THE CIRCUS AT HIGHLAND FALLS.
Drills were over for that day, and likewise dinner, and the corps had
been dismissed, excepting members who had extra tours of guard duty to
do by way of punishment. This included one of the Seven, the
unfortunate granger from Kansas, “Sleepy,” who had forgotten to invert
his washbowl at the “A. M. inspection.”
Poor Sleepy was obliged to shoulder his musket with what grace he
could and sadly watch his friends vanish in the woods.
The wicked drummer boy, who was getting rich nowadays by furnishing
contraband disguises for the yet more wicked Banded Seven, had
designated a place where he would hide the “duds,” and for that place
the six made with all possible speed. Some hour or so later there were
three curious-looking couples strolling down the road to the Falls.
The drum orderly, with considerable appropriateness, had furnished a
full dress evening suit for Chauncey. It being afternoon, Chauncey had
indignantly refused to “dream” of wearing it, and so the meek Indian
had had his fat limbs crowded into the costume. Texas had a flaming
red sweater and huge farmer’s trousers with one suspender. Mark had
the tattered remains of a tennis blazer and checkerboard “pants.” The
Parson was muttering anathemas at the facetious lad who had gotten,
from somewhere, a clerical costume with a rip up the back, and Dewey
was handsome and resplendent in one of the drum orderly’s own cast-off
uniforms. Poor Chauncey having refused the swallow-tails, was doomed
to be commonplace in a white flannel costume last worn by a coal
heaver.
Do you wonder at the phrase “curious-looking couples” used above?
It had been agreed that they would excite less suspicion two by two.
All in a crowd they might be mistaken for the rear guard of the circus
procession, which they could tell from the sound of the band had
proceeded them down the main street of Highland Falls. The six set out
swiftly in pursuit.
Texas was fairly boiling over with anxiety to catch a glimpse of
Smasher. Texas had done nothing but talk about Smasher since he
started.
If there had chanced to be any officers from the post down there they
would probably have recognized their cadets, in spite of false
mustaches and hair. For the plebes were so used to going behind a band
by this time that the tune――“The Girl I Left Behind Me”――set them all
to marching with West Point precision――“left, left! Eyes to the
front――heads up――chest out, little fingers on the seams of the
trousers――left, left!”
Fortunately, however, nobody noticed their rather unusual style, and
down at the far end of the long and narrow town they came upon the
circus grounds. No small boy enjoying his holiday from school was
gazing upon the scene with more interest than our plebes.
There were three big tents in a vacant lot. The band had gone inside
by that time, and a string of people were following, buying their
tickets of a black and long-haired “genuine Australian bushman” who
stood as a walking live hint to the wonders that were inside, and
incidentally made change wrong and talked in Irish brogue to an
invisible some one.
Also worthy of mention was “Tent No. 2.” We shall see a good deal of
the contents of Tent No. 2. Tent No. 2 was the dime museum tent, and
varied and startling were its decorations. A two-headed boy grinned
merrily at a painted hyena on one side. It was a laughing hyena, but
the boy got the best of him because he had two heads to laugh with. A
Norwegian giantess (colored) had the next side to herself, and so tall
was she that a sort of continued-in-our-next arrangement was made with
the roof, where a careful artist had painted half her head. There was
a seal playing a banjo on the next panel, while a charmed boa
constrictor listened. The boa constrictor’s tail was traced to the
other side of the tent, his body having extended all that way. So he
was a pretty big snake. Texas vowed he’d never seen a bigger one. And
after that the six made a stampede for the main tent.
They stopped just long enough for Chauncey, “the gent with the white
clothes and black whiskers,” to invest in peanuts. He told the man to
keep the change with a haughty air, and then bid his friends help
themselves. They took so many there wasn’t any change, at which the
man growled.
In spite of jokes and peanuts they finally got into the tent. They
bought their tickets separately so that their seats might be separate,
and they found to their horror that the Australian bushman had sold
them six in a row, and that every one in the place was staring at
their extraordinary costumes. This rather pleased them, but they tried
to look as if they didn’t care and stared around the tent.
After some munching of peanuts and stamping of feet (this latter
chiefly by Texas, he of the carmine sweater and no coat, who was
anxious to smash Smasher) a bell rang and the show had begun. A
curtain opened at one side and in galloped a white horse and rider.
Texas sprang up and started for the ring. Texas thought it was
Smasher, and he grumbled some when he found it was only “Madam
Nicolini, the daring equestrienne!” Texas admitted that her riding
wasn’t bad, but he vowed he’d make her turn pale with envy when he
once set out on Smasher. Seeing that Madam Nicolini had a perpetual
blush of red paint that beat her rival’s sweater, Texas finally took
back his rash threat and settled down to growl once more.
Mr. Jeremiah Powers had to curb his impatience. The programme wasn’t
going to be changed for him. There were “daring aërial flights” at
which the old ladies gasped and the fair damsels shrieked. There were
performing dogs at which every one observed, “How cute!” a safe remark
which the most critical could not dispute. There were the Alberti
Brothers, who bowed whether you applauded or not, and the usual trick
elephant who rang for his dinner when the clown told him not to,
whereat the old gentlemen who had brought their little boys to enjoy
the show laughed most uproariously and asked the doubtful little boys
if it wasn’t funny.
And then came Smasher!
The curtain opened once more and the little bronco, meek and gentle,
was led out. He was “nothin’ much,” so Texas said; “orter see my Tiger
down home.” Texas had been persuaded by Mark to wait and see what else
would happen before he ventured down, and so Texas was silent though
wriggling anxiously in his seat.
A “gent” in full dress, just like Indian, was leading Smasher by the
bridle. Having reached the middle of the ring he released the horse,
who hung his head and looked like a poor, sleepy, half-starved little
pony that would run from a mouse. Then the gent, who was “Smithers”
himself, began thus:
“Now, ladies and gentlemen! We are about to witness the most
interesting event of the varied programme of this marvelous and
startling show. Behold Smasher, the world-renowned bronco. Now there
must be gents in the audience who can ride, gents with sporting blood
in their veins, gents who are willing, even anxious to show their
skill. Ladies and gentlemen, Smasher challenges the world! Behold
him!”
This masterpiece having finished, Smithers folded his arms. Mark was
sitting on Texas meanwhile.
“Somebody’ll try it, old man,” Mark protested. “Just keep quiet.
He’s not going away yet. It’ll be more fun after he’s thrown
somebody――there now!”
The last exclamation of relief came as some one did come forward to
try. He was a country yokel in his best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.
Having brought his best girl to town, and being secure in his skill
with his farm plugs, he strode forward timidly to make a name for
himself in Highland Falls forever.
“Ah!” said Smithers, serenely. “One gent has nerve! I knew that
America with her sons of freedom could produce one man bold enough to
dare this feat.”
The country youth hesitated a moment in front of his mount, while the
crowd leaned forward in expectation. Having petted Smasher in a
professional way and observed that the horse still hung its sleepy
head, the rider summoned all his nerve and straddled the pony. The
pony was so small and the man’s legs so long that his toes still
touched the sawdust.
Smasher never moved an inch; even his eyes never opened. The yokel
took hold of the bridle, straightened himself up to a stiff and
awkward position and gazed about him with an air of delicious triumph.
The multitude began to cheer.
“That’s fine,” said Smithers, smiling blandly. “Really fine! Now make
him go.”
The hayseed laid hold of the bridle and gave it a jerk.
“Git ap!” said he.
And the bronco got. He only moved one-half of his body; his heels went
up in one cataclysmic plunge, and the rider went through the air like
a streak. He picked himself up with a good deal of sawdust in his
mouth, way over in the opposite corner. The crowd simply howled with
laughter and Smithers beamed benignantly.
“The challenge still stands,” said he, laughing at the plight of the
farmer, who limped to his feet with a look on his face that led the
facetious cornetist in the band to play faintly:
“I’ll never go there any more.”
Which made the crowd laugh all the louder.
“Next!” roared the proprietor. “Somebody else come try it now! Next!”
At this stage of the game Mark unbottled Texas; and Texas arose slowly
and made his way down to the ring.
“I reckon I’ll try that air critter,” said he.
Smithers’ smile was as expansive as his shirt front. Two such fellows
as this were a rare treat; usually every one was daunted by the first
failure. This fellow was evidently a regular hayseed, too.
“Most charmed,” said the proprietor. “Step right up, I pray you.
Really, sir――――” There was something about his self-confident smile
that “riled” our excitable Texan.
“Look a-yere!” he demanded, angrily, when he reached the ring. “You
think I kain’t ride this hyar critter, don’t you? Hey?”
The whole crowd in that tent leaned forward excitedly; here was fun, a
chance of a quarrel.
“Why, I’m sure I don’t know,” grinned the proprietor, suavely. “How
should I know? Try it.”
“You got any money?” roared Texas.
“Why――er――yes. A little.”
Mr. Powers jammed his hands into one pocket and yanked out some bills.
“Go you one hundred I ride him!” he shouted.
“Bully, b’gee!” cried a voice in the crowd, and the rest roared in
concert.
Smithers looked embarrassed.
“I――that is――I’ve hardly got so much――I――――”
“Shame! Shame!” howled the delighted spectators.
“Whar’s that air sporting blood ye were a-talkin’ ’bout?” roared
Texas. “Wow! I thought nobody’d ever ridden the critter, doggone
his――er――shoes. Thought ye were so sure? ’Fraid, hey? I knowed it.”
The crowd howled still louder.
“Tell ye what I’ll do,” cried Texas, waving his bills excitedly. “I’ll
go you this yere hundred to twenty! How’s that?”
“Who’ll hold the stakes?” inquired the proprietor, weakly.
“Put ’em down thar in the ring,” said Texas. “Let everybody see ’em.”
Smithers left the tent hurriedly, while the crowd roared with
impatience. He came back with the money, which Texas examined
cautiously, and then dropped with his own on the sawdust. And then he
turned toward the sleepy bronco.
“I’m ready now,” said he. “Bring the critter hyar.”