been."
"Was it to the circus, father?"
"Yes."
"How did you like the show?"
"I didn't see it," he growled, a frown gathering upon his brow.
"And why not, father?"
"Because we had a fight to get in free, and got the worst of it."
"They must be main strong, then, those circus men."
"Strong!" repeated Hayden, scornfully. "Well, mayhap they are, but we'd have bested them but for the giant."
"The giant! Is it the big man I saw in the parade?"
"Yes; he's as strong as three men. He flung me down as easily as I'd throw a boy."
"Then he must have been strong, for you're a powerful man, father."
"There isn't a man as works in the mine'll compare with me, lass," said Hayden, proudly; "but all the same I'm no match for a monster."
"Tell me about it, father," said Janet, with natural curiosity.
Dick Hayden went on to describe the fight around the ticket stand, and how he had slipped away, intending to cut the ropes of the tent and let it down on the heads of the spectators gathered inside.
"I'd have done it, too," he added, "but for a kid."
"I thought just now you said it was the giant."
"And I stick to it, lass; but this boy saw what I was doing, and brought the giant to the spot. I could do nothing after that. He threw me down, so that for a few minutes I was stunned."
"And how did the fight come out at the ticket stand, father?"
"Our men had almost overpowered the circus men, when the giant rushed into the midst, and, seizing a club from Bob Stubbs, laid about him, till half a dozen of our strongest men lay on the ground with broken heads."
What puzzled Janet was, that her father should have come home in such good humor after so disastrous a defeat. It was contrary to her experience of him. She would naturally have expected that he would be surly and quarrelsome. The mystery was soon made clear.
"But we've got even with them!" chuckled Hayden directly after.
"How is that, father?"
"We caught the kid."
"You have?"
"Yes; he was goin' to the circus cars to turn in when Stubbs and I caught him."
"You—you didn't kill him, father?" asked Janet in alarm.
"No, not yet."
"Where is he?"
"Do you mind the deserted cabin on Knob Hill?"
"Yes, father."
"He's locked up in that, tied hand and foot."
"How long do you mean to keep him there?" asked Janet, anxiously.
"Till to-morrow, and then——" Dick paused ominously.
"Well, and then?"
"He'll be lucky if he gets off with a whole skin," growled her father. "But for him I'd have brought down the tent about the ears of the people that sat inside, and we'd have had a fine revenge on the showmen."
"You don't mean to kill the boy, do you, father?"
"What is it to you, lass? You'd best mind your own business. You've got nothing to do with it."
"How does the boy look? Was it the one that drove the first chariot, father?"
"Like enough, lass! Did you see him?"
"Yes; I saw the parade. Everybody was out in the streets then."
"And you took partic'lar notice of the boy? That's like a lass," chuckled Hayden.
"But it was his duty, father, to stand by the show, seein' he belongs to it."
"I don't trouble myself about that. He brought that monster on me, and I'm sore yet with the fall he gave me. I'll take it out of the kid."
"But it seems to me, father, it would be better to lay for the giant."
"What folly is that, lass? I'd be main glad to give the giant a dose of what he gave me, but he'll leave town to-night, and I ain't big enough to tackle him, even if I had the chance. So I'll revenge myself on his friend, the boy. The kid may be his son, for aught I know."
"And what will you do for him, father?" asked Janet, pertinaciously. "You won't kill him?"
"Well, I won't go so far as that, for I've no mind to put my neck in a noose, but I'll flog him within an inch of his life. I'll teach him to mind his own business for the future."
Janet knew her father's strength and brutality, and she shuddered at the idea of the boy being exposed to it. She knew very well it would be of no use to make a protest. She would only get herself into trouble. Yet she couldn't reconcile herself to the thought of poor Kit being cruelly punished. She asked herself what she could do to prevent it.
There was one thing in favor of a rescue. She knew where Kit was confined. If it were not so late she would steal out, and going to the cabin relieve him from captivity. But it was too late, and too dark for that. Besides, she could not leave her father's cabin without observation.
"I will wait till to-morrow morning," she said to herself.
It so chanced that on account of some slight repairs the mine in which her father was employed was shut down for a few days. This was favorable, for he would lie in bed till eight o'clock at least, and there would be a chance to get out without observation.
The next morning, about five o'clock, Janet rose from her bed, hastily dressed herself, and crept to the door of her father's chamber. He was sound asleep, and breathing heavily. There was small chance of his awakening before seven o'clock.
Janet took a little meat and bread in a tin pail, forshe thought the captive might be in need of breakfast, and then, putting a sharp knife in her pocket to cut the ropes that bound him, she left the house and took her way over the hill to the deserted cabin which served as Kit's prison.
Kit had succeeded in getting a little sleep during the night, but his position was necessarily constrained and he was but very slightly refreshed. Moreover he was a prey to anxiety, for he did not know what fate awaited him on the succeeding day.
At four o'clock in the morning a little light found its way into the cabin through a small window at the rear. The other windows were boarded up.
Kit, appreciating the desirability of escaping before a visit should be made him by his captors, tried hard to work himself out of his bonds, but only succeeded in confining himself more closely than before.
"What will they do to me?" he asked himself anxiously.
He had heard from some of the circus men accounts of the roughness and brutality of the miners, or at least of a certain class of them, for some were quiet and peaceable men, and he knew that there was no extreme of which they were not capable. Life is sweet, and to a boy of sixteen, in good health and strength, it is especially dear. Suppose he should lose his life in this region? Probably none of his friends would ever learn what had become of him,and his uncle and cousin would not scruple to spread rumors to his discredit.
It was certainly tantalizing that he should be tied hand and foot, utterly unable to help himself.
More and more light crept in at the window, and there was every indication of its being a glorious day. But this prospect brought no pleasure to poor Kit.
"Before this time the circus people must have found out my absence," he thought. "Will they take the trouble to look for me?"
Kit was on good terms with his comrades, indeed he was popular with them all, as a bright boy is apt to be, and he did not like to think that no effort would be made to find him. Still, as he could not help owning to himself, they had no clew that was likely to lead to success. He had given no one notice where he was going, and his capture was not likely to have been observed by any one.
While he was indulging in these sorrowful reflections, his attention was drawn to a noise at the window.
"They can't have come back so early," he said to himself in surprise.
He twisted himself round to catch a glimpse, if possible, of the early visitor, and to his delight, he caught a partial view of Janet's dress. Suppose she should prove a deliverer, he said to himself with beating heart.
The visitor, whoever it was, was evidently trying to peer into the cabin. Kit was so placed in a corner as to be almost out of sight in the dark interior. He felt that he must attract attention.
"Hallo, there!" he cried in a loud clear voice.
"He's there!" thought Janet, "just as father said."
"Let me out!" cried Kit, eagerly. "Draw out the bolt, and open the door!"
"Will she do it, or will she be frightened away?" he asked himself, with his heart filled with suspense.
He did not have long to wait for an answer, and a favorable one. He heard the bolt withdrawn, then the door was opened, and the girl's face appeared. Janet Hayden was small, not especially pretty, and rather old-fashioned in looks, but to poor Kit she seemed like an angel.
"Are you the circus boy?" she asked timidly.
"Yes; I am tied here. Have you got a knife to cut this rope?"
"Yes; I brought one with me."
"Then you knew I was here?" Kit asked in surprise.
"Yes; it was my father that locked you up here—my father and another man."
"Will you cut the rope and let me go, then?"
"Yes; that is what I came for."
The little maid went up to the captive, bent over, and with considerable sawing, for the knife she had with her was a dull case knife, succeeded in severing the rope, and Kit was able to rise and stand upon his feet. It was a perfect luxury to feel himself once more free and unshackled.
"I'm very much obliged to you," he said, gratefully. "You can't imagine how stiff I am."
"I should think you would be," said Janet, sympathetically.
"When did your father tell you that I was here?"
"After he got home last night. It was after he had eaten his supper."
"And where is he now?"
"At home and asleep."
"Does he get up early?" asked Kit, in some anxiety.
"Yes, when he is at work; but the mine is shut down for a few days, so he lies abed longer."
"Did he say anything about coming here to-day?"
"Yes, he meant to come—he and the other man—and I was afraid he would do you some harm."
"He would have done so, I am sure," said Kit, shuddering. "I don't see how such a rough father should have so good a daughter."
Janet blushed, and seemed pleased with the compliment.
"I think I take after my mother," she said.
"Is your mother alive?"
"No, she died two years ago," answered Janet, sorrowfully. "She was Scotch, and that is why I am called by a Scotch name."
"What is your name, if you don't mind telling me?"
"Janet. I am Janet Hayden."
"I shall always remember it, for you have done me a great service."
"What is your name?" asked Janet, feeling less timid than at first.
"Kit Watson."
"That is a funny name—Kit, I mean."
"My right name is Christopher, but my friends call me Kit. Can you direct me to the next town—Groveton, where the circus shows to-day."
"Yes, if you will come outside, I will point out which way it is."
Kit emerged from the cabin, nothing loath, and Janet pointed in a westerly direction.
"You go over the hill," she said, "and you will come to a road. You will know it, for near the stile there is a red house."
"Thank you. How far is it to the next town?"
"Eight miles, I believe."
"That would be a long walk. Do you think I could get any one to take me over in a wagon?"
"I think the man who lives in the red house, Mr. Stover, would take you over, if you pay him."
"I shall be glad to pay him, and——" Kit paused, for he felt rather delicate about offering any money to Janet, though he knew she had rendered him most valuable service. "Will you let me offer you a little present?"
He took a five dollar bill from his pocket, and offered it to Janet.
"What is that?" she asked.
"It is a five dollar bill."
"You must be rich," she said, for this seemed to her a great deal of money.
"Oh, no! but will you take it?"
"No," answered Janet, shrinking back, "I didn't come here for money."
"I am sure you didn't, but I should like to give you something."
"No, I would rather not. Besides, if father knew I had money, he would suspect something, and beat me."
"Like the brute that he is," thought Kit.
"But I must go at once, for he may wake up and miss me. Good-by!"
"Good-by!" said Kit.
He had no time to say more, for the child was already hurrying down the hill.
Janet took her way homewards, hurrying with quick feet, lest her father should wake up before she arrived. But she had taken so early a start that she found him still sleeping soundly. She instantly began to make preparations for breakfast.
By the time it was on the table her father woke up and yawned. With his waking there came the thought of his young circus captive, and the vengeance he intended to wreak upon him. This pleasant idea roused him completely, and he dressed himself briskly.
"Is breakfast ready, Janet?" he asked.
"Yes, father."
"What time is it?"
"Seven o'clock," answered Janet, looking at the clock over the mantel.
"I am expecting Bob Stubbs here this morning. Have you got enough for him?"
"I think so, father," replied Janet. She did not speak with alacrity, for Mr. Stubbs was no favorite of hers.
At that moment a step was heard at the door, and the gentleman spoken of made his appearance.
"You're late, Dick," said Stubbs, rubbing his bristling chin.
"Yes, I got tired out yesterday. When the mine's shut down I like to take my time. Have you had breakfast, Bob?"
"Ye-es," answered Stubbs hesitating, as he glanced at the neatly spread table, with the eggs and bacon on the center dish.
"Never mind! You can eat some more. Put a chair for him, Janet."
"This lass of yours is growing pretty," said Stubbs, with a glance of admiration.
"There's a compliment for you, lass!" said the father.
Janet, however, did not appear to appreciate it, and continued to look grave.
"Wonder how the kid's getting along," said Bob Stubbs, with his mouth full of bacon.
"I reckon he's hungry," said Dick Hayden, in a voice of satisfaction.
"Have you left him without anything to eat, father?" asked Janet.
"Yes."
"The poor fellow will be starved."
"And serves him right, too. There ain't no call to pity him."
"Why won't you take him some breakfast if you're going round there? I will put some up in a tin pail."
"What do you say to that, Bob, hey?" said Hayden.
"It's natural for the gal to pity him. He's a nice lookin' chap enough."
"He's nicer looking than he will be when we get through with him, eh, Bob?"
"That's so, Dick."
As Janet listened to this conversation, her heart revolted against the brutality conveyed by the words. She felt dissatisfied to think that her own father was such a man. She could not well feel an affection forhim, remembering how ill he had treated her gentle mother, who, as she knew, would be living to-day had she been wedded to a better husband.
The two men did not linger long at the table. They were accustomed to swallow their food rapidly, in order to get to the scene of their daily labor on time. So in twenty minutes they rose from the table, and putting on their hats left the cabin.
As they departed Janet breathed a sigh of relief, and congratulated herself that she had released the poor boy, and so saved him from the brutal treatment he was likely to receive at the hands of the two miners.
"He will have had plenty of time to get away before father and Mr. Stubbs reach the cabin," she said to herself.
Janet washed the dishes, and then, having an errand at the store, put on her hat and left the cabin. She did not trouble herself to lock the door, for there was nothing in the place likely to excite the cupidity of any dishonest person.
Janet had accomplished a part of the distance when she saw approaching her a figure that at once attracted her earnest attention.
The reason will be readily understood when I say that it was Achilles Henderson, the circus giant.
Mr. Henderson had been exploring the neighborhood in the hope of finding some trace of Kit, but thus far had been unsuccessful. He was very much perplexed, having absolutely no clew, and was thinking of starting for Groveton, where the circus was billed to appear that evening. He was walking in an undecided way, and never thought of noticing the little girl who stood staring at him. Indeed he was so used to being stared at that he took it as a matter of course, and did not think of giving the curious gazer a second glance.
But his attention was called by a low, half frightened voice.
"Mr. Giant!"
"Well, little girl, what do you want?" he asked.
"Are you looking for anybody?" asked Janet, first glancing carefully around, to make sure that she was not likely to be overheard.
"Yes," answered Achilles, quickly. "I am looking for a boy."
"A circus boy?"
"Yes; do you know where he is?"
"Come nearer! I don't want anybody to hear what I say."
"All right, my little maid! Is the boy alive and well?"
"Yes, he was two hours ago."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know where he is now."
Achilles looked disappointed.
"Tell me all you know," he said.
"My father and Bob Stubbs took him last night, and shut him up in a lonely cabin on the hill."
"Where is the cabin?"
"He isn't there now. I let him out."
"Good for you, little girl! You're a trump. You're a great deal better than your father. Do you know where the boy went?"
"I will tell you where I told him to go."
"Where is your father now? Is he at work?"
"No; the mine is shut down."
"How did you know that the boy was in the cabin?"
"I heard father tell where he was last night, whenhe was at supper. So I got up very early, and stole out to release him, for I was afraid father might kill him. He said he meant to punish him for what you did. He said he would rather get at you."
"He's quite welcome to, if he wants to," answered Achilles, grimly. "On the whole I wouldn't advise him to tackle me."
"He thought you had gone on with the circus."
"I should have done so if I hadn't missed Kit."
"Yes; he told me his name was Kit."
"Was he tied?"
"Yes; I took a knife with me and cut the ropes."
"The poor fellow must have passed an uncomfortable night."
"Yes, he said so."
"He must have been very glad to see you."
"Yes, he was. I am only afraid of one thing."
"What is that?"
"Father and the other man left the house more than half an hour ago to go to the cabin. When they find him gone, they will be very angry."
"Like as not."
"And I think they will try to find him."
"Very true; I wish I knew where he was. They wouldn't dare to attack him in my company."
"No, Mr. Giant. You must be very strong."
"I think I would be a match for them."
Achilles questioned Janet minutely as to the advice she had given Kit.
"I might follow the boy," he said to himself, "at a guess, but there's only half a chance of my hitting right. Where is the cabin?" he asked, suddenly.
Janet pointed in the proper direction.
"I know what I'll do," he said, with sudden decision. "I'll follow your father and the other man.All the danger to Kit is likely to come from them. If I can get track of them, I can make sure that no mischief will be done."
Achilles Henderson then stepped over a fence which an ordinary man would have had to climb, and made his way to the deserted cabin.