The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings Part 22

"Not that anybody knows of."

"Come on; I want to see the fellow tame the tiger. I missed that today, because he didn't do it at the afternoon show."

They found Mr. Sparling standing in front of the cage. He, too, was there to watch the performance.

"This looks to me like ready money," he observed to Phil, nodding his head toward the people who were crowding into the tent.

"Mr. Forrest, will you ride Emperor in again tonight? I think that's one of the reasons they have come here," said the showman, shrewdly grasping the least thing that would tend to popularize his show.

"Certainly, sir. I shall enjoy it very much."

They now turned their attention to the cage where the trainer had begun with the savage tiger.

"Bengal is in an ugly temper about something tonight," announced Mr. Sparling in a low tone. "Better be careful, Bob," he cautioned, after having stepped up close to the cage.

"I'll take care of him," answered the trainer, without taking his eyes from the beast for the fraction of a second.

Phil had heard the dialogue and now drew closer to the cage, stepping under the rope and joining Mr. Sparling.

Teddy, of course, not to be left behind, crawled under the rope also.

"Sit down in front," shouted someone. "We can't see the animals play."

In a moment the spectators saw a play that was not down on the bills.

Bob was swinging the whip over Bengal's nose, the cruel lash cutting the tender snout with every blow. But he was not doing it from sheer cruelty, as many of the spectators who raised their voices in loud protest imagined.

Not understanding wild animals as the trainer did, they did not realize that this plucky fellow was fighting for his life, even though he used but a slender rawhide in his effort to do so.

Bengal was crowding him. The least mistake on the trainer's part now and the savage tiger would put a quick and terrible end to him.

"Stand back, everybody! Bring the prods!" bellowed Mr. Sparling.

Phil understood that something was wrong, though he never would have guessed it from the calm expression on the trainer's face.

Not a word did the performer speak, but his hand rained blows on the nose, while snarl after snarl was spit from between Bengal's gleaming teeth.

The trainer was edging slowly toward the door. He knew that nothing could be done with the beast in its present state of terrible temper.

His only hope was that at a favorable moment, when the attendants came with their long, iron bars, he might be able to spring from the door at his back, which he was trying to reach.

Phil's mind was working like an automatic machine. He saw now what the trainer was attempting to do, and was seeking for some means of helping the man. But what could a slender boy hope to do against the power of a great, savage brute like Bengal?

Phil concluded there was nothing.

A pistol flashed almost in the face of the two lads. Mr.

Sparling had started away on a run to fetch the attendants who either had not heard or failed to heed his call.

"What did he do that f-f-for?" stammered Teddy.

"To drive the tiger back. It was a blank cartridge that he fired. I think the tiger is going to attack him. Yes, there he goes! Oh, that's _terrible!_"

The trainer had been forced against the bars at the back of the cage by the animal, whose length was more than the width of the cage itself.

In an unsuspected moment the beast had sprung upon the unfortunate man, and with one sweep of his powerful paw had laid the man low.

With a growl of savage joy, the brute settled back against the bars of the cage near which the lads were standing.

Women shrieked and men grew pale as they stood helpless to do aught to avert the impending tragedy.

Teddy slipped out from under the rope, his face ashen gray. But Phil stood his ground. He felt that he _must_ do something.

Then his opportunity came. The beast's great silken tail popped out through the bars against which he was backing.

Phil Forrest, without an instant's thought of the danger into which he was placing himself, sprang forward.

His hands closed over the tail, which he twisted about his right arm in a flash, at the same time throwing up his feet and bracing them against a wheel of the wagon.

No sooner had he done so than Bengal, uttering a frightful roar, whirled. The force of the jerk as the brute turned hurled Phil Forrest against the bars of the cage with a crash, and Bengal's sharp-clawed feet made a vicious sweep for the body of the lad pressed so tightly against the bars.

CHAPTER XII

A THRILLING RESCUE

"Open the door and let the man out!" shouted Phil, with great presence of mind. But no one seemed to have the power to move.

One sweep of the powerful claw and one side of the lad's clothes was literally stripped from him, though he had managed to shrink back just far enough to save himself from the needle like claws of the tiger.

At this moment men came rushing from other parts of the tent.

Some bore iron rods, while two or three carried tent poles and sticks--anything that the circus men could lay their hands upon.

Mr. Sparling was in the lead of the procession that dashed through the crowd, hurling the people right and left as they ran.

With every spring of the tiger Phil was being thrown against the bars with terrific force, but still he clung to the tail that was wrapped about his arm, hanging on with desperate courage.

Though the lad was getting severe punishment, he was accomplishing just what he had hoped for--to keep Bengal busy until help arrived to liberate the unconscious trainer, who lay huddled against the bars on the opposite side of the cage.

"Poke one of the tent poles in to him and let him bite it!"

roared Mr. Sparling. "Half a dozen of you get around behind the cage and when we have his attention one of you pull Bob out.

Keep your poles in the opening when you open the door, so Bengal doesn't jump out. Everybody stand back!"

The commands of the showman came out like so many explosions of a pistol. But it had its effect. His men sprang to their work like machines.

In the meantime Mr. Sparling himself had grabbed the tail of the beast, taking a hold higher up than Phil's.

"Pull the boy off. He's hanging on like a bull dog. If you had half his sense you'd have put a stop to this mix-up minutes ago."