CHAPTER VI
PROVING HIS METTLE
Familiar as they were with daring deeds, those of the circuspeople who witnessed Phil Forrest's dive gasped.
They expected to see the boy fall beneath the feet of theplunging pony, where he would be likely to be trampled and kickedto death.
But Phil had looked before he leaped. He had measured hisdistance well--had made up his mind exactly what he was going todo, or rather what he was going to try to do.
The pony, catching a brief glimpse of the dark figure that wasbeing hurled through the air directly toward him, made a swiftleap to one side. But the animal was not quick enough. The boylanded against the broncho with a jolt that nearly knocked thelittle animal over, while to Phil the impact could not have beenmuch more severe, it seemed to him, had he collided with alocomotive.
"Hang on!" howled a voice from the wagon.
That was exactly what he intended to do.
The cloud of dust, with Mr. Sparling in the center of it, had notreached them, but his keen eyes already had observed what wasgoing on.
"G-g-g-grab the woman!" shouted Phil.
His left arm had been thrown about the broncho's neck, while hisright hand was groping frantically for the animal's nose. Butduring all this time the pony was far from idle. He was plunginglike a ship in a gale, cracking the whip with Phil Forrest untilit seemed as if every bone in the lad's body would be broken. Hecould hear his own neck snap with every jerk.
With a howl Miaco, the head clown, launched himself from thewagon, too. Darting in among the flying hoofs--there seemed tobe a score of them--he caught the woman, jerked her foot free ofthe stirrup and dragged her quickly from her perilous position.
"She's free. Let go!" he roared to the boy holding the pony.
But by this time Phil had fastened his right hand on the pony'snostrils, and with a quick pressure shut off the animal's wind.He had heard the warning cry. The lad's grit had been aroused,however, and he was determined that he would not let go until heshould have conquered the fighting broncho.
With a squeal of rage, the pony leaped sideways. A deep ditchled along by the side of the road, but this the enraged animalhad not noticed. Into it he went, kicking and fighting, piecesof Phil's yellow robe streaming from his hoofs.
The lad's body was half under the neck of the pony, but he wasclinging to the neck and the nose of the beast with desperatecourage.
"Get the boy out of there!" thundered Mr. Sparling, dashing upand leaping from his pony. "Want to let him be killed?"
By this time others had ridden up, and some of the real horsemenin the outfit sprang off and rushed to Phil Forrest's assistance.Ropes were cast over the flying hoofs before the men thought itwise to get near them. Then they hauled Phil out, very much theworse for wear.
In the meantime Mr. Sparling's carriage had driven up and he washelping the woman in.
"Is the boy hurt?" he called.
"No, I'm all right, thank you," answered Phil, smiling bravely,though he was bruised from head to foot and his clothing hung intatters. His peaked clown's cap someone picked up in a fieldover the fence and returned to him. That was about all that wasleft of Phil Forrest's gaudy makeup, save the streaks on hisface, which by now had become blotches of white and red.
The clowns picked him up and boosted him to the wagon, jabberinglike a lot of sparrows perched on a telephone wire.
"See you later!" shouted the voice of Mr. Sparling as he droverapidly away.
Phil found his horn, and despite his aches and pains he beganblowing it lustily. The story of his brave rescue had gone onahead, however, and as the clowns' wagon moved on it was greetedby tremendous applause.
The onlookers had no difficulty in picking out the boy who hadsaved the woman's life, and somehow the word had been passedaround as to his identity.
"Hooray for Phil Forrest!" shouted the multitude.
Phil flushed under the coating of powder and paint, and sought tocrouch down in the wagon out of sight.
"Here, get up there where they can see you!" admonished a clown."If you're going to be a showman you mustn't be afraid to getyourself in the spotlight."
Two of them hoisted the blushing Phil to their shoulders andbroke into a rollicking song, swaying their bodies in imitationof the movements of an elephant as they sang.
At this the populace fairly howled with delight.
"He's the boy, even if he ain't purty to look at," jeered someonein the crowd.
"Handsome is as handsome does!" retorted a clown in a loud voice,and the people cheered.
After this the parade went on without further incident, thoughthere could be no doubt that the exciting dash and rescue by oneof their own boys had aroused the town to a high pitch ofexcitement. And the showmen smiled, for they knew what thatmeant.
"Bet we'll have a turn-away this afternoon," announced a clown.
"Looks that way," agreed another, "and all on account of thekid."
"What's a turn-away?" asked Phil.
"That's when there are more people want to get in than the tentwill hold. And it means, too, that the boss will be good naturedtill it rains again, and the wagons get stuck in the mud so thatwe'll make the next town behind time. At such times he can makemore noise than the steam calliope."
"He seems to me to be a pretty fine sort of a man, even if he isgruff," suggested Phil.
"The best ever," agreed several clowns. "You'll look a long waybefore you'll find a better showman, or a better man to his help,than Jim Sparling. Ever been in the show business, kid?"
Phil shook his head.
"Anybody'd think you always had been, the way you take hold ofthings. I'll bet you'll be in it before you are many yearsolder."
"I'd like to," glowed the lad.
"Ask the boss."
"No, he wouldn't want me. There is nothing I could do now, Iguess."
Further conversation was interrupted by the bugle's songannouncing the disbanding of the parade, the right of the linehaving already reached the circus lot.
The clowns piled from the hayrack like a cataract, the cataracthaving all the colors of the rainbow.
Phil, not to be behind, followed suit, though he did not quiteunderstand what the rush was about. He ran until he caught upwith Miaco.
"What's the hurry about?" he questioned.
"Parade's over. Got to hurry and get dinner, so as to be readyfor the afternoon performance."
All hands were heading for the dressing tent in a mad rush.
Phil was halted by the assistant manager.
The lad glanced down rather sheepishly at his costume, which washanging in tatters, then up at the quizzically smiling face ofthe showman.
"I--I'm sorry I've spoiled it, sir, but I couldn't help it."
"Don't worry about that, young man. How did it happen?" hequestioned, pretending not to know anything about the occurrencein which Phil had played a leading part.
"Well, you see, there was a horse ran away, and I happened to getin the way of it. I--"
"Yes, Forrest, I understand all about it. Somebody did somethingto that animal to make it run away and the boss is red headedover it."
"I--I didn't."
"No, that's right. It was lucky that there was one person in theparade who had some sense left, or there would have been a deadwoman with this outfit," growled the assistant.
"Was she badly hurt?"
"No. Only bruised up a bit. These show people get used to hardknocks."
"I'm glad she is all right. Who is she?"
"Don't you know?"
"No."
"That was Mr. Sparling's wife whose life you saved, and I reckonthe boss will have something to say to you when he gets sight ofyou again."
The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life Page 7
