The elephant ceased pushing now, and backed up a few paces. From the cage came a roar more terrible than any that had preceded it, and, as if awakened by a call to battle, all the other wild beasts began to utter their cries, so that the Garden sounded like a section of a South African jungle.
Suddenly a tawny yellow streak shot out of the lion’s cage, launched itself through the air, and landed on the elephant’s back.
“Nero’s out!” yelled the trainer. “Lay low, everybody!”
The roars of the maddened beast had turned to angry growls. It crouched low on the back of the huge elephant, sinking its claws into the brute’s hide. The pachyderm trumpeted loudly in pain and terror.
A group of trainers and helpers huddled together in a space made by several cages. The men were afraid to run, for fear of attracting the attention of the lion to themselves.
“Here!” cried the head trainer. “I’ll get the hot irons! If he comes this way fire this revolver at him. It’s only got blanks in it, but it may scare him back to his cage. Only the door is broken. If we get him in we can scare him into remaining there.”
Then throwing a big revolver down on the sawdust, the trainer ran to where the irons were heating. At that instant the lion leaped from the elephant’s back, and came straight at the men. Not one stayed to see what would happen next, but fled in a hurry. Nor did anyone pick up the revolver.
Larry, who had been standing near the head trainer, saw the lion coming. His first thought was to flee, but he hardly knew which way to turn, as he had never been in the Garden before, and did not know where safety was. Then, hardly knowing what he was doing, Larry leaped forward, and grabbed the revolver. The lion was not twenty feet away, and was trotting straight at him, growling menacingly.
“Fire at him! Fire at him!” cried the head trainer, who was at the far side of the quarters. He had grabbed two hot irons from the furnace, where they were kept in readiness for just such emergencies.
The lion, seeing the boy standing in front of him, crouched for a spring. Larry’s heart was beating like a triphammer, and his hand trembled so he could hardly hold the revolver.