BEHIND the big brute came a score of the animal men, armed with clubs, pitchforks, iron bars and elephant hooks. But Bill Henyon was not among them. The elephant trainer—the master of Ajax—had given that big brute his last command, for, as they ran, the men from the animal tent told how the elephant had seized Henyon in his trunk, and dashed him to the ground, maiming him so terribly that he was a cripple for life.
But now every man who could be spared from the circus grounds started to race after the fleeing elephant. Canvasmen, drivers, trainers, even the trapeze performers, joined in the hunt, and of course Jack, Sam, and several of the other clowns were there.
“If he runs toward town he’ll do a lot of damage, and maybe kill two or three people before his rage dies down,” said Sam.
“Can’t they catch him in time?” asked Jack.
“It’s a hard question. There, he’s heading for the creek. Maybe that’ll cool him off.”
The circus tents had been pitched near a small stream, and toward this the big brute was now headed, for, heavy as an elephant is, he can outrun a man for a short distance, and sometimes beat him in a long race.
Into the water plunged Ajax, filling his trunk with it and spraying it all about. He took up his position in the middle of the stream, as if to bid defiance to his pursuers.
“Go slow now,” cautioned Hank Servdon, who was the boss animal man. “I’ll keep him engaged in front, while some of you sneak up behind and shackle one leg with a long chain.”
It was a risky plan, but it worked. While Hank slowly approached Ajax from in front, wading out into the creek, with his elephant hook raised, ready to catch it in the sensitive trunk of the brute, other men approached through the water at the rear, holding in readiness heavy chains. Ajax concentrated all his attention on Hank, whom he doubtless hoped to treat as he had served poor Henyon.
“Ajax! Attention! Up! Up!” suddenly cried Hank, giving the beast the order to stand on his hind legs. Habit was too much for the brute, enraged as he was. With a trumpet of protest, he rose slowly.
“To bid defiance to his pursuers”
“Now, men!” cried Hank, and in a trice two chains had been slipped about the hind legs. Ajax was caught before he had gotten into town, but there was sorrow among the circus folk when they heard how grievously Bill Henyon was hurt. Ajax had caught him unawares, as the elephant man stooped over to adjust one of the chains that the big creature had pulled loose.
But the show must go on, no matter what happens to the employees or performers, and when the news got around that one of the elephants in the circus had nearly killed his keeper there was a bigger crowd than usual at the night performance, every one anxious for a glimpse of Ajax.
The brute had quieted down somewhat, but there was an extra fence of ropes about his enclosure in the animal tent, and he was so heavily shackled with chains that it would have been a task even beyond his terrible strength to get loose.
Every one in the circus was more or less nervous that night, and even the veteran performers on the high wire and on the flying trapeze did not feel so sure of themselves as usual.
Once, during a particularly long jump clear across the tent, when one of the trapeze performers swings loose to catch in the hands of another, there was a miscalculation, and the performer fell quite a distance into the net. After that Mr. Paine called the act off.
“It’s too risky,” he said. “I’m afraid something’s going to happen to-night.”
Perhaps all this got on Jack’s nerves, for, though he was usually clear headed, he found himself feeling somewhat nervous as he climbed to the top of his platform, ready for his first leap with the flying machine.
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed to himself. “What’s the matter with me, anyhow? I’m thinking too much of poor Mr. Henyon. Well, here goes,” and he launched himself down.
He landed safely, amid the laughter of the crowd at his queer act.
“I guess I’m all right,” he thought. His success made him more confident, and he did the next two turns even better than the first. Then came the last one.
“I’m tired to-night,” thought Jack. “I don’t feel just like myself. Guess I must be getting homesick. Oh, but I would like to see dad and mom again! I wish I was back in Westville, even if the professor would have me arrested. Well, here goes for the last turn, and then I’m going to bed and sleep.”
There was some delay in getting his platform over to the far side of the tent, where he was to make his last jump, and it was almost time for the final races when it was in position.
Jack climbed up, and his airship was hoisted up to him. He did his customary song and dance, and then prepared to give his exhibition of flying. Yet in spite of the confidence that had come back to him when he found that he had done the trick three times successfully, he felt his nervousness returning.
“I guess I’d better take a tonic,” he told himself. “Well, here goes.”
He leaped forward, grasping the handle of the big umbrella that extended down through the distended bag. He expected to feel himself buoyed up as usual by the big Japanese affair, but as his feet began to work the pedals controlling the wings, and as he got ready to pull the strings to fire the shot and display the flags and rooster, he realized that something was wrong. The umbrella was not holding him up. In fact, he was falling swiftly to the ground.
The crowd not understanding that something was wrong, began to laugh as it always did, but there was terror in Jack’s heart.
Suddenly there was a ripping sound, and the big umbrella turned inside out. Jack fell rapidly and heavily toward the earth, having no support to break his terrific fall.
As he landed, his hand unconsciously pulled the strings and the shot was fired, the flags fluttered out, and the rooster crowed. The crowd yelled and applauded, but poor Jack felt a pain in his left leg as if some one had run a red-hot iron into it. Then it seemed as if some one had hit him on the head with a club. The lights, high up on the tent poles, died away. All became black, and Jack knew nothing more.