MAZIE AND THE TIGER
With fear in her heart Mazie again entered the burning Zoo. This was the
most spectacular fire she had ever known anything about and she was
determined to see it through to its very end.
Giving a wide berth to three elephants who were blowing hay in air,
trumpeting and threshing madly at their chains, with a gulp of pity she
passed the patient camels who, seeming resigned to their fate, stood with
heads hanging low.
She shuddered as she saw the restless pacing and heard the deafening roar
of lions, and started back in fear when a great black leopard leaped
squarely against the bars that held him.
The bars were strong. She saw the mad creature drop back stunned, then
she pressed on into the room where the firemen were doing noble battle
with the flames.
“You’re winning,” she said to a grimy fireman. There was admiration in
her tone.
“Yes,” he smiled, “it’ll soon be over now. But,” he added, “we wouldn’t
have saved the monkeys if it hadn’t been for Jerry. He’s a wise little
rascal.”
“Jerry and—and that man,” said Mazie.
“Yes; old Pinkie.”
“Who is he? Do you know him?” Mazie asked eagerly.
“No, Miss, I can’t just say I know him, but all of us have seen him
often. Regular fire fan. Seems like he goes to every fire that’s of any
consequence. He’s a queer one. Seems to have a heart of gold, though.
I’ve seen him risk his life to save an alley cat.”
“Then he couldn’t be—” Mazie suddenly cut herself short.
“Couldn’t be what, Miss?”
Mazie didn’t answer. “How long have you seen him around fires?” she asked
instead.
“Seems like it’s been three years or more. I recall the first time. It
was——”
“Oh! Look!” Mazie’s eyes opened wide with terror. And well they might. A
tall chimney, undermined by the fire, had come crashing down through the
roof. It had not stopped at the roof but had come on through, crushing an
iron cage where were imprisoned two royal Bengal tigers. So thoroughly
mashed was the cage that it resembled a bird cage which has been stepped
on by a large man.
“Look out!” Mazie screamed, as with a growl of rage and pain the larger
of the two captives sprang through an opening, free!
And what of Johnny and the Chief? They had gone rushing after that man
whom Johnny had so rashly named the firebug. He had led them straight
away across a level stretch of grass, across a drive and through a clump
of bushes to the shore of the lake. There, with a speed that was
astonishing in so large a man who was at the same time a little lame,
with cold spray drenching him, he ran on along the stone breakwater to a
spot where a second breakwater ran off at a sharp angle to the first.
This wall of stone which ran between two stretches of foaming water
reached to a fill some distance out in the lake. It was incomplete. Only
rough and jagged piles of rock marked its course; as yet there were no
beams.
At such a time as this, when seas were running high, it was little less
than suicide to venture out upon it; yet the mysterious man did not
hesitate an instant. One second he was on the solid shore, the next he
was balancing himself on a jagged pile of rocks five yards out to sea,
and then he was lost to view in a cloud of spray.
The man had probably figured that his pursuers would not dare to follow.
In this he was partly wrong. Johnny’s foot was on the foremost rock when
the Chief’s firm hand pulled him back.
“Wait,” he rumbled, “he can’t make it. He’ll have to come back.”
They did wait, and for a time it seemed that the Chief was certainly
right; that the man would never succeed in making his way to the broad
stretch of filled land which ran for more than a mile along the lake
front, and where he might either hide or make his way back to land over
some pier or safer breakwater. But, as the spray cleared, they saw him
twenty yards out, now thirty, forty, fifty, sixty. Then, for a long time,
as the water boomed against the rocks, the spray completely hid the
fleeing form.
Then, of a sudden, the moon came out and the spray cleared for a moment.
At that moment, after sharply surveying the length of the breakwater, the
Chief and Johnny turned to stare at one another.
“Gone!” said Johnny.
“Not a living thing there now.”
“He can’t have made his way to the fill.”
“Probably not. Might have.”
“If he didn’t?”
“He’s gone. Nothing could save him. No one could climb back upon that
breakwater once he was washed off. May God rest his soul.”
For a full ten minutes they stood there watching the surface of the
water, then turning silently about, started back toward the scene of the
fire.