It was the work of only a moment to rush into the ring, where the tamer lay huddled and motionless. Kind hands lifted him and carried him away beyond the performance tent, with its eager spectators. The attendants quickly unharnessed the two tame lions, and they were removed in another cage, brought in by the elephant for their benefit.
Norah slipped a hot, trembling hand into her father’s.
“Let’s go, Daddy—I’ve had enough.”
“More than enough, I think,” said Mr. Linton. “Come on, little girl.”
They slipped out in the wake of the anxious procession that carried the tamer. As they went, a performing goat and monkey passed them on their way to the ring, and the clown capered behind them. They heard his cheerful shout, “Here we are again!” and the laughter of the crowd as the show was resumed.
“Plucky chap, that clown,” Mr. Linton said.
In the fresh air the men had laid the tamer down gently, and a doctor was bending over him examining him by the flickering light of torches held by hands that found it hard to be steady.
“Not so much damaged as he might be,” the doctor announced, rising. “That shoulder will take a bit of healing, but he looks healthy. His padded uniform has saved his life. Let’s get him to the private hospital up the street. Everything necessary is there, and I’d like to have his shoulder dressed before he regains consciousness.”
The men lifted the improvised stretcher again, and passed on with it. Norah and her father were following, when a voice called them. The wife of the circus proprietor ran after them—a strange figure enough, in her scarlet riding dress, the paint on her face streaked with tear marks.
“I’d like to know who you are,” she said, catching Norah’s hand. “But for you my man ’ud ’a been in the ring with that brute. None of us had the sense to think o’ bringin’ in the cubs. Tell me your name, dearie.”