But the tiger could see in the dark. She could not see his leaps. And he would leap again, Johnny was sure of that.
In this he was not mistaken, for, with sinking sensation, he heard the cat leave the ground. There followed no sound. Breathlessly he waited till he felt the slight shock of the cat as he dropped. Or was it Gwen?
At this time of uncertainty a weird thing happened. Seeming to come from a spot in mid air, a streak of crimson light flashed down at an angle toward the floor. For an instant, it turned the costume, the parasol, the face of the girl crimson; the next, it swept the crouching tiger with a flood of blood red light. With a growl of fear the beast shrank back. The light followed him. He rose and leaped away. He paused. The light was again upon him. With a wild snarl, he sprang away toward the far end of the tent.
As he lay there staring open-mouthed, Johnny heard the sputter of arc lights. In a moment the tent was ablaze with white lights. The dynamo had been started, the light turned on.
Johnny sprang to his feet, then facing about, looked for the girl. The next instant he sprang toward the spot over which the wire was strung. He was there in time to break her fall. She had tottered from the wire.
She had not fainted, but it was in vain that she attempted to rise; her limbs would not support her.
“I, I guess I lost my nerve,” she apologized, as she sank down upon the sawdust.
“If you did, you lost a lot,” exclaimed Johnny in undisguised enthusiasm. “You were great!”
For the moment he forgot the caste of the circus, forgot he was only an ex-groom and she the queen of performers.
“Just sit right here,” he counseled. “I’ll run and get you a glass of water; you’ll be all right in a jiffy. The tiger’s safe enough; keepers have got him.”