by Jim Tully
Sheets of white and yellow flame crackled upward.
The Baby Buzzard rushed at Blackie, her withered fists clenched. “Hold this old rip,” shouted Blackie.
One of the men grabbed her carelessly. She scratched and bit until he pinioned her arms. Another man held her legs.
Cameron raised his hand. “Won’t you listen a moment, gentlemen?”
Then the cry reached his ears, “The main tent’s burnin’.”
The magnificent old ruffian jerked his plastered legs from their moorings and tried to stand erect.
The crackling flames mingled with the roar of lions and the wails of hyenas. The elephants trumpeted. A panther screamed like a woman.
Cameron stood erect and tried to walk. The seven desperadoes laughed as he fell backward.
Blackie, eyes blazing, stepped close to his cot and slapped his face.
“You don’t remember red-lightin’ me, do you, you old double crossing bastard? Well, I do. And you didn’t break my legs neither. But to hell with that. It’s money we want. I’m paymaster now. Where’s the money?”
Blackie laughed like a maniac. The old man lay silent.
The noises increased. Men shouted everywhere. The flames brightened.
“The old paraffine tent burns like dry matches,” exclaimed an excited canvasman. Cameron heard the words.
A more deathly calm came over him. “Who started the fire?” he asked dully, rubbing his bleared and tired eyes.
“Where’s the money?” shouted Blackie.
The circus owner’s mouth went tighter still. He glared at Blackie. The seven men edged closer about the cot.
“All right, you won’t talk?” Blackie held a gun at Cameron’s temple. The broken-legged circus owner’s eyes closed as though awaiting a bullet to rip through his head.
Blackie put his left foot forward. His body was tense. Death was five inches from Cameron’s brain. Blackie’s finger rubbed the trigger.
The Baby Buzzard screamed shrilly, her nerve broken:
“Under his bed. Under his bed.”
Blackie withdrew the gun. The cot was pushed to one side. The undaunted Cameron tried to leap upon Blackie as he stooped for the money, secure in heavy sacks in an open safe.
Blackie threw a heavy fist against Cameron’s jaw. His plastered legs spread out. His head went backward. He lay still.
“Now it’s pay-day, men.” Blackie motioned to the six cronies. “Hold the guns level. If anybody comes near, spatter his brains out.”
The Baby Buzzard was tied with a rope and placed by Cameron’s side. Blackie then ordered Finnerty and Dugan tied.
The wagon was overturned. The old lady screamed.
“Shut up or we’ll burn it,” yelled Blackie as he rushed into the darkness followed by the six ruffians.
* * *
Silver Moon Dugan regained consciousness and rolled over. The canvasmen returned and stared at the upturned wagon. Cameron and the Baby Buzzard groaned.
The wild confusion at last died down.
Citizens and police, attracted by the fire, now swarmed the lot.
All that was left of the big top were the three charred poles which had once held it. Red remnants of pine seats still glowed.
The gilded circus wagons were turned black with heat and smoke. The wind blew the odor of burnt paraffine over the circus ground.
The animals paced nervously in their cages. An elephant trumpeted. Two horses neighed; one after the other.
Soon the lot was deserted.
The silence of desolation reigned where the big top once had been.
XIX: Later
XIX: Later
NO trace of Blackie or his comrades could be found. The police asked many questions, and left. The circus roustabouts looked at each other sheepishly.
Silver Moon Dugan was taken to the hospital, his arm shot away.
Gorilla Haley’s skull was fractured. He became insane. He later became a member of the Chicago police.
Finnerty, beaten but not broken, took charge of everything. He stood at the end of Cameron’s wagon, which had been placed upright again. Cameron, his jaw bandaged, was in a half-sitting position as Finnerty addressed the men:
“We have shared danger together, gentlemen, and now we have endured robbery. It was our intention to pay you each and all, here this evening, but that, alas, cannot now be done.
“But we hold you no ill-will. Your mistake, if any, was of the head rather than of the heart.”
As Finnerty continued the men became more shamefaced and uneasy.
“I will wire our headquarters at Mr. Cameron’s suggestion tonight.” Cameron, feeling his bandaged jaw, nodded his approval.
“The money to pay each and every one of Cameron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows will be here in the morning. I will meet you in front of the post office at eleven tomorrow and pay you. Those who would rather travel on to headquarters may do so.”
The circus was loaded with alacrity.
At ten o’clock next morning the men marched in a body toward the post office.
Finnerty left with them. At ten forty-five the circus train departed for winter headquarters.
Finnerty was aboard.
