Chapter 13 A Narrow Escape

Thanks to Phil's presence of mind, Dimples had landed lightly on herfeet well outside the ring curbing. Had the lad held to her ankles even asecond too long the result must have been serious, if not fatal, for Dimpleswould have been hurled to the ground head first.

　　As it was, Phil gave her a lift, enabling her to double and "ball," acircus term meaning to curl one's feet up under the body, then straightenthem as needed to give the body balance either in turning a somersault orin falling.

　　In doing so, however, Phil had had no thought for his own safety. Heplunged forward over the head of the ring horse, striking the ground on hishead and face.

　　The force of his fall had been broken somewhat by his quicklythrowing out his hands in front of him and relaxing the muscles of hisbody. Circus performers soon learn how to fall--how to make the best ofevery situation with which they are confronted. Despite this, his fall hadbeen a severe and dangerous one.

　　"There, he has done it! I knew he would," cried Mr. Sparling,rushing to the ring. Quick as he was, Dimples was ahead of him. Sheleaped the ring curbing and dropped down beside him, not caring for thedust and the dirt that soiled her pretty costume.

　　"Phil! Phil!" she cried.

　　Phil did not answer at the moment.

　　"Is he hurt--is he killed?" demanded Mr. Sparling excitedly.

　　"Of course he is hurt. Can't you see he is?" answered Dimples testily.

　　She turned the boy over and looked into his face. The dirt was soground into the handsome, boyish face as to make it scarcelyrecognizable.

　　"Lift him up. Get some of the attendants to carry him back!"commanded the woman impatiently.

　　"No, no!" protested Phil in a muffled voice, for his mouth was full ofsawdust and dirt. "I'm all right. Don't worry about me.""He's all right," repeated the showman. "I'll help you up, Phil."Phil, like the plucky performer that he was, declined their offers ofassistance and struggled to his feet. He was dizzy and staggered a little,but after a moment succeeded in overmastering his inclination to faint.

　　A fleck of blood on his lips showed through makeup and sawdust.

　　"I'm all right. Don't worry about me," he said, with a forced smile.

　　Dimples sought to brush the dirt from his face with her handkerchief,but he put her aside gently, and, with a low bow, threw a kiss to theaudience.

　　Their relief was expressed in a roar of applause.

　　Phil staggered over to where the ring horse still lay near the center ofthe ring and knelt down beside it, examining the leg that was doubled upunder the animal.

　　The ringmaster cracked his whip lash as a signal for the animal to getup, but the faithful old horse, despite its efforts to rise, was unable to doso.

　　"What is the matter with him?" demanded Mr. Sparling.

　　"Jim has broken a leg, I think," answered Phil sadly. "Too bad, toobad!"The lad patted the head of the horse and ran his fingers through thegrey mane. Tears stood in Phil Forrest's eyes, for he had ridden thishorse and won most of his triumphs on its resined back during the pastthree years.

　　"Dimples, I guess we have ridden Jim for the last time," said Phil in alow voice. "Hadn't you better start the other acts, Mr. Sparling. Theaudience will become uneasy.""Yes, yes," answered the showman, waving his hand to the band, asignal that they were to play and the show to go on as usual. "Are yousure, Phil--sure Jim has not merely strained the leg?""I am sure. He never will perform again."Dimples brushed a hand across her eyes.

　　"I shall cry when I get back to my dressing tent. I know I shall," shesaid, with a tremor in her voice that she strove to control.

　　Then Dimples smiled bravely, waving a hand at the audience, thoughher heart was sad.

　　"What had we better do with him, Phil?""We can do nothing at present--not until the show is ended. Then,there is only one thing to do.""You mean he will have to be--""Yes, Dimples, he will have to be shot," answered Phil.

　　"But the audience?""Have a couple of attendants come in here and pretend to be workingover Jim. That will make the audience think the animal's foot is injuredrather than fatally hurt," suggested Phil Forrest.

　　"A good idea," said Mr. Sparling, giving the necessary orders.

　　Tell them not to disturb the spot, not trample it down.

　　"Why?" questioned the showman in surprise.

　　"I'll tell you later. I have my own reasons."Phil motioned to Teddy to approach.

　　"Sit down here in the ring and watch the horse and the men aroundhim," directed the Circus Boy. "I'll tell you why later."The show went on with a snap and dash. Meanwhile, Phil, hisclothes torn, his face grimy with dirt, started down the concourse towardthe pad room, hand in hand with Little Dimples.

　　Their progress was a triumphal one so far as the audience wasconcerned, for the people cheered them all the way and until the slenderriders had disappeared behind the crimson curtain just beyond thebandstand.

　　Phil quietly washed the dirt from his face, and pulling on his streetclothes over his ring costume, started to reenter the arena.

　　At that moment Mr. Sparling came hurrying in. The two met in thepad room.

　　"Phil, how did that accident happen?" demanded the showman.

　　"You saw it, did you not, Mr. Sparling?""Yes. But I was unable to understand how it occurred.""That is exactly what is bothering me," answered the lad, with apeculiar smile that the owner of the show was not slow to catch.

　　"You suspect something?""I suspect I got a bump that I shan't forget soon," laughed the CircusBoy. "It is a wonder I did not break my neck.""You undoubtedly saved Dimples' life at the risk of your own. Youare the pluckiest lad--no, I'll say the pluckiest _man_ I have ever known.""Don't make me blush, Mr. Sparling.""Nevertheless, I wish you wouldn't take chances on that act again.

　　Give the audience the same old act and they will be satisfied with that.""Didn't you like the act?""Like it?""Yes.""It was the finest exhibition of its kind that I ever saw. I hopeneither the Ringlings, nor Barnum and Bailey, nor any of the big showsget a peep at that act.""Why?""Because were they to do so I would be sure to lose my little starperformers right in the middle of the season," laughed the owner.

　　"Oh, I hardly think so. I do not wish to leave this show. Had it notbeen for you I should still be doing chores for my board and clothes backin Edmeston. Now wouldn't that be fine?""Very," grinned the showman.

　　"Whatever I have accomplished I have you to thank for.""You mean you owe to your own brightness and cleverness. No, Phil,you are a boy who would have succeeded anywhere. They can't keepyou down--no, not even were they to sit on you.""If Fat Marie, with her five hundred and odd pounds, were to sit onme, I rather think I would be kept down," answered the Circus Boy, with ahearty laugh in which Mr. Sparling joined uproariously.

　　"What is Teddy doing out in the ring?""I left him there to keep an eye on the injured horse.""Why, Phil?""Until I could get back and make an examination.""Very well; I want to see you after you have done so.""I will look you up."With that Phil hurried out into the arena. None of the spectatorsappeared to recognize the lad in his street clothes. Besides, he tried toavoid observation. He might have been one of the spectators, except thathe picked his way, among the ropes and properties down through thecenter, where the public were not allowed to go.

　　"The rest of you may go," said Phil, reaching the ring where Jim laybreathing heavily. "Thank you for easing off old Jim. I know heappreciates it."Jim looked up pleadingly as Phil bent over him, patting the animal onhis splendid old gray head.

　　The attendants went about their duties.

　　"How'd this happen, Phil?" questioned Teddy.

　　"I fell off; that's what happened.""Yes, I know you did, but there's more to it. I wonder if it's gotanything to do with the loss of my egg?""I guess not.""You guess not? Well, I know something, Phil.""I should hope you do.""I mean about this accident."Phil gazed at his companion keenly.

　　"What do you know?""Look here," said Teddy, pointing to a depression in the sawdust arena.

　　Phil bent over, examining the spot closely. When he rose, his lipswere tightly compressed and his face was pale.

　　"Don't mention this to anyone, Teddy. Promise me?"" 'Course I won't tell. Why should I? But I found out about it,didn't I?""Yes; at least you have made a pretty good start in that direction. Ishall have to tell Mr. Sparling. It would not be right to keep thisinformation from him.""N-n-o-o. Then maybe he'll organize a posse to hunt for my egg.""Oh, hang your old egg!"The Roman chariot races were on, the rattle of the wheels, the shoutsof the drivers drowning the voices of the two boys.

　　"Teddy, you'll have to get back and change your clothes. Theperformance is about over. That makes me think. I have on my ringclothes under this suit and I must hurry back to my bath and my change."The performance closed and the rattle and bang of tearing down thebig white city had begun. The boys were engaged in packing their trunksnow, as were most of their fellow performers.

　　"What's that?" demanded Teddy, straightening up suddenly.

　　"Somebody fired a shot," answered another performer.

　　Phil knew what it meant.

　　A bullet had ended the sufferings of the faithful old ring horse offunder the big top. The Circus Boy turned away, with a blinding mist inhis eyes.

　　"Poor old Jim!" he groaned.

　　Off under the women's dressing tent another pair of ears had heard andunderstood, and Little Dimples, burying her head in her hands wept softly.

　　"Poor old Jim!" she, too, murmured.