THE GIRL AND THE TIGER
Late that night Johnny Thompson was reminded for the hundredth time of
his position as a serf among the knights and ladies of the circus. He was
just passing into the now almost deserted big top when he came face to
face with Millie Gonzales. In sudden embarrassment he was about to speak
to her and doff his cap when, with chin in air, she swept past him.
Setting his teeth hard, Johnny hastened on. Only when he was at a safe
distance did he give vent to his feelings.
"If it wasn't for the ring, I wouldn't stand for it," he raged in a
whisper, "I, I'd, well, I'd make her bite her own sharp tongue. Maybe,"
he reflected, "maybe some time I will."
The incident was soon forgotten, and it was not so long after that Johnny
was made to realize that not all the ladies of the circus were like
Millie, not even those who ranked above her.
In a dark corner of the tent, Johnny threw himself on a pile of netting
to think. Life had grown strangely complicated for him since he had
joined the show. Problems great and small lay before him for solving. It
was like a lesson in algebra. There was the problem of boxing the bear.
His ability to solve that problem would be tested all too soon, on the
day after to-morrow. In some small city he would have his try-out.
Depending upon the successful solving of this problem was the other and
more important one, that of the ring. Who had it? Millie, the bareback
rider, Mitzi, the trapeze performer, or Gwen, the dancing queen of the
tight wire? Thus far he had not the slightest clue. If one of them had
it, she never had worn it while Johnny was in sight. Could it be that the
one in possession of it suspected him of seeking it? That did not seem
probable.
"And yet," he reflected, "stranger things have happened. She may have
seen me make that foolhardy dash for it when the elephant flicked it from
the chain."
But at once his mind swept on to the third and most important problem of
all--Pant's problem, the problem of the counterfeit bonds. Pant had named
three men who might be responsible, the conman of the ragged ear, the
midget clown, the steam kettle cook. Johnny Thompson was one of the kind
of fellows who, when they recognize a great and important problem, set
themselves to solving it, leaving all minor difficulties to take care of
themselves. As he lay there now, he realized that Pant's problem had
already become his; that for the time being, the ring might be all but
forgotten. And yet he hoped that, as the more important and difficult
problem was being solved, this one of lesser importance would work itself
out.
"Well, anyway," he mumbled, half rising, "my success at boxing the bear
comes first, for unless I put that stunt across, I will have precious
little chance to discover the whereabouts of the ring, or to help Pant
run down the counterfeiter. To-morrow's my last day of training. Me for
my bunk."
But just as he was about to get upon his feet he checked himself and sank
back in his place. A vision had struck his eye--a vision of lithe wonder
and beauty. It was dancing along a silver wire.
It was Gwen, Queen of the circus. The great tent was totally dark, save
for the corner where she practiced. She had arranged a spot light in such
a manner that its brilliant rays struck squarely across the tightly drawn
wire, and there in that light, which was flashed back by her brilliant
costume and her tossing umbrella, she was performing all unconscious that
anyone was watching her.
Johnny Thompson thought he was the only onlooker, and perhaps at first he
was. If so, it was not for long. Had he but known the nature of that
other spectator, he might have leaped to his feet and rushed to warn the
queen of her danger. Not knowing, he sat entranced by the wonderful
apparition who seemed more a being of another world, or perhaps some
tropical bird, as she flitted from end to end of that silver wire. Now
she rose straight in air and, seeming to soar aloft, swept down to the
wire again. And now she dropped upon her hands to bend and twist in a
blinding whirl, while her gleaming parasol spun above her.
"Um," Johnny breathed; then again, "Um!"
But what was that? He thought he detected a stealthy movement to the
right of him. It might have been but the swaying of a tent pole shaken by
the wind, but he kept his eyes upon the spot for some time. He had
concluded it was nothing, and was about to turn his attention to the girl
again, when the movement came again, this time closer at hand. At the
same time he heard a sound that in a place less quiet to an untrained ear
would be nothing at all. To Johnny it spoke of danger--perhaps danger to
himself, perhaps to the girl. He thought of the counterfeiters. Did they
know he had joined Pant in the task of hunting them down, and realizing
his importance as an inside man, had they decided to do away with him at
once? Or was this some enemy of the beautiful dancer?
Danger, Johnny had learned, loses much of its terror when squarely faced.
He now threw himself upon the sawdust and began creeping, knife in hand,
toward the spot from which the sound had come.
Ten feet he crawled, then paused to listen. In the stillness he heard the
occasional creak of the wire, the spatter of the spot light. Then again
he caught that gliding sound. It was retreating from him, moving closer
to the girl. This time he crept twenty feet or more before he paused.
Again the same sounds greeted his strained ears. Again the gliding sound.
The creature, whether beast or human, traveling faster than he, must be
not more than thirty feet from the swinging, swaying girl.
And now, like a flash, his eyes, for a moment relieved from the dancer's
dazzling light, saw the creature--a gaunt tawny beast it was, a tiger
stalking human prey. For a second Johnny shivered and shrank back. How
had this creature escaped? This he could not know. Its purpose was all
too evident. Attracted by the gleam of the fairylike figure dancing on
the wire, it was thinking only of breaking her bones with its yellow
fangs.
Johnny paused for half a minute, then resumed his forward movement.
Poorly armed as he was, he would not allow the beast to have its way
unopposed.
Yet, after covering another yard or two, he paused. The girl was ten feet
in air. Did the tiger have the power to leap that high? For a tiger of
the jungle this would be no feat at all, but for this one of the cage,
Johnny was in doubt. And Gwen? Did she have the iron nerve to keep on
dancing down the wire with a great yellow beast leaping madly for her
feet?
It was a tense moment. Every muscle in his body quivered. The hand that
gripped his knife almost crushed the hilt.
The questions that surged through his brain were not long in being
answered, for now, in the dim half light about her, the girl saw the
beast. For one brief second her eyes were dilated with fear. The parasol,
trembling, wavering, almost slipped from her grasp.
Johnny rose on one knee. "If she falls? If she falls?" he breathed
silently.
But she did not fall. Seeming to summon all her nerve and strength, she
held her parasol high and once more danced gracefully down the wire.
* * * * * * * *
Two hours before this moment in our story, Pant had left the circus
grounds, and, crossing a viaduct over the tracks, had made his way down
the avenue toward the river. As he cut across the roadway and lost
himself down a dark alley near the river, he might have been heard saying
to himself:
"The bear, driven from his lair, returns; the rabbit circles back to his
brush pile; sometimes crooks return to their rendezvous. I wonder if they
will this time? Well, we shall see what we shall see."
He was by this time nearing a long, low-lying building that flanked the
river. Before a door which was reached by three downward steps, he
paused. All was dark, silent, mysterious. For a moment he listened
intently, then after a hasty glance up and down the deserted alley, he
darted to a low, narrow window. His efforts to lift the sash were
fruitless. Quickly drawing a thin-bladed knife from his pocket, he
inserted the blade beneath the catch. There was a click. The next instant
Pant had lifted the sash, dived through and closed the window after him.
The room was utterly dark, yet he appeared to have no difficulty in
finding his way about the place. Whether he had a previous knowledge of
the building, was endowed with an instinctive sense of location of
things, or could see in the dark, would have been a question too
difficult for a casual thinker to answer. An observer, had there been
one, might have said that the room had a strange way of flashing crimson
for a fraction of a second, then becoming inky black again.
After moving about for a time, Pant doubled himself up and, creeping into
the broad lower part of a dilapidated cupboard, closed the door behind
him.
Ten minutes elapsed. A rat scurried over the uneven floor. Another
creeping through a hole in the base of the cupboard, began rattling a
loose bit of board about. Pant kicked at it. Then all was silent again.
Five minutes more passed. Three rats had ventured out upon the floor
when, of a sudden, there sounded the rattle of a key in the outer door.
The rats scurried away. Pant caught a quick breath, as he whispered:
"They return!"
A match was struck. A broad, fat face appeared at the door. The man's
small, beady eyes peered about the place for a moment, then he whispered
back over his shoulder:
"All right. C'm'on."
"Safe?"
"Sure!"
Two other men followed him. One was slim, the other broad shouldered.
Pant almost let fall an exclamation, as he saw that the broad-shouldered
one had a ragged ear.
"Perhaps Johnny's right," was his mental comment.
Through a hole left by what had once been a lock on the cupboard door, he
could catch every move of the mysterious three.
Gathering around the table they proceeded at once to what appeared to be
the task of the night. A flat tin affair was placed on the table. A tin
cup from which the handle of a brush protruded was set down close to the
pan. A roll of paper was produced. It was while this was being rolled
backward and then drawn across the smooth edge of the table to make it
straight that Pant felt something touch his hand. Barely checking a
start, he held himself rigidly motionless. In an instant he realized that
it was only a hungry rat. But in a minute he knew that this was quite bad
enough, for the rat began to gnaw at his finger.
In the meantime, in the room the man of the ragged ear had taken the
broad brush and moved it several times over the pan. He dipped the brush
each time in the cup, as if applying a liquid. The fat man held a sheet
of paper as if ready to spread it out upon the pan.
The rat persevered. He had gnawed his way through the tough outer skin of
Pant's finger, and had touched tender flesh when, with a sudden quick
movement, Pant's thumb closed down. He was not quick enough. The rat,
whirling about, was caught only by the tail. With a piercing, almost
human scream the rat struggled for freedom.
Instantly the room went dark. In that same instant, a hand groped for the
door, behind which Pant was concealed. Pant had hoped to strangle the rat
without a sound. In this he had failed. Just what he was in for now, he
could not even guess.