Part 42 (1/2)

However, between the storm and the escaped lion, none seemed to have his wits about him sufficiently to know what was best to do.

Had the showmen acted promptly when Phil called, they might have been able to capture the beast then and there.

Seeing that they were not going to do so, and that the lion was walking slowly toward the reserved seats, Phil sprang in front of the dangerous brute to head him off.

The occupants of the reserved seats were standing up. The panic might break at any minute.

”Sit down!” came the command, in a stern, boyish voice.

Phil faced the escaped lion, starting toward it with a threatening motion of the whip.

”Are you ever going to get a net?”

”Get a net!” thundered Mr. Sparling. ”Get away from him, Phil!”

Instead of doing so, the Circus Boy stepped closer to the beast.

No one made the slightest move to capture the beast, as Phil realized might easily be done now, if only a few had the presence of mind to attempt it.

Crack!

The ringmaster's whip in Phil's hands snapped and the leather lash bit deep into the nose of Wallace.

With a roar that sounded louder than that of the storm outside the lion took a quick step forward, only to get the lash on his nose again.

Suddenly he turned about and in long, curving bounds headed for the lower end of the tent. Mr. Sparling sprang to one side, knowing full well that it would be better to lose the lion than to stir up the audience more than they already were stirred.

Phil was in full pursuit, cracking his whip at every jump.

Wallace leaped through the open flap at the lower end of the tent and disappeared in the night.

Just as he did so there came a sound different from anything that had preceded it. A series of reports followed one another until it sounded as if a battery of small cannon were being fired, together with a ripping and tearing and rending that sent every spectator in the big tent, to his feet yelling and shouting.

”The tent is coming down! The tent is coming down!”

Women fainted and men began fighting to get down into the arena.

”Stay where you are!” shouted Phil. Then the Circus Boy did a bold act. Running along in front of the seats he let drive the lash of his long whip full into the faces of the struggling people. The sting of the lash brought many of them to their senses. Then they too turned to help hold the others back.

With a wrench, the center poles were lifted several feet up into the air.

”Look out for the quarter poles! Keep back or you'll be killed!”

shouted Phil.

”Keep back! Keep back!” bellowed Mr. Sparling.

And now the quarter poles--the poles that stand leaning toward the center of the arena, just in front of the lower row of seats--began to fall, cras.h.i.+ng inward, forced to the north.

The center poles snapped like pipe stems, pieces of them being hurled half the length of the tent.

Down came the canvas, extinguis.h.i.+ng the lights and leaving the place in deep darkness. The people were fairly beside themselves with fright. But still that boyish voice was heard above the uproar: