Major Dene stood and watched until Perry and her charges had turned up a side street that would take them straight to Westfield. Then grasping his tough Malacca firmly in his supple fingers, he strode swiftly forward to face the foe.
As he came close to the mob of people around the performers there arose a hoarse shout, mingled with shrill screams and piercing cries. Then the crowd surged, broke, scattered, and fled hither and thither in panic, until, in an incredibly short time, there were only about half a dozen who stood their ground to watch the closing scene in the final exhibition given by the remaining members of the old Satellite Circus Company.
It was, in truth, a gruesome spectacle! A huge beast—maddened to fury by the sharp lashes of a stinging whip, blinded by the blows that had fallen thick and fast about his head and ears, goaded by the memory of years of cruelty and brutality—crushing to death in his hairy embrace his tormentor, as together they rolled over and over in the thick white dust of the village street, not a sound breaking the awesome silence but the fierce, deep growling of the savage bear and the wild, hysterical weeping of a terrified woman.
For one brief, breathless moment Major Dene held back, gazing in horror at the unequal combat. Then, forgetting everything except that there on the ground before him was a fellow-creature in dire need of help, he sprang to the rescue. With one hand he tried to drag the brute off its victim by the leather collar that encircled its neck, while with the cane, which he still held in the other hand, he belaboured it smartly about the snout and eyes. Fired by one man's courage, several others came to his assistance, and among them they at length succeeded in securing Bruno. But not before his thirst for revenge was satisfied; for when Joe Harris was lifted and laid gently down upon the soft greensward alongside the sea, one glance was sufficient to show the medical man, who was quickly on the spot, that he was beyond the reach of human aid.
Yea, verily, "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
"Couldn't we help poor Mrs. Moll somehow, father?" suggested Darby next morning, after their father had briefly told the children that Thieving Joe was dead, and Bruno had been taken in charge by an enterprising organ-grinder, who, shrewdly surmising the real state of feeling between the brute and his late master which had led to such an awful tragedy, promised to be answerable for his good behaviour in the future. "She tried to help us as well as she knew how. Bambo thought so too."
"Let us take her back to Firgrove wif us, Aunt Catharine," coaxed Joan; "she can do heaps and heaps of fings, I know."
"I'm afraid that would hardly do, little one," answered Aunt Catharine, shaking her head. "But we'll think it over, and do the kindest thing we can for the poor creature."
The following day Major Dene and his aunt bent their steps towards the village, intending to seek out Moll, have a talk with her, and befriend her in whatever way should seem wisest and best. But although they sought high and low, peering inside canvas caves, walking boldly into booths and marquees, haunting Aunt Sally alleys and shooting galleries, inquiring of her probable whereabouts from any likely person they saw, Mrs. Harris was not to be found. She must, they concluded, have caught a glimpse of Darby and Joan, taken fright, and, fearful of consequences, made off.