The Circus Boys Across the Continent; Or, Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark, Page 7

  CHAPTER V

  DOING A MAN'S WORK

  For one brief instant Phil Forrest's head was giddy and hisbreath fairly left his body from the speed with which he waspropelled upward on the key rope.

  But the lad had not for a second lost his presence of mind.Below him was some eight feet of the rope dangling in the air.

  With a sudden movement that could only have been executed by onewith unusual strength and agility, Phil let the rope slip throughhis hands just enough to slacken his speed. Instantly he threwhimself around the center pole, twisting the rope around andaround it, each twist slackening his upward flight a little.He knew that, were his head to strike the iron ring in the domeat the speed he was traveling, he would undoubtedly be killed.It was as much to prevent this as to save the tent that Phil tookthe action he did, though his one real thought was to save hisemployer's property.

  Now the rapid upward shoot had dwindled to a slow, gradualslipping of the rope as it moved up the center pole inch by inch.But Phil's peril was even greater than before. The moment thatheavy iron ring began pressing down on his head and shoulderswith the weight of the canvas behind it, there would be nothingfor him to do but to let go.

  A forty-foot fall to the hard ground below seemed inevitable.Yet he did not lose his presence of mind for an instant.

  "Give him a hand!" yelled the boss canvasman.

  "How? How?" shouted the canvasmen. "We can't reach him."

  "Get a net under that boy, you blockheads!" thundered Mr.Sparling,rushing over from his station. "Don't you see he's bound tofall,and if he does he'll break his neck?"

  The boss canvasman ordered three of his men to get the trapezeperformers' big net that lay in a heap near the ring nearest thedressing tent, for there were two rings now in the Great SparlingCombined Shows.

  They dragged it over as quickly as possible; then willing handsgrabbed it and stretched the heavy net out. At Mr. Sparling'sdirection the four corners of the net were manned and thesafety device raised from the ground, ready to catch the ladshould he fall.

  "Now let go and drop!" roared Mr. Sparling.

  They heard Phil laugh from his lofty perch.

  "Jump, I say!"

  "What, and let the tent down on you all?"

  By this time the lad had curled his feet up over his head, andthey saw that he was bracing his feet against the iron ring,literally holding the tent up with his own powerful muscles.Of course, as a matter of fact, Phil was holding a very smallpart of the weight of the tent, but as it was, the strainwas terrific.

  Hanging head down, his face flushed until it seemed as if theblood must burst through the skin, he hung there as calmly as ifhe were not in imminent peril of his life. Then, too, there wasthe danger to those below him. If the tent should collapse someof them would be killed, for there were now few quarter poles inplace to break the fall of the heavy canvas.

  "I say, down there!" he cried, finally managing to make himselfheard above the uproar.

  "Are you going to drop?" shouted Mr. Sparling.

  "No; do you want me to let the tent drop on you? If you'll allget out there'll be fewer hurt in case I have to let go."

  "That boy!" groaned the showman.

  "Toss me a line and be quick about it," called Phil shrilly.

  "What can you do with a line?" demanded the showman, now moreexcited than he had ever been in his life.

  "Toss it!"

  "Give him a line!"

  "A strong one," warned Phil, his voice not nearly as far reachingas it had been.

  "A line!" bellowed Mr. Sparling. "He knows what he wants it for,and he's got more sense than the whole bunch of us."

  A coil of rope shot up. But it missed Phil by about six feet.

  Another one was forthcoming almost instantly. This time,however, Mr. Sparling snatched it from the hands of the showmanwho had made the wild cast.

  "Idiot!" he roared, pushing the man aside.

  Once more the coil sailed up, unrolling as it went. This timePhil grasped it with his free hand, which he had liberated forthe purpose.

  "Now, be careful," warned Mr. Sparling. "I don't know what youthink you're going to do; but whatever you start you're sureto finish."

  To this Phil made no reply. He was getting too weak to talk, andhis tired body trembled.

  In the end of the key rope a big loop had been formed, thisafter the tent was up, was slipped over a cleat to prevent apossibility of the rope slipping its fastenings and letting thetent down.

  Phil had discovered the loop when it finally slipped up so hisone hand was pressed against the knot.

  Every second the weight on his feet--on his whole body, in fact,was getting heavier.

  "If I can hold on a minute longer, I'll make it!" he muttered,his breath coming in short, quick gasps.

  What he was seeking to do was to get the rope they had tossed tohim, through the big loop. In his effort to do so, the coilslipped from his hands, knocking a canvasman down as it fell,but the lad had held to the other end with a desperate grip.

  Now he began working it through the loop inch by inch. It wasa slow process, but he was succeeding even better than hehad hoped.

  Mr. Sparling now saw what Phil's purpose was. About the sametime the others down there made the same discovery.

  They set up a cheer of approval.

  "Wait!" commanded the owner of the show. "The lad isn't out ofthe woods yet. You men on the net look lively there. If youdon't catch him should he fall, you take my word for it, it'll gomighty hard with you."

  "We'll catch him."

  "You'd better, if you know what's good for you. Goodness, buthe's got the strength and the grit! I never saw anything like itin all my circus experience."

  They could not help him. There was no way by which any of themcould reach Phil, and all they could do was to stand by and dothe best they could at breaking his fall should he be forced tolet go, as it seemed that he must do soon.

  Nearer and nearer crept the line toward the ground, but it wasyet far above their heads. It was moving faster, however, asPhil got more weight of rope through the loop, thus requiringless effort on his part to send it along on its journey.

  "Side pole! Side pole!" shouted the boy, barely making himselfheard above the shouts below.

  At first they did not catch the meaning of his words.Mr. Sparling, of course, was the first to do so.

  "That's it! Oh, you idiots! You wooden Indians! You thickheads!Get a side pole, don't you understand?" and the owner made a diveat the nearest man to him, whereat the fellow quicklyside-steppedand started off on a run for the pole for which Phil had asked.But, even then, some of the hands did not understand what hecould want of a side pole.

  The instant it was brought Mr. Sparling snatched it from thehands of the tentman. Raising the pole, assisted by the bosscanvasman, he was able to reach the loop. The iron spike in theend of the pole was thrust through the loop, and by exertingconsiderable pressure they were able to force the loop slowlytoward the ground.

  "You'll have to hurry! I can't hang on much longer," criedPhil weakly.

  "We'll hurry, my lad. It won't be half a minute now," encouragedMr. Sparling. "Stand by here you blockheads, ready to fall onthat rope the minute it gets within reach. Three of you grabhold of the coil end and pay it out gradually. Be careful.Watch your business."

  Three men sprang to do his bidding.

  "Here comes the loop!"

  Ready hands grasped the dangling rope.

  The two strands were quickly carried together and the weight of adozen men thrown on them, instantly relieving the strain on PhilForrest's body.

  Phil had saved the big top, and perhaps a few lives at thesame time. Now a sudden dizziness seemed to have overtaken him.Everything appeared to be whirling about him, the big topspinning like a giant top before his eyes.

  "Slide down the rope!" commanded Mr. Sparling.

  The lad slowly unwound the rope from his arm and feebly motionedto them
that they were to walk around the pole with their end sothey might hoist the iron ring to the splice of the center pole.

  "Never mind anything but yourself!" ordered Mr. Sparling."We'll attend to this mix-up ourselves."

  Very cautiously and deliberately, more from force of habitthan otherwise, the lad had let his feet down, and with themwas groping for the rope.

  "Swing the line between his legs!" roared the owner. "Going tolet him stay up there all day?"

  "That's what we're trying to do," answered a tentman.

  "Yes, I see you trying. That's the trouble with you fellows.You always think you're trying, and if you are, you neveraccomplish anything. Got, it, Phil?"

  "Y--ye--yes."

  Twisting his legs about the rope the boy next took a weak grip onit with both hands, then started slowly to descend. This he knewhow to do, so the feat was attended with no difficulty other thanthe strength required, and of which he had none to spare just atthe present moment.

  "Look out!" he called. He thought he had shouted it in aloud tone. As a matter of fact no sound issued from his lips.

  But Mr. Sparling whose eyes had been fixed upon the boy,saw and understood.

  "He's falling. Catch him!"

  Phil shot downward head first. Yet with the instinct of theshowman he curled his head up ever so little as he halfconsciously felt himself going.