And it very nearly caused a tragedy.
The little dark-haired woman Maggie, who was with the girl always, like her shadow, noticed it immediately. I had given it to the girl when she went into the afternoon performances. When she came out Maggie seized her wrist, indicating the bracelet with some query. The girl pointed toward me where, at some distance, I stood by White near the horse tent. The little woman thought she meant White, and she rushed at him like a mad dog. From somewhere about her, as though out of the air, a knife flashed in her hand.
The thing happened in a moment.
White caught her by the shoulder and threw his body backward, but she swung under his arm and struck at him. Fortunately her reach was not quite long enough and the knife only slashed his coat. I caught the woman’s arm. But it was all the two of us could manage to hold her. She cursed and struggled like a harpy.
Mooney came sauntering up.
“It wasn’t White, Maggie,” he drawled; “it was the boy.”
The woman instantly ceased to struggle. We released her and she stood for a moment looking at me, as though in some deep reflection. Then she spoke.
“Why did you give it to her?”
I was embarrassed to reply. Finally I stammered it out.
“I don’t know.... I like her.”