  In the dim half light, as Johnny crouched in the sawdust ring, knife in hand, he saw the tiger lash his tail as he prepared for a spring. He saw the girl dancing on the wire, twirling her parasol as she danced. His mind whirled. Was this all a dream? Was it but a moving picture flashed upon the screen? He shook himself. No, there were the colors in the girl’s costume, the red that came and went in her cheek, and there were the wonderful colors in the coat of that giant cat. It was real, and the cat was preparing for a spring. Should he cry out? Attract the beast’s attention, then stand for battle? To do so meant sudden death. No man armed with a knife could hope to defeat a tiger. On the other hand, what if he waited? Could the tiger leap ten feet in air? If he could, what then? The girl had nerve; Johnny could see that. There was a strong chance that the tiger could not reach her. He would wait. Suddenly into that brilliant circle of light there shot upward a tawny, gleaming body. The tiger had leaped square at the girl. Johnny’s heart stood still. There came an audible gasp from the girl. The cruel fangs of the beast flashed in the light. Up, up he rose, five feet, six, seven, eight. Now his great paws flashed at the girl’s feet. An instant of suspense ended with a gasp of relief. The tiger had missed. For a fraction of a second the girl teetered on the wire. She seemed about to lose her balance and fall, but she at once regained her composure, and, with a smile upon her lips, such as she threw to admiring spectators, she tripped again along the wire. “Bravo!” Johnny’s lips formed the word, but he did not say it. Again the tiger crouched for a spring. The girl was gaining self-control. Estimating the position of the tiger, she tripped away from him. Angered, the tiger roared savagely, gave two short jumps, then leaped straight and high. With a little cry, half of fear, half of defiance, the girl sprang in air. The next instant the tiger’s paw touched the wire. One breathless second the girl appeared to hover in air, then she dropped. Her toe touched the vibrating wire. She slipped. She uttered a low moan. Just at that moment the spot light blinked suddenly out, leaving the great tent in utter darkness. * * * * * * * * For a few moments after the candle was extinguished in the mysterious room down by the river Pant remained motionless. Then, as a groping hand found the door to his hiding place, he leaped into spring-steel-like action. The cupboard door banged open. A sudden flash of red light was followed by the dull thud of a body striking the floor. A second flash produced the same result. A chair clattered to the floor. The street door swung suddenly open, then banged shut again. A fugitive figure sought cover in the shadows of a dark corner of the building. “Are you shot?” came a gruff voice from within. “Thought I was, but guess I ain’t.” “So did I.” “There wasn’t any report.” “A red flame, and a biff that floored!” There followed sounds of movement. A match was struck. For a moment a light flickered in the room, then three heads appeared at the door. Mounting to the third step, the leader glanced quickly up and down the street. Then, followed by his two companions, he darted away. “Some rotten luck,” grumbled Pant, for it was he who lurked in the corner. Without a light, he again entered the room. When he came out a short time later, he was straightening out a bit of crumpled paper. * * * * * * * * For Johnny, after the spot light in the circus tent blinked out, an agony of suspense followed. The girl—had she dropped? The tiger—was he now about to spring? Without a light Johnny could do nothing. A sudden wave of remorse overcame him. He blamed himself for not entering the struggle when the light was on. But what was this? Could it be that his straining ear caught the sing of the wire, as the girl’s foot touched it in her wild dance? He listened. There could be no mistake about it. Even in the darkness she had regained her footing, was dancing down the wire. But the tiger could see in the dark. She could not see his leaps. And he would leap again, Johnny was sure of that. In this he was not mistaken, for, with sinking sensation, he heard the cat leave the ground. There followed no sound. Breathlessly he waited till he felt the slight shock of the cat as he dropped. Or was it Gwen? At this time of uncertainty a weird thing happened. Seeming to come from a spot in mid air, a streak of crimson light flashed down at an angle toward the floor. For an instant, it turned the costume, the parasol, the face of the girl crimson; the next, it swept the crouching tiger with a flood of blood red light. With a growl of fear the beast shrank back. The light followed him. He rose and leaped away. He paused. The light was again upon him. With a wild snarl, he sprang away toward the far end of the tent. As he lay there staring open-mouthed, Johnny heard the sputter of arc lights. In a moment the tent was ablaze with white lights. The dynamo had been started, the light turned on. Johnny sprang to his feet, then facing about, looked for the girl. The next instant he sprang toward the spot over which the wire was strung. He was there in time to break her fall. She had tottered from the wire. She had not fainted, but it was in vain that she attempted to rise; her limbs would not support her. “I, I guess I lost my nerve,” she apologized, as she sank down upon the sawdust. “If you did, you lost a lot,” exclaimed Johnny in undisguised enthusiasm. “You were great!” For the moment he forgot the caste of the circus, forgot he was only an ex-groom and she the queen of performers. “Just sit right here,” he counseled. “I’ll run and get you a glass of water; you’ll be all right in a jiffy. The tiger’s safe enough; keepers have got him.” By the time he returned, the world had righted itself again, and he was only a slave. “I, I’ll be running along,” he stammered, “that is, if you’re all right?” “But I’m not all right,” protested Gwen. “Besides, I need some one to talk to. Why should you go?” “You know,” Johnny faltered, “I’m not a performer; at least, not yet.” “Fiddle!” she puckered up her lips. “What diff does that make; you’re a brave boy. You were right near that awful tiger when I saw you, and you weren’t running away. I believe you were there all the time.” “I was,” admitted Johnny. “I was watching you dance when he came up.” “Oh!” She gave him a queer look. “And what did you think you could do?” “If he had reached you, I could have put up a good scrap.” She looked at him again. “I believe you could,” she smiled. “I saw you give that bear the knockout the other day. That was good, awful good! Say! You can box, can’t you?” “A little.” “Will you give me some lessons?” Johnny’s heart leaped. Would he? “Su—sure,” he stammered, “any—any time.” “All right; to-morrow morning at nine. What say?” “That suits me.” “It’s a go,” she said, holding out her hand. Johnny gripped it warmly, and as he did so, he realized that there was nothing soft or flabby about that hand. “You see,” she half apologized, “I have to keep in trim for my stunts, and nothing will do it quite like boxing.” “Uh-huh!” Johnny scarcely heard her. Her hand had made him think of the diamond ring. Should he ask her about it now? It seemed what his old professor would call the psychological moment. Yet he did not want to ask her. He was already enjoying her friendship, knew he would enjoy it more and more and did not wish to risk losing it. Then he thought of Pant and his problem. Perhaps she could aid them in solving that. “Say,” she whispered suddenly, “what was that blood red light?” “I, I don’t know,” Johnny replied. “Wasn’t it spooky? Came from nowhere!” “I don’t know how it was done,” said Johnny, “but someone was behind it—someone who evidently wanted to help you.” The girl glanced at him sharply. “No,” he smiled, “I didn’t do it. I’m not that much of a magician. But I’m not sure but that I know the person who did it.” “Oh!” she gasped. “Will you find out and let me know?” “If I can,” said Johnny, smiling once more. “Oh!” she gasped again. “I owe that person a lot. The tiger would have got me for sure. I’d do a lot for him.” “Would you?” asked Johnny. “Of course I would.” “You may have a chance some time.” “How strangely you talk!” “That’s all I can tell you now.” He arose and, assisting her to her feet, walked with her to the flap of the ladies’ dressing tent; then bade her good-night. “She’s a real sport!” he told himself. “Now I’ve got to make good at boxing the bear, even if it is a rotten job.” |
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