REREAD *K In three mornings they found her in crumpled finery. A little blue bottle was clenched in her right hand. Many paper-backed novels were piled near her trunk. It was packed as 1f for a long journey. [141] IX: “With Folded Hands For- ever” IX: “With Folded Hands For- ever” HE Strong Woman’s death had a gloomy ef- fect upon me. Slug Finnerty and Cameron had discovered her. A mark was seen on her throat, as though the string which held her grouch bag had been torn from it. Money, jewelry, finery, every- thing of possible value had disappeared. We al- ways felt that Cameron and Finnerty had robbed her. “They’d of skinned her if they could, the measly crooks!”’ sneered Jock. ‘Talk about fallin’ among thieves.” The coroner was called, and signed the death cer- tificate. There was no money with which to bury her. “It’s a lucky shot for me,” said Silver Moon Dugan, “I owed her fifty bucks J won’t have to pay. She was a funny dame.” The Moss-Haired Girl said to me after the cor- oner had gone, “It sure is awful to die in Arkansas with this circus, but then she’s just as well off. She [145] Circus Parade was just in wrong, that’s all.” She walked with me to where the Baby Buzzard sat in front of the mu- sicians’ tent. “Well, she’s gone,” said the Baby Buzzard as we approached. “Yes,” was Alice’s answer. “It’s a hard loss for Bob. She drew a lot of money each week.” “Yes, it’s too bad for Bob. Poor Bob, he does have the hardest time,” smiled Alice. “Yes indeed he do,”’ responded the Baby Buz- zard, missing the Moss-Haired Girl’s tone of mock- ery. “But she has to be buried, you know,” continued the Moss-Haired Girl. ““There’s too much of her to keep above ground. We’d better take up a collection for her. I’l] start it with twenty dollars.” Just then Cameron appeared. “What will you give?’ Alice asked him. “Well, I think five dollars each among twenty of us will be enough. After all, we can’t get a coffin big enough in the town, and it don’t matter any- how. I’ve got two of the boys makin’ a big box and linin’ it wit’ canvas. The coffins fall apart after three days in the grave anyhow. Them undertakers [146] “With Folded Hands Forever’’ are the original highway robbers.” And Cameron fingered his Elk tooth charm. The Baby Buzzard disappeared and returned with her glassful of half dollars. She counted ten of the coins and handed them to Alice, who turned them over to Cameron. “These’ll pay her way through purgatory, or start her soul rollin’. That’s more’n she’d do for me if I croaked. People ’at croak ’emselves should bury ’emselves. Them’s my ways of lookin’ at it. I ain’t never seen a man yet I’d bump myself off for. You can’t do ’em no good when you're dead,” half soliloquized the Baby Buzzard. “May be not,” returned the Moss-Haired Girl, looking from Cameron to the Baby Buzzard, “but we can at least shut our mouths and let her rest in peace. Somebody’s stole everything she had. Even her silk underwear’s gone. And who in the dickens with this circus can wear that?’ “Maybe Goosey stole it to put on the elephants,” sneered the old lady. “Maybe so, but the elephants wouldn’t wear it if they knew it was stolen. They’re above that.” “Well, well,” and Cameron now became reverent, “it’s all beyond our power.’ He pointed heaven- [147] Circus Parade ward. “He who is above us has called her home.” “He may have called her, but He didn’t send her carfare. He probably thought she could bum her way,’ dryly commented the Baby Buzzard. “That is not for us to judge,” replied Cameron solemnly, “for who are we to question the Great Taskmaster’s laws? It is best that we bury her be- fore parade so as not to disturb the even tenor of our ways. I will say a few words and have the band play and sing a few songs. And then we shall take her to the graveyard in one of the elephant’s cages. Buddy Conroy is there now makin’ arrangements. The wagon with the cage can follow along with the parade, and no one will be the wiser.”’ The Strong Woman was placed in a square pine canvas-covered box with her blonde head resting on a huge red pillow trimmed in green. Her heavy hands were folded. Her mouth was puckered in a half smile which helped to conceal the cyanide scar at the edge of her lower lip. Her head was buried in the pillow. Her large breasts rose high above every- thing. Fourteen men lifted the box. Cameron’s showman instinct prevailed at the last. The calliope was called into service. A man stood upon its platform and played as weird a tune as was [148] “With Folded Hands Forever” ever concocted by the most fantastic human brain. It seemed to my boyish mind to have been blended with wild wails and screeching laughter. It was fol- lowed by: I had a dream the other night, Floating on the River of Sin, I peeped inside of Jordan bright, Floating on the River of Sin, And another place I seen inside, Floating on the River of Sin. A place where the devil does reside, Floating on the River of Sin. Freaks and thieves, trailers and clown acrobats and stake-drivers gathered in front of the Strong Woman’s tent. “Come on now, men, we’ll make it snappy,” said Slug Finnerty. “Join in the song with the calliope.” He waved his hands. I seen a band of spirits bright, Floating on the River of Stn, Holding church by candle light, Floating on the River of Sin. A great big chariot passing by, [149] Circus Parade Floating on the River of Sin, Come so close they had to fly, Floating on the River of Sin. The crude heavy voices were drowned out by the wail of the calliope. They drove the chariot down below, A spirit fell down and hurt his toe, Floating on the River of Sin. Then singin’ and shoutin’ way out loud, Floating on the River of Sin. They took her to heaven in a great big cloud, Floating on the River of Sin. When the song had died away Silver Moon Du- gan, the Boss canvasman, commented. ““Gee, if she ever falls outta heaven there'll be a splash.” A few roustabouts laughed. Then Cameron stood before us on a pine box. “Fellow travelers with Cameron’s World’s Great- est Combined Shows,” he began, and paused—“it is my sad duty to say a few words here. I wish it understood that I come to bury Cesar, not to praise her. She is beyond us now, stripped of everything before God, who takes care of the weary and the [150] “With Folded Hands Forever” worn and calls the wandering lady here home. “We talk of worldly splendor, yet Solomon in all his gorgeous glory was not arrayed as one of these. She who now lies here before us once held our little world in awe. Now none of us are too procras- tinatin’ an’ poor to show our irreverence, and she recks not at all of it. It is not ours to judge, for we are ever in the Great Taskmaster’s eye, and if he should ever blink it ever so slightly we would crum- ble like the atomic mountains that rise outta the sea. “Ours is but a little stay here, full of sound and fury, and, if you will pardon the blasphemy, signi- fying not a hell of a lot. “It all reminds me of that well-known poem made immortal by Browning, than whom there was no more profound student of the human heart: There 7s so much good in the best of us, And so much bad in the rest of us, That it little behooves the best of us To talk about the rest of us. “Those lines to me have always been a welcoming tocsin. When tired, when weary with the troubles of Cameron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows, I [151] Circus Parade often retire to my humble car and solicitate upon them. Feeling the full majesty of them, I have naught but love and understanding for those mem- bers of my circus who would fain be ungrateful. “For are we not the same that our fathers have been? Do we not see the same sights and view the same sun and run in the same blood where our fa- thers have run? ““A great object-lesson can be received from this. As I have said in preceding, we are ever in our Great Taskmaster’s eye. He who rolls the mountains is watching over us. “God is ever on the side of justice, or as Gen- eral Robert E. Lee so well said, God marches at the head of the heaviest battalions; and those battalions are imposed of justice and mercy and undying truth.” Cameron took a large red and white kerchief from his pocket. He unfolded it deliberately, then wiped his forehead and eyes, cleared his throat and resumed: “We have labored in the vineyard with our sleep- ing friend here—and that reminds me that she is not dead, but sleepeth.”” Cameron looked at his audience as one will who feels he has uttered a profound truth. He wiped his eyes again. When he removed [152] “With Folded Hands Forever’’ the kerchief they suddenly filled with tears. His whole manner changed. “Oh it stabs my heart, this etief before me. He who has loved and has run away may live to love some other day. But what about the victim of this dastardly attempt at liason? I adjure you . . .” His frame shook, his kerchief rubbed wet eyes. The audience looked bored with piety. Cameron’s right hand, holding the kerchief, rose high in the air. He stood on tiptoe. “But friends, do not despair. In that vast circus ground in the other world we shall meet the lady who lies here with folded hands forever.” The crowd dispersed. The Strong Woman was placed in the elephant cage while the calliope played: Room enough, room enough, Room enough in heaven for us all— Oh don’t stay away. It then shifted: At the cross, at the cross, Where I first saw light, And the burden of my heart rolled away, Rolled away— [153] Circus: Parade It was there by faith I received my sight, Pa And now I am happy all the day — All the day. 6 ? ardueds X: Tiger and Lion Fight X: Tiger and Lion Fight S the season became older the hatred toward Cameron grew sharper. Men of every descrip- tion had come and gone since I had joined the cir- cus in Louisiana. My salary was increased to seven dollars a week and board. I earned about the same amount running errands for the Baby Buzzard, the Moss-Haired Girl, and Finnerty and Jack. The Baby Buzzard gave me four half-dollars each week. For many days I thought of the Strong Woman. I linked her up with the Lion Tamer and recalled the expression I often saw on her face as he passed her on the lot walking, graceful like a panther. Death again haunted me as in my childhood. These two—one buried in Louisiana, the other in Arkan- sas—did they know what we were doing? I won- dered who jerked the Strong Woman’s grouch bag from about her throat, and if Anton would ever hear of her death. The old trailer, who had written the verses when the Lion Tamer died, was no longer with us. He had refused to follow the circus through Arkansas. We [1571 Circus Parade had played three days in Little Rock. I last saw him in a saloon near the Iron Mountain railroad. He had been drunk three days and was just trying to sober up. Jock and I had stepped in for a drink. He sat, looking disconsolate, with his elbows on a beer- stained table. As we walked over to him, he said, ““Won’t you buy me a drink, boys? My nerves are all gone, my head aches awful an’ my mouth feels like a Chinese family’s just moved out.” The words pleased Jock and he laughed heartily. Loungers in the saloon turned to look at us. “You old reprobate, that’s worth a half pint.” Jock placed the coin on the bar. The bartender held a bottle and asked sharply, ““What do you want, rye or bourbon?” “T don’t give a damn,” the old man answered im- patiently, grabbing at the bottle, removing the cork » and placing it to his mouth. We watched the old man drink it like water. Jock gave him a quarter with, “‘Ain’t you trailin’ us any more?” “Not no more, no siree. I don’t trail no circus in Arkansas. The God damn rubes down there ain’t be- gun to be civilized. Whenever I hit Little Rock I jist turn round and go back no matter where I’m headin’.”’ [158] Tiger and Lion Fight As we left, the old trailer handed us each a poem printed on yellow paper. “Tt’s a little thing I wrote the other day. I like it too. It’s all about booze.” Jock crunched the paper in his hand. I looked at my copy as we walked toward the circus lot. It was Edgar Allan Poe’s “Raven.” The first line had been changed from Once upon a midnight dreary to One summer morning bright and cheery, While I pondered weak and weary... >) The poem was called “A Drunkard’s Fate,” and was signed by the old trailer. We encountered a rainy week in the heart of Ar- kansas. Our nerves, for the most part, worn thread- bare from long contact with one another, now grew more taut as one dreary day followed another down the wet road of time. Even the animals became moody and sulky. Jock, full of morphine, swore ter- ribly at the horses, until his “habit” had worn off. As our bunks were full of vermin, or “‘crummy”’ in the vernacular of the circus, we slept in the circus [159] Circus Parade wagons and other places on warm nights. Now that the air was chilled with rain we were forced to our vermin-infested bunks. My own fortunes were to change later when Whiteface became a clown. He was allowed a little tent to himself. I shared it with him. | Mike Anderson, who had succeeded Denna Wy- oming as lion tamer, took us one day in a body be- fore Cameron. He met us Ba even benignantly, with, “Well, boys.” “We're tired of floppin’ in the lousy bunks, Mr. Cameron,” Mike said suddenly. “Why men,” Cameron returned quickly, “this is surprising. Lice and rubes are part of a circus.” “Maybe so, but I don’t want either of ’em in my bunk,”’ sneered Anderson. Just then the Baby Buzzard approached. “I suppose you want me an’ the other women to clean ’em for you,” she snapped. “Naw we don’t. We want ’em all burned up an’ new ones put in.” The adroit Cameron soon placated the feelings of all his callers but Anderson. He stood sullenly by while Cameron said with soft voice, ““You know how it is, men, keeping a circus clean is a hard job.” “Ringlin’s do it,’ put in Anderson. [1607] Tiger and Lion Fight “But look at the many localities they have; they got everything convenient. Next year, if this rain stops, Pll have a much finer circus an’ it’]l be like a little home for all of us.” As we walked away Anderson confided to me, “Tomorrow’s pay-day. I think I'll blow the outfit.” The next day Cameron explained to all who would listen the hardships of a circus owner’s life, as he reluctantly paid us. Anderson was paid in full. He also borrowed twenty dollars from Cameron, who wished to keep him in good humor. Men who could handle animals of the cat tribe were scarce so late in the season. Cameron had offered Jock more wages to take charge of the “Big Cats” than he was receiving for taking care of the horses. Knowing always the con- dition of his nerves, he refused, Bad Bill had been separated from the other lions on account of the growing fierceness of his disposi- tion. Anderson had placed him in a cage next to Ben Royal, a Bengal tiger. I had often speculated on whether or not Ben Royal could whip Bad Bill. He was at least forty or fifty pounds lighter. I had remembered reading in a history of Rome, as a child, that five lions had al- ways been sent into the arena against four tigers. [161] Circus Parade That seemed proof to me that the tiger was the lion’s master. I had once talked about it to Denna ~ Wyoming. “Bad Bill,” said he, “can lick anything that walks or swims in the world.’ Anderson, then the chief assistant trainer laughed out loud when I told him about it. “Ben Royal kin tear Bill’s heart out in three min- utes,” was his comment. The idea of a fight between Bad Bill and Ben Royal afterward fascinated An- derson. He would often refer to it. And once, after I had talked to him about the ancient combats in Rome, ‘“That’d be a battle, huh! We oughta git old Cameron to stage one for us.” It was Bad Bill whom Denna Wyoming had feared most of all. Anderson had shared his fear. Jock also hated and feared him. Though he was not directly responsible for Denna’s death, both men distrusted him as Wyoming had done. Jock had often called Bad Bill a traitor. He seemed to hold it against him that Wyoming had once saved his life with huge mustard plasers. In some way he resented the fact that the dumb king of beasts was ungrate- ful. That day Anderson and Jock talked a long time. All night the rain fell drearily and, in spite of the parafin, soaked the tents. The next morning, before [1627] Tiger and Lion Fight breakfast, an alarm sounded over our canvas world. Anderson was nowhere to be found. The rope which held the partition which separated Ben Royal and Bad Bill had been cut. Many of us had heard a lion roar in the night but had paid no further at- tention. Bad Bill was found, his throat torn, his stomach ripped open, and part of his carcass eaten. Ben Royal, with bloody jaws, dozed near him. “Can you beat it?’ laughed Jock to me. “‘Ander- son sure as hell turned Ben loose on Bill. The son of a gun wanted to turn him loose on Cameron.” Cameron was grief-stricken. ““IT'wo thousand dol- lars gone to hell,’’ was his dismal moan for some days. The tiger was afterward billed as “Ben, the Lion Killer.” A stirring tale of his combat was written and placed on his cage. Anderson was never found again. “Anderson knew Ben ’ud kill Bill,’’ Goosey after- ward told me. “The lion has everything buftaloed but the tiger. When I was wit’ Wallace I seen a tiger kill two lions quicker’n you could say ‘have a drink.’ “The lions seen the tiger comin’ an’ roared loud as thunder but it gave a lunge wit’ its mouth wide _ open and caught the one lion right under the throat an’ before it got thru’ gurglin’ it copped the other [163] Circus Parade lion, They had to turn a big hose on him to git him outta the cage. He sure went snarlin’!” Goosey never tired of talking about animals. “T seen a half lion and half tiger once,” he told me. “But they coulden go no further wit’ it; they can’t have little ones; they either come straight lions or straight tigers the second time. “A tiger kin outjump a lion too. I seen ’em jump over sixty feet. All’s a lion kin do is *bout forty- five. But they don’t like to jump, it hurts their feet. They’re jist as careful as a housecat about their paws.” Goosey was placed in charge of the “big cats” until another trainer could be found. Cameron never forgot the twenty dollars he had advanced Anderson. He used it as an excuse when asked for money during the remainder of the season. [164] XI: A Day’s Vacation ee th) XI: A Day’s Vacation OR three more days it rained. Our very lives were soggy. The last town had been a bloomer. Not enough money had been taken in at the gate to pay expenses. Cameron was sad. And still it rained. We hoped, the derelicts of circus life, that by the grace of God and the winds of chance we would again see the sun. The performers were able to travel in some com- fort. But the canvasmen, hostlers and stake-drivers, _ were not so fortunate. We protected ourselves from the maddening rain by crawling under pieces of side-wall canvas atop the wagons. In spite of the rain, we tried to sleep. The cars lurched noisily from one tie to another through the rainy night. There were no clouds; just the raindrops stabbing through the heavy steel at- mosphere. Once in the pathos of disgust I started to sing, “T wish I was in Dixie, Hurray! Hurray?” “Shut up, you dog, or we'll lynch you for cruelty [167] Circus Parade to animals,” the jockey yelled above the creaking of the wagons. I hummed ‘‘Rock of Ages” and tried to doze again. — Still a boy, my heart beat lighter then. All life was a pageant where now it is a slow parade. But I did have one concern. Burrowed under the canvas not ten feet from me was an immense pounder of stakes in whose head several screws had suddenly loosened. It was shaped like a lead bullet that hit a granite wall. Over it was blonde clipped hair that looked like stubs of withered grass. His nose had been smashed to the left. Each eye- ball was permanently fixed in the left corner of his eye. He could not look to the right without turning half way round. But his appearance did not bother me. I had always been certain from the day he joined the show that he was an escaped lunatic, though it was too personal a question to discuss with him. I had no reverence, and the blonde giant was a religious fanatic. He talked loud and long about Sodom and Gomorrah, as though he felt I was an outlaw from those unhappy places. I had once inno- cently said to him, “I wonder who makes God’s rain- coats. You know he’s a big guy and I'll bet it takes all the canvas in a Barnum tent just to pad his shoulders. He should give a God damn about it [168] A Day’s Vacation rainin’ on us guys.” I had made the remark merely as a philosophical speculation, being very young. But the blonde gentleman was a Christian and be- came my mortal enemy. Some days before I had picked up a little dog, the majority of whose ancestors had been Fox ter- riers. He was all white, save for the end of his stubby tail, which was black. I met him on the circus lot. He was so joyful and carefree, and so glad to see me that I held him in my arms a long time. I called him Jeremiah. The daintiest of women have since tripped in and out of my life, but little stub-tailed Jeremiah remains my first remembered love. We trekked with the circus together with no sub- tleties, and no explanations, our hearts laid bare to one another. I was not a tramp circus kid to Jere- miah, but a traveling gentleman who loved dogs. I write this in explanation of my love for him. It has bulked large through the years. Jeremiah now slept under the canvas with me. The huge blonde man thought I was making fun of religion whenever I called to the dog. Just the day before he had kicked at Jeremiah, and missed him, I saw the act and tangled with the stake-driver. Jeremiah, in his haste to help me, started to bite, [169] Circus Parade but the little rascal got the wrong leg. Silver Moon Dugan pulled me away from the big blonde. I could now hear the man moving uneasily under the canvas. I had, like many others, tried to sleep in the bunks. The vermin had routed us all. Now it was anywhere out of the wet. I would doze fitfully, alert for defense if the blonde should want to rid a sinful world of my pres- ence. Jeremiah seemed to sense my uneasiness, and kept burying his nose under my armpit. In this manner we jolted on through the rain- drenched night. We reached a muddy suburb of Atlanta with early dawn. When we unloaded the circus, Jock was com- pelled to go into Atlanta for more horses to pull us. Roxie, the best elephant with the show, had worn her forehead raw, pushing out wagons bogged in the mud. Jumpy had made a pad for it out of an old army blanket and a quilt. The heavy poultices dripped with water which ran down her trunk. She was in an evil mood. She clomped through the mud swinging her trunk madly. After much trouble we were on our way to the circus grounds. A wind came up and sizzed through the rain. Lanterns hung on each wagon. The wind made them bob up and down as if they floated on [170] A Day’s Vacation water. Lanterns were also attached to the neck yoke of the lead horses. From the distance we must have resembled an immense glowworm crawling through space. Jock worked horses and men with driving energy. An eight-horse team traveled up and down by the side of the road, with a heavy snake chain dragging behind. This was used in pulling wagons out of the mud. We reached Atlanta at daylight. Within an hour the sun shone over the city. It pierced red through the hazy weather. On our way to the circus grounds I noticed that the Southern Carnival Company was in Atlanta. The blonde stake-driver threw a spasm in the cook tent. His hands and knees went together, his eyes stared more rigidly to the left, he Jumped high in the air, and fell on the ground as stiff as an iron bar. We laid him out on a water-soaked bunk. Silver Moon Dugan, the boss canvasman, mum- bled, “A hell of a time to throw a fit, jist when the tent’s goin’ up.” He was short of men as usual. I helped put up the tent. With the hope of breaking the monotony by at- tending the carnival, I asked Jock if I might not [1948 Circus Parade play sick that day and join him after the night per- formance. | He said, “Sure, go ahead. It’s too wet to parade anyhow. I'l] fix it up.” | Jock gave me a silver dollar. I took Jeremiah with me. We walked slowly along until we came to a small butcher shop where I bought some meat for the dog. I was glad to be away from the blonde man, and Jeremiah would look up at me as if he were trying to express the same emotion. With no immediate worry save that of obtaining food, I loitered about Atlanta with Jeremiah until mid-afternoon. My mind was on the Southern Carnival Company. All such aggregations worked a shell game through the South. I had learned many things from Slug Finnerty’s crew. Accordingly I sauntered through one alley after another with Jeremiah in the hope of finding rubber out of which to fashion a pea. After a long search I came upon an old-fashioned clothes-wringer. As no one was about I soon removed one of the rubber rollers and carved a chunk from it. After much shaping and polishing I made it resem- ble a pea turned dark from handling. When finished, I threw the rest of the roller on the ground. Jeremiah immediately picked it up and started carrying it [172] A Day’s Vacation with him. I bade him drop the possible circumstan- tial evidence and inquired my way toward the car- nival. Everything was in full blast when I arrived with Jeremiah and hunted up the shell game. A crowd had gathered. I was attracted by the man who ran it. He stood perspiring under the hot sun. I leaned down and talked to Jeremiah, pointing to the ground at my feet, with the hope of making him understand I wanted him to stay close to me. He remained so close that I could touch him with my foot at any time. The operator of the shell game was jubilant. “Here you are, folks. If you guess right, you win. That’s all life is, folks, just a guess, folks—a ques- tion of guessing right. Three simple shells—under which shell is the pea, folks?” he kept saying as he rubbed his hands together. He was shaved close. His jaw was steely blue with a streak of red across it, as if a razor had made a furrow that healed over, leaving a dent in the middle. The scar seemed to open and close as he talked, as though contradicting what his lips were saying. I looked about to spot the shillabers, his ac- complices. There were several within a dozen feet of him. [1731] Circus Parade All about them were vari-colored rustics. The whites were burned red by the sun and the blacks could no blacker be. The latter were dressed in fan- tastic colors, like barbaric children from another world. | Assuming as much innocence as possible, I looked about in a scared manner. I needed someone to fur- nish the money. A young Negro stood close to me. The eyes of a born gambler danced in his head. Sud- denly I heard the man with the scar across his jaw talk out of the corner of his mouth to a shillaber standing behind me, “Ushpay the pumchay oser- clay.’”’ People in a canvas and semi-gypsy world have a language of their own. They shift a word about and always put “ay” at the end of it. In this man- ner they can carry on a conversation that no one else can understand. The sentence translated was “Push the chump up closer.”” There was a sudden movement from behind. I looked more scared than ever, as I talked to the young Negro near me. Being shoved closer, I looked at the swiftly mov- ing hands of the man with the scar on his jaw. They were long and well kept, except for the nail on the little finger of his right hand. It extended about half an inch. His shirt sleeves were rolled above his black al- [174] A Day’s Vacation paca coat. Money of all denominations lay near his left hand. He handled it with indifference. “Just a mere guess, folks, a mere guess, that’s all.’ He looked at me benevolently. I leaned down and patted Jeremiah who huddled between my legs for protection. “You merely guess, folks, under which of the three shells the little black pea is hidden. If you guess right, I pay. Nothing intricate at all.” I watched him closely. He pretended to hide the pea awkwardly. Sometimes it even held up one side of the shell under which it was supposed to be hid- den. He would give the shell a little push as if he had just discovered his error. The play was slow at first. The operator offered ten to five, then twenty to a hundred and so on, al- ternating, “Come, gentlemen, locate the pea,” he would say as he counted out the money. “Two dol- lars to one. But why not win more? Your money never grows in your pants pockets.” A large Negro laid down five dollars. His smile was forced and the look in his eye was too quick. I knew he was a shillaber. He turned a shell. The pea was not under it. “Even money on the other two shells,”’ declared the man. “T’ll try it once for five,’ b volunteered a [175] Circus Parade young white shillaber who were a derby. He laid the five dollar bill down and flipped a shell over. There lay the pea. The man with the scar laughed as he paid out ten dollars. “That’s the way it goes, gentlemen. Lay down five and pick up ten. One man’s loss is another man’s gain. Try it once more there, colored boy,” to the first player. He shifted the shells and the pea. “Tl try it once moah if you all let my frien’ heah pick it foh me,” he suggested, at the same time push- ing a chocolate-colored brother in front of him. “I don’t care who picks it, gentlemen, as long as you gamble fair and square,” said the man. The big colored fellow laid down another five dollar bill and turned to the other. “You go on an’ pick it foh me. You looks lucky to me, boy.” The latter grinned proudly and looked closely at the shells. Several other Negroes told their comrade which shell the pea was under. The operator seemed en- grossed in other matters as the Negro raised the shell and disclosed the pea. He then counted out the winnings and began to hand them to the little choco- late-colored man. The big Negro pointed out the operator’s mistake and claimed the money. [176] A Day’s Vacation “My mistake, gentleman, my mistake,” laughed the operator. The big Negro said, ‘But you’d all of paid him he won, huh ?” “Certainly, gentlemen, certainly, whoever wins. It’s merely the love of the play that keeps me here. I enjoy it as much as you, folks. I could easily, gen- tlemen, follow any other calling, but here is my life work, gentlemen, just the joy of taking a chance. A gambler at heart, gentlemen, a square shooter, a fair deal, gentlemen, and no favors. I paid one man five hundred last week. The turn of a shell, gentlemen, the turn of a simple shell, and a fortune underneath. The wealth of Minus, gentlemen, the wealth of Minus.” He looked down at me. “If any other gen- tlemen had put their money down they would have won also.” The big colored shillaber began talking to the little man who had chosen for him. “Come, boy, you is lucky. V’1l put five dollahs down and you puts five dollahs, then we both win. Come on, you otheh colohed boys.” Several of them watched the studied clumsiness of the operator and pulled money out of purses with twist clasps—money earned under a burning sun. [1771] Circus Parade All the Negroes won, and doubled their bets. They won again and tripled. Then all lost. I watched the operator’s long fingernail sweep un- der the shell with the action of a scythe. The colored youth next to me stood fascinated. He smiled confidently at me and I saw my chance. “Listen, kid,” I whispered to him, “I can beat that game. If you’ll let me have ten to play, I'll get you twenty back. I know the riffle. We'll make a getaway and Ill meet you at the Salvation Army Hotel on Peachtree Street.” The big colored shillaber stood within five feet of us, so I whispered even lower. “Now if I play and — win and yell, ‘Go,’ you’ve got to run like the devil away from Holy Water. Hear me?’ The little Negro nodded, still smiling. The operator was say- ing, “As wealthy as Minus, gentlemen, as wealthy as Minus. Rockyfeller took a chance, everybody does. Which of the simple little shells is the pea under, gentlemen?” A shillaber moved closer and placed ten dollars on the board. Then as luck would have it, he turned to the colored lad near me. “‘You pick it out for me this time, boy.”’ The little fellow picked the middle shell—and—there was the pea. He smiled more confidently at me. [178] A Day’s Vacation Another shillaber edged closer in friendly con- versation with a sun-tanned yokel. ‘“We’ll show you where we’re from. We'll pick out the right shell so often you'll think there’s a pea under every darn one o’ them,” laughed the shillaber. The yokel laid down five dollars. The shillaber likewise. They won twice, then lost. The yokel had not hesitated, but he lost anyhow. Another shillaber, with an Italian who looked like like a peddler, had some difficulty in getting close to the board. The operator said quietly—‘Etlay ethay ogaday uckerslay up otay ethay cardbay.” (“Let the dago sucker up to the board.’”’) The way cleared for him at once. I coaxed the young Negro to take a chance with me. At last he could stand the contagion of the play no longer. ““Heah, white boy, you beats it if you all kin,” he said, slipping me a ten dollar bill. I touched Jeremiah with my foot, and pushed closer to the board, the Negro close to me. “Tl bet ten, Mister, if you'll let me pick up the shell,” I said innocently. “Certainly, my boy, certainly, most assuredly. It merely saves me the labor of raising a simple shell. A straight and fair game, gentlemen, and you can raise any shell you wish. Merely a game of wits [179] Circus Parade —guess work. He who guesses the best always wins in this and other games of life.” The Italian played ahead of me, also the sun- tanned yokel and others. Their bets ranged from one to ten dollars. Money went back and forth, the operator and his shillabers working fast. The shil- labers asked questions, the operator talked swiftly and moved his hands nee thus keeping up the tension of the play. | He suddenly beamed at me. “If you still wish to pick your own shell up, my lad, that privilege is yours. You look like a brave gambler to me. You love the game as I do, So it’s as you will, my boy, as you will. I believe in giving the young a chance. I was young once myself away back yonder,” he chortled, placing a ten dollar bill between the first and second finger. I laid the Negro’s money on the board. The oper- ator placed it between his fingers. “The left shell,” I said and raised it, handing him the pea I had carved in the alley. ‘‘Here it is, Mister. I win.” The operator looked startled. The scar on his face turned redder. His own pea was lodged in his long finger nail. Before he recovered I took the money [180] A Day’s Vacation from between his fingers and dodged low and was gone. Jeremiah was well ahead of me. Looking back I saw the shillaber with the derby hat make a grab for my colored friend. I was soon lost in the crowd. I hurried off the lot, the two ten-dollar bills in my hand. Realizing after some distance that no one was pursuing me, I thought of the tough spot in which I had left the lad who had loaned me the ten dol- lars. “Oh well,” I said to myself, “they can’t do any- thing with him—maybe beat him up a little, that’s all.” Then the thought came that they might do any- thing with a Negro in Atlanta. So thinking I reached the Salvation Army Hotel on Peachtree Street. Sitting in a pine chair was my colored friend. “What all took you so long?” he asked, as I handed him a ten dollar bill. His eyes went as big as eggs. “Ge-mun-ently—this all I git?” he asked. “Sure Boy, look at all the fun you had. You're lucky to get your ten back. I took all the chances. Suppose I hadn’t showed up at all.” [181] Circus Parade “Gee, that’s right,” he said as I left with Jere- miah. Jock smiled happily when I told him of the inci- dent that night. [182] XII: Whiteface XII: Whiteface ITHIN three weeks Cameron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows were so badly crippled on account of many desertions that the tents were raised in each town with great difficulty. It is the custom with the wanderers of circus life to leave without notice, and often without money. Routes of other circuses are studied carefully in the- atrical papers, so that many “jump the show” and join one in the same vicinity. They will often travel many hundreds of miles until they come to another circus appearing in the same city. Barnum and Bailey’s show was pitched for two days in Forth Worth, Texas, when we arrived. Four clowns, three musicians and one freak deserted in a body. Whiteface was made a professional clown by ac- cident. Somewhere his ancestors must have made forgot- ten kings to laugh. He had been a stake-driver a short time before. There was a vast difference in [1857] Circus Parade swinging an eight-pound sledge and being a kinker. For the kinkers are the performers, the aristocrats of the circus world. He was a natural clown. People laughed at every- thing he did. Where he came from no one knew. His features were aquiline. There were traces of Ethi- opian, Caucasian and Indian in him. But in the South he was just another Negro. There was an eagle-like expression about his mouth and nose. In his eyes was the meek look of a dove. His teeth were as even as little old-fashioned tombstones in a row. He gave one the impression of power gone to seed, of a ruined cannon rusting in the sun, or a condor with broken wings. He was one of those people in the subterranean valley who somehow managed to grow and give something to a world that had no thought of him. Under the make-up of a clown his sombre expres- sion left him. He pushed his magnificent yellow body around the ring in a tawdry fool’s-parade. He did not walk, he shambled. Over his yellow face was the white paint of the clown. He was, in the lan- guage of the circus, a whiteface. His start had not been conspicuous. Four clowns had deserted. Something had happened to another [186] Whiteface performer. Whiteface had been helping tear down some aerial rigging, and to save a delay he had been asked to do a dance. All the kinkers or performers smiled as he consented. The audience would laugh at his attempt at dancing, and the aim was to some- how make the audience laugh. Then something happened. The huge Negro, with the flat coarse shoes lined with brass in front, am- bled on the platform like a man with no bones in his legs. He resembled an immense dummy held up with wire and allowed to sag in the middle. He looked about him helplessly. And then suddenly listened, as though for a firing-squad. Then held out his long left arm as if wanting to say a last word with the gunners. It was a stroke of uncouth genius. The ter- tific effect of it stunned even the ringmaster. There was that tremendous silence one feels only before an execution. Then the great heavy feet began to move. They patted the wooden stage with the noise of a giant’s hands being clapped together. The bone- less body moved as if dancing to the roar of the ele- ments. Then suddenly it stopped. He held out his hand for a second as before and ambled from the stage with the same tempo he had used in closing [187] Circus Parade the dance. The applause went around the tent in mighty waves. He was forced back on the platform again. There was a heavy silence. The heavy feet shook for a second and a heavier wave of appreciation rolled around the tent. Then the immense hand went out like a yellow talon outspread. It had the effect of a firing-squad again. In another second he had ambled from the platform. Immediately he was prevailed upon to become a clown. He took the job with the same unconcern that he had taken that of stake-driving. He assembled his regalia and rehearsed by himself. He would in- flict none of his three colors on the pure white strain of his brother clowns. But in justice to them, they were nearly all artists at heart and drew no color line. Sufficient to himself as a stake-driver, he remained the same as a clown. On the third night there wandered on the hippo- drome track one of the weirdest of grotesqueries. The pathos and the laughter, the tragedy and the misery of life were stamped on its eagle face. And out of its eyes shone laughing pity. People with the circus thought it was Jimmy Arkley putting on a new number. Jimmy was the [188] Whiteface boss clown and liked to do the unexpected. But Jimmy Arkley was standing on the sidelines him- self. In his eyes were blended jealousy and admira- tion. For, bowing to right and left, was a master buffoon all unknowing. He was using an old artifice to make his audience laugh, that of dignity being made ludicrous and still wrapping the remnants of dignity about itself. He was dressed as a king, with wide fatuous mouth and little shoe-button eyes. His crown was formed from a battered dish-pan and his sceptre was a brass cur- tain pole. A royal robe, trimmed with raw cotton, dragged on the ground behind him. The robe was so long that his scurvy pet alley-cat used it as a vehicle upon which to ride. Time after time the king would fall out of character long enough to chase the cat from the robe. But as soon as he continued his royal promenade the cat would get on the robe again. In his confusion the king would stumble over an imag- inary obstacle. After regaining his balance he was all dignity again. It was tragic to have so many unforeseen things happen just at the time he was showing him- self to his subjects. But the more he suffered the more his subjects laughed. When he had made his sad round of the hippo- [189] Circus Parade drome track and the curtains of the back entrance hid him from view, he took the scurvy alley-cat in his arms and said: “Well, Bookah, we done made ’um all laugh.” And Booker T. Washington licked the fatuous mouth of his master. The audience was still chuckling over the king’s exit. The manager hurried to find out who the new kinker was. The discovery that the king was none other than John Quincy Adams, the roustabout stake-driver, was a surprise. The manager told him to go ahead with the act, and gave him a raise of five dollars a week. This brought his salary up to fifteen dollars. He hugged the scurvy cat and said, ‘“‘Heah, Bookah, take youh tongue outta my eye.” Jimmy Arkley of course was called in as the boss clown. He explained in detail to John Quincy Adams all the tricks which the dark gentleman with the scurvy cat knew by intuition. As a stake-driver the name of John Quincy Adams meant nothing. As a clown it meant even less. There are no names like John Quincy Adams in the circus Almanac de Gotha. But as I’ve said before, some- where his ancestors must have made forgotten kings to laugh. Whether it was during the period of the American Revolution I know not. As laughter is an [190] Whiteface hysteria that’ defies analysis, being synonymous with religious fervor or patriotic outbursts, people laughed at John Quincy Adams without knowing why. Jimmy Arkley always sent him on when the audience was cold. It made no difference to John Quincy Adams. He always got the same laughter. Even though Jimmy Arkley kept him in his place, life opened like a melon sliced for John Quincy Adams. He had found expression. He was made to assist in the smaller clown num- bers. He took the brunt of physical jokes perpetrated in the arena. He was always the clown upon whom the bucket of water was thrown. It was John Quincy Adams who was dragged by the trick runaway horse. It was his great yellow body that stopped the ma- jority of the slapsticks. He never complained. Jimmy Arkley did not like him. But the sad-eyed clown liked all the world and could not see dislike in others. The huge bulk of John Quincy Adams was supersensitive to pain. Who would expect a Negro stake-driver to have acute sensibilities? Every time he winced under the blows of his brother buffoons the audience laughed the more. It was indeed re- markable the expression of pain he could focus on his white-painted face. [191] Circus Parade His individuality survived it all. It was so marked that Jimmy Arkley was forced by the manager to allow him the center of the stage. He was even con- sulted about new numbers. At such times the great intuitive clown reverted to the stake-driver and be- came humble in the presence of whiter and lesser men. But he never entered the pad-room, never dressed in the long tent with the other clowns. He still ate in the roustabout’s section of the cook-house. His increase in salary was of benefit only to me and the scurvy cat. The latter was now heavy and dreamed for the most part nearly all of its nine lives away on John Quincy Adams’ bunk. We three lived together in a small tent. It was away from the other tents. Whenever we moved to a new town John Quincy Adams would raise the tent alone. He could neither read nor write. Once when I told him of a tragic paper-backed novel I was reading, he said: “What all good dat do you, boy? You’s alive ain’t you? You doan have to read *bout nothin’.”’ He spent his time playing solitaire, or manipu- lating new tricks with dice. He could sing well. His voice was full of the tragedy of three races. He was fond of the Southern [192] Whiteface folk songs, though he never quite got the words of them correctly. A sense of drama, or an inarticulate feeling for beauty made him accentuate some lines and sing them over and over. When doing so he would put out his immense hand as he had when he first danced. J learned that it was a habit with him when deeply moved. He would chant with a rolling vibration, the wonderful quality of it choking me with emotion and even making the cat stop licking its scurvied scars and look up as the words poured out, the chanter’s body slouching low. H-i-s fingers were l-o-—n—g l-i—k-e c-ane in—the br—ake— And he—had—no—eyes—foh—to see And then, as softly as dawn in the desert: A few—more days—for—to tote de weary l-oa-d, No mat-teh., . ?w-ill nevah—be light A few moah—yeah-s till I—totteh daown de— Youd... . D-en my old Kaintucky—home—goodnight—— His face at the end of such a verse was a mask of concentrated agony. The heavy lips would quiver. I have often thought of him since, and of the [193] Circus Parade scurvy cat we both loved. Three rovers of desola- tion, we had been joined together by the misery of inarticulate understanding. The cat was quite a per- sonality. There were many places on his body upon which the fur would not grow. He spent hours shin- ing these spots, like a battered old soldier eternally dressing his wounds. « Even when the clown took the cat in his arms and sang: My masteh had a yaller gal, And she was from the Souf; Her hair it kinked so berry tight, She coulden’ shut her mouf— the cat looked bored. | Success did not affect John Quincy Adams. Some- where in his roving life there had been planted in his soul the futility of human vanity. So humble and self-effacing was he among the kinkers, that most of them forgot the master of pantomime in the person of the ex-stake-driver. As the weather grew colder we trekked toward that strip of Florida which projects into the Gulf of Mexico. It was a happy wandering along the Gulf. There [194] W hiteface was a lazy indifference to life that we of the gypsy clan loved. The brilliant sunshine was reflected ev- erywhere. Even the shadows were diffused with light. The air was balmy. We played three days in some of the towns, That allowed us to wander about a great deal. For the longer a circus plays in a town the easier it becomes for kinkers and flunkies. The work becomes a mere matter of detail, like in a penitentiary or any other institution. So I often took long walks with John Quincy Adams and the cat. Once in a while the clown was touched with the wand of reminiscence. Booker T. Washington, however, was always the same sad fellow. Bright sunshine and green lapping waves could not get his mind away from the patches that made his hide look moth-eaten. Often, as John Quincy and I looked out at the far green water upon which white ships sailed, Booker T. Washington would turn away as if scornful of our illusion of beauty. He was an epic of boredom. Only one thing marred the happiness of our world. It was the year of a presidential election, and owing to the uncertainty of how the pendulum of politics would swing, the powers that be re- trenched financially. Times became hard. [1951] Circus Parade As a consequence there was more friction between the colored and white races in the section through which we journeyed. Many fights occurred. But John Quincy Adams was not at all concerned by the animosities of differently colored men. It was not in his yellow hulk to inflict pain. He cringed, however, at each tale of physical violence he heard. Always there came into his face the look of concen- trated agony. And once, when a Negro had been laid out with a rock, he said to me, “What foh men ’buse each other?” “TI don’t know, Quince,” I replied. ““There were probably some Irish in the gang.” He laughed, his grave-yard of teeth showing. “Yeah, Red Boy, theah was some niggahs too, Pll bet.’ “No, I don’t think so, Quince,” I said banteringly. “The Niggers and the Irish like each other. You know they both had to make a long fight for free- dom.” John Quincy Adams was slouching low in the tent. He looked across at Booker T. Washington, who had just finished licking the patch above his paw. “Did you heah that, Bookeh T.? Did you all heah [196] Whiteface what the Red Boy says? He done read dat in one o’ dem books, Bookeh T. He doan know what we know.” His voice trailed off. . . . ‘““Niggah an’ de Irish like each other.” Then he turned toward Booker T. Washington and me. “You done heah that song, ain’t you, Red Boy, the niggah sing? I’m a goin’ to put on my shoes and put on my coat, An am goin to walk all oveh God’s Heaben “Well, that ain’t nevah so—now or no otheh time.”’ He laughed loudly. “Heah’s what happened. A big black niggah goes prancin’ into heaven an’ all the streets was lined wit’ gold and silber lampposts an’ big green an’ black pahrots a carryin’ ’Merican flags in dere claws kep’ shoutin’ out, “‘Heah’s de way, brotheh. black man,’ an’ dey leads ’em right up to de peahly gates, an’ right at de cohneh was a big chaih made outta oysteh shells, an’ de oystehs was a sittin’ up in deah shells a singin’: It’s de land ob de free An de home ob de slave, Sts-teh, sis-teh. The Lawd heals all youh wombs. Glor-ry, Glory, Glor—eee, glor—ee, The Lawd heals all youh wombs. [1971] Circus Parade “De big niggah he goes a prancin’ by, a washed all black in de blood ob de lamb, an’ goes a slidin’ up de corrydoor towahds de Great God Almighty who’s a standin’ theah waitin’. Then you should all hab seen dat niggah tuhn all reddah’n youh haih. A oysteh runs outta its shell and pinches his leg an’ says, ‘Heah you, niggah, you all is in de Irish section ob heaben. You kneels befoah youh God, you black bastahd.’ “God, he looks aroun’ an’ sees de oysteh an’ says, ‘Get youh back to youh shell. Oystehs should be seen and not heard.’ Then God he tuhns to the nig- gah who’s a kneelin’ theah reddah’n a spanked baby, an’ he says: ‘““*What’s youh all mean by this overdue famil- iahity? Doan you all know dis ain’t youh heaven? Who tol’ you come in heah, anyhow? I says to my pahrots not to leabe no niggahs in heah. Dis is Irish heaven, an’ doan you know dey ain’t no freedom wheah you sees birds carryin’ the “Merican flag? — Dey carries dat for purtection w’en de win’s git rough. Now you jist chase on outta heah, Black Boy, to niggah heaben. It’s obeh deah back ob de slaugh- teh house.’ | “The big niggah he walk away fasteh’n lightnin’, an’ God he done call out, “Heah, you lazy oystehs, [198] Whiteface scrub up dis place wheah de niggah’s feet habe been. An’ tell dem pahrots to let no moah niggahs in heah. Fuhst thing I know dese silber walks’ll be all black.’ “Den de niggah he goes a singin’ obeh towards de slaughteh house past wheah de dead oystehs is bur- ied: Jesus my awl to heaben has gone. W heah is de stump I laid it on, “An’ dat’s how de niggah walked all obeh God’s heaben. Dem niggah’s is all de time kiddin’ dem- selves.” The wind from the Gulf had turned colder. It moaned dismally about the tent as John Quincy Adams concluded his tale of the Negro in Irish Heaven. He had finished a hard day’s playing to half-empty seats and was soon stretched out on the bunk with Booker T. Washington. Soon I could hear the cat purring and the uncouth pantomimist breathing heavily. The night finally pushed its way into a drizzly morning. I went early to do my chores with the animals. They huddled forlornly together in the corner of their cages. We loitered about until afternoon. A small crowd [199] Circus Parade again turned out for the midday performance. A cold wind blew from the Gulf and all nerves were testy. Every person seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. The natives were hostile to the circus peo- ple. ‘Somethin’s goin’ to happen in dis burg. I feels it in muh bones,” was John Quincy Adams’ com- ment at the supper table. ‘Nope, you’re all cold, Quince,” I said. “Every- thing’ll slip along all right and we’ll breeze outta here tomorrow an’ in two days we'll hit Miami. Then things’ll break better.” ‘Maybe so, maybe so, but I done got a funny feelin’,” was John Quincy’s rejoinder. That evening a colored man was said to have insulted a white woman. He had, intentionally, or otherwise, stepped ahead of her in the purchase of a ticket. A white gentleman saw the act. He slammed the Negro in the jaw. The Negro, not knowing his place, slammed the white gentleman back. Another race riot started. The Negroes connected with the circus disap- peared as if by magic. Gangs of white men were look- ing for them everywhere. | | When found, the Negro was sent running down [200] W hiteface the road followed by rock salt and bacon rind from the guns of the whites. It was great fun until a col- ored man sent a real bullet through the arm of a white man and ducked under the circus tent. The rules of the game had been broken. The white men now demanded blood. They surrounded the main tent like bush-beaters, closing in on a preda- tory animal. Carrying knives, guns and clubs, the avenging Southerners tramped through the tent. I covered John Quincy Adams with a heavy blanket as the men came closer to our tent. With pounding heart I heard them talking as they searched. “He ducked in here somewheres. We'll git him,” one of them said. After a seeming eternity of waiting a man pushed the flaps open and entered our tent. He was followed by five other men. “You ain’t got a nigger in here, have yu?” asked the leader. “Nigger—hell no, what’ud a nigger be doin’ in here?” I asked hotly. Just then Booker T. Washington ran across the tent and burrowed under the blanket. With heart- sick eyes I looked at him. The eyes of the five men followed. [201 ] Circus Parade “You damn little liar,’’ shouted the leader as he pushed me backward and rushed forward with the other men to the blanket. A shout went up. “Here he is. We got him.’”’ Many more men en- tered the tent. A voice shouted, ““That’s him, that’s the nigger that shot me.” Another man laughed. “Lookit him, tryin’ to make up like a white man—paint smeared all oveh his mug.” The face of John Quincy Adams was full of pain. The gentlemen kicked and pushed him. He had the look of the doomed in his eyes as he looked about frantically. I thought of his abnormal dread of pain. ‘He didn’t do nothin’, men, He’s a white nigger,”’ I pleaded. “Get the hell outta here,” snapped the leader. ‘We'll make him wish he was white. What was he hidin’ for if he ain’t the one?” Several men held John Quincy Adams while two more swung vicious blows at his head. One man used a black-jack. John’s head fell on his chest as though his neck had broken. “T ain’t nevah huht nothin’,” he gasped weakly. A fist smashed against his mouth. Booker T. Wash- [202] Whiteface ington rubbed against my leg. I picked him up and held him in the tensity of emotion. Booted along, half walking and half dragged, his eyes covered with blood that flowed from the cuts in his head, John Quincy Adams was finally taken to a place where a fire was burning. On the fire was a large square tin can into which chunks of tar were being thrown. Some of the tar fell into the flames and caused dense black smoke to curl around the heads of victim and persecutors. “Les stake him to the fire an’ burn him,” yelled the man with the injured arm. “He’d a killed me dead if he could.” “Nope, les jist give him a nice overcoat o’ hot tar,” suggested another, “that'll hold him in his place for a while.” They tore his shirt from his body and threw it into the fire. Then his undershirt was torn into strips and stuck into the melting tar. I clung to Booker T. Washington. There were moans as the tar was applied to the heaving body. The nauseating reek of burnt flesh and the odor of tar was everywhere. The frenzy of the tormentors at last died down. They left the scene after kicking the prostrate form [203] Circus Parade on the ground. The fire smouldered away in green- ish smoke as I approached the body of John Quincy Adams with Booker T. Washington in my arms. The white paint on his face was streaked with tar and blood. His face was haggard, like that of a man crucified. I knelt beside him while Booker T. Washington licked his face. The wind blew in cold gusts from the Gulf. But John Quincy Adams was forever unconscious of wind and weather. [204 ] XIII: An Elephant Gets Even S&S XIII: An Elephant Gets Even HE term “goosey” is supposed to have origi- nated with Southern Negroes. It covers a much larger meaning than the word “ticklish.” The victim is supersensitive to human touch. Once his malady is discovered by low class minds he finds little peace among them. He is continually be- ing touched unexpectedly. His frantic actions at such times are the delight of his tormentors. The elephant trainer’s real name was William Jay Dickson. I learned it only by accident. His name with the circus members was always ‘‘Goosey.”’ Whenever Goosey was touched unexpectedly from behind, he would react with violence. If he hap- pened to have a club in his hand he would strike the first object that stood in his way. If he had no club he would yell out loud the very thing of which he was thinking at the time. Once he was touched suddenly as the Moss-Haired Girl walked near him. He screamed. “Lord, I’d like to love you.” She turned about, saw his predicament and walked on smiling. [207] Circus Parade Goosey would beg his tormentors not to tease him. No one paid him the slightest attention. It became a mania. If he heard a sound within ten feet of his rear, he would jump suddenly and either strike out or yell that which was in his mind. Goosey had a surprising knowledge of animals gained from long practical experience. Elephants were his favorites. He had been around the world seven times, always in charge of elephants. He had spent a year in Africa with a man celebrated for his love of killing dumb brutes. Becoming disgusted with the wanton slaughter in the name of sport— it was really a tusk-hunting expedition—he deserted his employer in the Upper Congo. The experience haunted Goosey. “When a elephant is shot it jist falls like the world comin’ down. IJ jist couldn’t stand it no more, for elephants don’t harm nobody that don’t harm them.” After Goosey deserted he made his way for miles through the jungle. The illiterate naturalist would watch a herd of elephants by the hour. | “T ain’t never seen one of ’em lyin’ down in my life. They don’t never sleep. They kin smell you a mile off in the jungle an’ the only way to fool ’em [2087] An Elephant Gets Even is to git aroun’ so’s the wind don’t blow you in their direction. “Tve seen ’em dig big spuds up wit’ their tusks. They nip ’em outta the ground like a farmer would wit’ a hoe. An’ they’re right an’ left handed wit’ their tusks, jist like people. An’ you can’t fool ’em either. They allus know jist where they are, an’ they know people better than people. They know how to take short cuts through the jungles in the dark an’ they kin find them when travelin’ as fast as a run- nin’ horse. You kin allus find ’em at the same place in the jungles every year. They’re jist like a whale that way, they kin allus go back to where they was born in the ocean.” Goosey’s chinless face smiled, “Tl never forgit the time I'd waited all winter to git a chance to take Big Jumbo from New York to Californie. I was broke flatter’n a nigger police- man’s feet. “I'd been with Jumbo the season afore an’ got laid off at the end of it ’cause there wasn’t enough coin to keep anybody but the main trainer. But he couldn’t make the trip ’cause he was one o’ them goofy married guys an’ he has a skirt for a boss. He was no good animal trainer ’cause he let a woman run him, an’ I says to myself, says I, “There’ll be [209] Circus Parade somethin’ wrong wit’ Jumbo if this guy takes care 0° him long witout me.’ ”’ Goosey hated all elephant trainers, but Jumbo’s trainer at this time had his particular scorn. ““He was a long tall drink o’ water,’’ went on Goosey, “‘an he believed in the honor o’ women an’ everything. He got sore once when I says to him, ‘Who do you s’ pose your wife steps aroun’ wit’ while you’re chamber- maidin’ these elephants hither an’ yon?’ “He looked at me tough an’ says, ‘You kin alluz tell when a guy was raised in the gutter by the ques- tions he asks about the fair sex.’ “ “Maybe so,’ I says, “but you learn a heluva lotta things in the gutter that ain’t in the books about women. When I was a kid I lived in a railroad di- vision town. That’s where you learn about women.” “What the hell’s that got to do wit’ it?’ he says. “Nothin’,’ I resounders, ‘only when a railroader comes in off his run, he rings the front door bell an’ beats it like hell aroun’ to the kitchen jist in time to ketch the guy buttonin’ his coat.’ “Again I asks you—what the hell’s that got to do wit’ it? You oughta be ’shamed o’ yourself slan- derin’ the name o’ womanhood that way.’ “IT ain’t a slanderin’ ’em,’ I says, ‘I'm jista speakin’ facks. A railroader’s only away from his [210] An Elephant Gets Even home a day or two, an’ what in hell would happen if he was a elephant trainer an’ gone all season?’ “For shame—for very shame,’ he says, ‘I’m from the South where women’s held in rev’rence an’ I thank God my mother was a good woman.’ “Well I hain’t a sayin’ nothin’ against your mother, Boss, but they ain’t none o’ them any good. They’re trickier’n a louse on a fiddler’s head.’ “T don’t think the Boss liked me after that. He knew that I knew he was a married goof an’ we don’t like nobody when they know we’re goofs. So I think he was glad when he got a chance to ship me to Californie wit’ Jumbo for the good o’ his health. “Well old Jumbo’d alluz been a fiend for milk. When he was a little baby not more’n four feet high an’ not weighin’ over a thousand pounds he’d chase a cow right down the aisle of a church and pump her dry. One time he chased a bull in New York State. Well he sure was disgusted. “Well it come time for me to take Jumbo west. They had him all fixed up in a car at Yonkers; the crew was all ready, an’, God, I was glad to be git- tin’ away from the snowballs to the warm sunshine. “Well, sir, we hadn’t any more’n started when Jumbo takes one breath and blows the side o’ the car out, and lays right down an’ dies.” [211] Circus Parade Goosey stopped at this memory of tragedy. “TI jist went nuts,” he gasped. “Who the hell wanted a dead elephant in Californie? “We cut him open an’ there was eighty-eight cans o’ condensed milk in him. He’d never even opened "em—Jist swallowed ’em whole. “Well, sir, that cured me of havin’ any guys that’s nutty on women workin’ on my elephant squad. I wouldn’t care if Pope Pius the XV come to me for a job; he’d have to prove to me he wasn’t married.” Laughter followed Goosey’s words. He became more earnest, and rubbed the place where his chin should have been. ‘An’ you can’t abuse an elephant either an’ get away wit’ it. They'll git you every time. I know when I first joined out I was jist a kid an’ I worked under a guy up north. He’d brought a baby ele- phant up an’ kep’ whippin’ it all the time. Indigo was the baby’s name. An’ Indigo was only afraid of one thing in the world an’ that was his trainer, whose name was Bill Neely. He was a mean guy an’ he wanted to make the elephant mean so’s no one else could handle him. Then he could allus hold his job that way. “By an’ by Indigo got the rep of bein’ a rogue elephant, a mean one. Neely used to like to show [212] An Elephant Gets Even off wit’ him. Every time Neely’d turn his back I’d see Indigo lookin’ at him wit’ his mean little eyes stuck out like billiard balls. Then when Neely’d turn aroun’ an’ look at him, Indigo’d begin to swing his trunk friendly like. An old boozefighter elephant man who used to work wit’s us says to me one day, he says, ‘Indigo’ll kill him one o’ these days jist as sure’s Barnum was a crook. Now you watch.’ “We got so we begun to watch Neely jist like you would a guy they were goin’ to hang. Then we got so we'd be nice to him ’cause we jist knew he wasn’t goin’ to live very long. But he was havin’ a hell of a time. He’d carry the old bull hook an’ prod Indigo every chance he got. The elephant’d wince an’ stick its eyes out—then be nice agin. “One time he was out showin’ him off on the lot an’ forgot hisself an’ walked between Indigo an’ the big cage where the hipplepotamus was. Then he prods him the last time while all of us was watchin’. “Indigo gave a quick snort an’ a shove an’ Neely went smack against the wheel like a lotta mush. In- digo’d shoved him right through the spokes an’ Neely never had time to say ‘Boo.’ “There was more hell right then than you could shake a stick at. But Indigo didn’t wait. He jist started runnin’ hell bent for anything that was in [213] Circus Parade his road. There was sure as hell some scramblin’. I damn near flew a gettin’ outta his way ’cause the whole damn lot was his’n far’s I was concerned. Who was me to interfere wit’ his little fun? “Indigo jist headed for the kitchen. He went right on through takin’ the tent wit’ him. “Bout twenty gallons o’ soup was on the stove. He never stopped for neither of them. He jist pushes the stove outta his way an’ the soup flies all over him an’ he smashes the big can, then he heads for the main tent an’ goes right on through it like vinegar through a tin horn. He kep’ raisin’ the devil for an hour an’ finally I went and got him with a ten cent plug o’ tobacco. He followed me right over to where his stake and chain was an’ stood there. Then I chained him up, an’ I ain’t never had no trouble wit’ an ele- phant since.” Roxie was always known as a bull elephant, as are all females. She had a baby elephant about three and a half feet high. It was born in captivity and given to Roxie to raise. Baby elephants are known as punks. Roxie was indifferent to the punk, so it became Goosey’s duty to look after it. Four times each day he went to the cook house to get a concoc- tion of boiled rice and condensed milk that was a substitute for elephant milk. Though Roxie and the [214] An Elephant Gets Even punk were advertised as mother and baby, it was really Goosey who mothered the young elephant. Many of us with the circus felt that Roxie knew of Goosey’s affliction. She would touch him in the rear with her trunk at the most unexpected times. Bill Gleason had been Roxie’s trainer for a short period. Roxie always hated him. Whenever he came near her she would raise her trunk and hit the ground until it sounded as though someone had dropped a bass drum. Gleason was always teasing Goosey. One day as Goosey leaned over to fasten Roxie’s leg chain, Gleason touched him in the rear unex- pectedly. Goosey carried a bull hook at the time (an ash stick about three feet long with a hook on the end which is used to make the elephant mind by prodding his sensitive skin). He leaped high in the air and brought the bull hook down on Roxie’s trunk with great violence. Roxie had seen Gleason running away and laughing. She wheeled quickly and ran after him with a terrible trumpet roar. Gleason saw Roxie running after him and hurried toward the menagerie. That place was in an unroar. Roxie in her speed hit a quarter pole and it crashed on top of the lions’ cage. They roared loudly and the noise was taken up by other animals. Gleason ducked out f2157] Circus Parade through the sidewall of the tent and Roxie followed him with half the tent draped about her. Goosey hurried after the elephant, and hit her on the trunk with the bull hook. She looked at her friend in pained surprise. As Goosey stood and debated with her, Cameron and Finnerty came up, Cameron or- dered Goosey to bring the other two bulls up to Roxie. She was yoked to them and led to place and staked down on all four corners. Then the circus owner ordered Goosey to beat Roxie. He had the spunk to refuse. Cameron started rapping Roxie on her toes, and then gave her a more terrible beat- ing. Her trumpeting could be heard for a far dis- tance. When the beating was over and Cameron had gone, Goosey made up to Roxie by rubbing her be- hind the ears and feeding her tobacco. As he did so, Gleason foolishly drew near again. At any rate, Gleason stood within a few feet of Goosey after he had just released Roxie. Roxie watched Gleason with her little pig-like eyes while Goosey picked up a bull hook. It may have been accidental, but the old circus men said the next move had been deliberately and quickly thought out by Roxie. Goosey’s back was turned to Roxie so as to be able to protect himself from Gleason again. But he did not reckon on Roxie. [216] An Elephant Gets Even She reached out her trunk and touched Goosey on a sensitive spot. Goosey jumped in the air and yelled and yelled and at the same time brought his bull hook down on Gleason’s head as if he were driving a stake. Gleason fell to the ground with a deep dent in his skull. ! Roxie waved her trunk indifferently. The doctor sewed seven stitches in Gleason’s head. The show left town without him. Goosey was not molested again that season. [217] XIV: A Negro Girl =. yorae XIV: A Negro Girl E joined us in a Florida town. He was not a typical circus roughneck in appearance. His hair was a wavy black turned prematurely grey. His eyes were deep brown, his jaw was firm, his lips tight, and his body large, well shaped, and muscu- lar, “Any work here?” he asked Silver Moon Dugan. “Nope. All filled up. But the property boss needs a man,”’ was the terse reply. The property boss gave him a sixteen-pound sledge and told him to drive tent stakes. It was be- fore breakfast. By the time the meal was announced he had driven, with the help of two other men, over a hundred stakes to hold the property tent. He unloaded property effects belonging to per- formers. He also wore a bright red and green uni- form and led a group of Shetland ponies inside the big top when the special act was on. As Sunday was wash day with the circus, he would always take time to wash his rough clothing. He worked hard. He smoked a twisted pipe when [2225] Circus Parade sitting alone, and acted disdainful of everybody, in- cluding Cameron. We called him “Blackie” among ourselves. It was not long before we looked upon him as a superior being. His good looks, his strong and clean body, his proud manner fascinated us. We respected his disdain. He seldom talked to us. When he did, his speech was direct and brutal. Having created an air of mystery about himself, we were always anxious to learn something about him. Silver Moon Dugan soon heard of his ability to swing a heavy sledge. He induced him to leave the property boss and join his unit at ten dollars a month increase, or forty dollars a month, top wages on the canvas crew. He made the change with no more concern than he took in filling his pipe. The stakes were always laid out for him when the tent was to go up. Once the stake was started in the ground by his two help- ers he would slam it downward in nine strokes. The sledge would swing upward, the steel glistening in the sun. After making a circle at least eight feet it would hit the stake squarely. No other man with the [222] A Negro Girl circus could drive a stake in the ground with less than twelve strokes. Even Silver Moon Dugan respected him. “Where you from, Buddy? Been troupin’ long?” he asked him. “Sure thing. I was raised with a circus. My father was Barnum’s mother.” Silver Moon Dugan muttered contemptuously to Buddy Conroy, “Funny guy,” and let him alone aft- erward. “What do you think of Blackie?” I asked Jock. “You géf it, say it yourself, kid. He’s no regular circus stiff. Look at that nose and that jaw and those eyes that cut like steel. He’s got razors in ’em. He was born to be hanged.” Jock would say no more. _ We left Pensacola, Florida, and played a small town about eighty miles distant. It had drizzled all day and the lot was slippery. Blackie had a habit of walking around it, head bent low, left hand holding _ the pipe in his mouth. It was about seven in the evening and the drizzly day lingered faintly. Blackie saw a form in the semi-darkness. “Here—what are you doing there?” he asked quickly. A scared Negro girl, not over fourteen, had been [223] Circus Parade him. : “T doan do nothin’, jist a peerin’ in,” she an- swered, with a half petulant smile. She was more yellow than black. Her face was beautiful and round, her mouth small, her teeth even and white, her lips full and she was dark-eyed. She wore a plaid dress which curved above her hips and accentuated her lithe and lovely form. Blackie held her shoulders in his immense hands. “God damn, but you're nice,” he said, “slender and clean like a new whip. cop pAaMN!” He crushed her to him. Pushing her away at arm’s-length, he still held her shoulders and looked in her eyes. “Why in the hell you should have to sneak in a circus is what Id like to know.”’ The girl looked up at him with wide eyes of won- der. He put his arm about her. She clung to him at once and pulled his head down and kissed him. Blackie’s eyes blazed. He led the slender young girl, now all animal herself, to the rear of the snake- charmer’s wagon. She was heard to cry, “Oh Misteh Man, Misteh Man,” a few times as.if in pain. Then all became very still. Later, he put her on a mattress in an empty [224] trying to crawl under the tent. She stood before A Negro Girl canvas-covered wagon and stood guard over it while fifteen white circus roughnecks entered one at a time. Before entering, each man gave Blackie a half dollar. | When the last man had gone Blackie smuggled the girl into the big top. Late that night, as the circus train was ready to pull out, the little Negro girl. saw Blackie stand- ing in the open door of a car. Running with arms extended she yelled, ‘“Misteh Man, Misteh Man!” and tried to board the car as the train started. We watched Blackie’s unchanging expression. The girl held desperately to the car. and tried to swing her lithe body inside. “Let her come on in,”’ yelled Silver Moon Dugan. “What? A nigger wench?” snapped Blackie as he put his foot against the girl’s forehead and kicked her from the car. The girl could be heard wailing pitifully above the accumulating noise of the rolling cars, ‘““Misteh Man, Misteh—Man—do come on back, Misteh Man!” The engine whistle shrieked as we rattled by red and green lights. * 2 2 [2251] some minutes. He then lit a match and smoke i eto va r Circus Parade | i) iawee x). if t his pipe. It had gone out. He remained sil aes [226] XV: Red-Lighted XV: Red-Lighted ILVER MOON DUGAN was known as the greatest ‘‘red-lighter” in the country. Red-light- ing was an ancient and dishonorable custom in- dulged in by many a circus twenty years ago. The act consisted of opening the side door of a moving car, and kicking the undesirable traveler out. How the term originated is in confusion. Some ruffan authorities claimed that men were only kicked off trains near the red lights of a railroad yard. But I have seen many kicked off circus trains where no red lights gleamed at all. But there can be no doubt that the practice orig- inated in order to cheat circus laborers and other roustabouts out of their wages. If the victim per- sisted in walking many miles and following the cir- cus he was chased off the lot. There was no redress in any of the states for those cheated. The poor man’s justice then, as now, was not only blind, but lame and halt. Silver Moon Dugan had been with Cameron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows three years. He [229] Circus Parade was either of French or Spanish extraction. How he came by any of his names no one ever knew. He was tall, wiry and dark. He had thin straggly hair. His black eyes burned out of a rat face. He had a club foot and walked with a limp. He could talk French, Italian, German, and excellent English when neces- sary. His greeting each morning to his roughneck can- vasmen was, “Good morning, sons. You know what kinda sons I mean.” Dugan was nearly aways drunk, but never showed it. He was a hard, domineering, brutal, snarling driver of men. He carried a blackjack and a revolver at all times. He could load or unload a circus faster, and with fewer men, than any other canvas boss in the nation. To mark a lot for a tent it is necessary to make ac- curate measurements. A steel tape is used to locate places for centre poles, dressing tents and stakes. Silver Moon Dugan could walk on a lot, give it a quick glance as he limped about on his club foot, and know with unerring precision in five minutes just how the tent was to be placed. “You gotta know your canvas,” he would say as he would allow two feet for shrinkage if the tent was wet. If the canvas [23°] Red-Lighted was extremely dry, he would allow for its stretching a foot. Once on the lot, he would gather a bundle of “lay- ing out pins,” wire needles about a quarter of an inch in diameter and two feet long. The eyes of the needles were about an inch in circumference. To each was tied a piece of red flannel. Dugan would throw these needles in the ground with exact precision at the point where a stake was to be driven. A canvas boss of the old school, he hated all ad- vance men, those fellows who traveled ahead of the circus. He blamed them for rough lots, inclement weather, poor business and bad food. Once while hurrying about the lot he stumbled over a pile of manure. “The God damn advance man’s fault,” he yelled, unmindful of the fact that the advance man had no control over local horses. Two men had been his lieutenants during the years he spent with Cameron. One was Gorilla Halen, so named because he looked like a gorilla and moved slower than the sands of time. The other man was called ‘“The Ghost.’”’ He was more like shadow than reality, a shambling watery man with uneven shoulders, a crooked mouth and a hare lip. He was a man who never did anything [231] Circus Parade right. Clumsy and filthy, a human nearly as low in the mental scale as an animal, he worshipped Silver Moon Dugan as a god. That was his chief value in the world. Dugan had carried ‘““The Ghost” with one circus or another for eleven years, Dugan never smiled. The right corner of his mouth would merely twist in a leer when he was amused. Judging him from the memory of adoles- cence, I am certain he had no sense of humor. Rather did he have a sense of the atrociously ridiculous. The right corner of his mouth was seen to twist sev- eral times when he heard Goosey hitting Gleason with the bull hook. Dugan hired many romantic young men who wished to see the world. ‘‘I’ll show ’em the world,” he used to say, “at the end of a sledge.” . Two weeks before he had come across a young fellow who was anxious to travel. Dugan observed his clothes and watch. He agreed to give the young man twenty-five dollars per week and a chance “to work himself up,” after he discovered he could bring | a few hundred dollars with him. He told the young fellow, who was a railroader, that it would be necessary to bring a good watch so as to be on time for work each morning. “Prompt- ness is a jewel,” were his words. He also told him [232] Red-Lighted to bring several suits, two pairs of shoes, a good pis- tol and all the money possible, as the first month’s salary was held back. The youth reported to Dugan with two suitcases full of clothes, three hundred dollars in money and an expensive watch. The next day Dugan told him to put on overalls and save his good clothes for the larger towns. Clothes, watch and money were left in Dugan’s care. The young fellow was now huddled in the car with Dugan, Blackie, The Ghost, Gorilla Haley, _ myself and several others. At the next stop, Cameron and Slug Finnerty crawled into the car and talked over details of the next day with Silver Moon Dugan. The train started before they could get off and go to their own sec- tion. “It’s only a sixty-mile run now to not a stop. We’ll make it in a couple of hours,” said Silver Moon as Cameron and Finnerty resigned themselves to their environment. _ The rain rattled heavily on the roof of the car. The late season was making business even poorer. Everyone was in an evil mood. The heavy sopping pieces of canvas had been rolled into huge bundles and put at one end of the [233] , and Circus Parade car. “We've paraffined ’em till they cracks but they don’t hold off water no more. It soaks right through,” said Dugan to Cameron. The car was lighted with smoky kerosene lamps such as were used in old-fashioned railway cars. The kerosene smoke, the odor of bad liquor and filthy bodies, the reek of the wet and muddy canvas filled the air. Combined with the rainy and gloomy night it all seemed unreal to my tired brain, the haunted fragment of an ugly dream. A few men played cards with a dirty deck. The Ghost smoked the butts of cigars he had collected under the seats in the big tent after the show. There were no bunks in the car. Every canvasman slept in a dirty blanket in wet weather, or on the rolls of canvas in hot, in any spot which he could keep hold by right of might. The romance of circus life had fast faded from the young fellow as he looked for a spot upon which to stretch his shivering body. No man talked. We lay like stunned animals on soggy ground. The young man had seen neither clothes, money nor watch since joining the show. He looked about at the dreary assemblage and then looked up at the roof upon which the rain pounded heavily. [234] Red-Lighted “Gee, I wish I had a nice clean bed and a warm bath,” he whined. The card players paused for a moment and frowned at the boy. The Ghost held the butt of his cigar and looked at the young fel- low a moment, then put the bad-smelling tobacco rope in his mouth and resumed gazing at his feet. Blackie held his pipe tightly. I looked across the car at him and wondered. He was not one of us. But what was he? He made of silence a drama. He now rubbed his beaked nose with the stem of his crooked pipe. Gorilla Haley, with arms spread out, snored like a grand opera singer. Silver Moon Dugan lay on a roll of dry flags of many nations. They had not been used on the main tent that day on account of rain. He breathed heavily with asthma. Cameron and Finnerty, oblivious of surroundings, sat on a bundle of wet canvas and talked. The old car rattled, swayed and creaked over the rough roadbed. Thick sprays of rain blew in through the cracks of the side doors. Silver Moon Dugan buttoned his red flannel shirt and, rising to his feet, made his way quickly over piles of canvas and stacks of poles and seats. Accustomed to dirt, and the squalor of the cir- [235 Circus Parade cus, the corner of his mouth twisted at the young fel- low’s desire for a bed and a bath. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘So it’s a bath and a bed you want, my lad,” he said, not unkindly, as he opened the door about two feet. “See if you can see any red lights ahead.” The young fellow looked out and answered, “No.” “All right,” jeered Dugan, “there’s a nice road- bed down there, an’ a whole damn sky full of bath.” He kicked the young adventure searcher out of the Car [236] XVI: Surprise ae —— a. XVI: Surprise O man moved. The boss canvasman pushed the door shut quickly. Cameron and Finnerty, momentarily disturbed, resumed talking. The card players were soon quarreling again over the game. “T took it with my ace,” insisted one. “You did like hell, you mean you took an ace from underneath,” scowled the other. Silver Moon Dugan joined Cameron and Fin- nerty. Gorilla Haley rose, his jaws swollen with tobacco juice. He rushed to the door and swung it open. “God Almighty, Gorilla, it’s wet enough outside. Do you wanta flood the state?” the Ghost asked. “Shut your trap,” flared Gorilla, shambling back to his place. My worn brain would not allow me to sleep. I thought once of crawling over the train to the horse car. One of the horses had been ill that day and I knew that Jock would travel with him. It suddenly dawned on me that the car had no end [239] Circus Parade exits, out of which I might have muscled myself onto the roof of the next car. Blackie, still holding his pipe, rose indifferently and walked to the end of the car. He stood still for a moment, legs spread apart, head down. In an- other second he laid his pipe on a wet piece of can- vas, then turned, facing us. “Everybody stand up!’ He whipped out the words sharply. In his extended right hand a blue steel gun. It looked to me as long as a railroad tie. We all rose like soldiers standing at attention. Cameron was the most obedient. Silver Moon hesi- tated. “Work fast, you lame bastard. I just want an excuse to send you to hell.’’ He took one step for- ward, “Tl put a hole through you so big’ you can pound a stake in it.” Silver Moon’s lip curled, as he hesitated about putting up his hands. For a paralyzing second I thought Blackie would shoot. He held the gun on a level with Dugan’s heart and moved nearer. I closed my eyes as if to shut out the noise of the explosion. Then Blackie’s voice went on. “What a dirty bunch of sons of bitches you all are.” Then, looking straight at Du- gan, Cameron and Finnerty—“Throw your gats down. And let me hear them fall hard. Come on.” [240] Surprise Finnerty and Dugan threw revolvers on the floor. “Now throw your money down—fast—every God damn one of you.” Pocketbooks followed the guns. I threw a twenty-five cent piece. Blackie half-grinned as it lit near a revolver. He turned to me. “Open that door, kid.”’ Obedient at once, I slid the door backward its full length of six feet. The noise of the rushing train increased. The rain swished across the car. “Now everybody turn around. Walk to the door —and jump. The guy that turns gets a bullet through his dome.” Cameron looked at Blackie appealingly. Blackie laughed. “You crooked old hypocrite, you can’t talk your way outta this.”” He lunged forward with the gun and shouted, “JUMP!” Being second to no man in the art of catching a flying train, I jumped swiftly and with supreme con- fidence. The rest of the men followed me. Before I could gain my balance on the soggy ground, a car had passed. There were two more to come. I knew every iron ladder and every portion of the train by heart. I could see the forms of the other men, some stretched out, others scrambling to [2411] Circus Parade their feet on the ground. I heard an unearthly screech. A gun went off. My brain, long trained in hobo lore, functioned fast. I sized up the ground to make sure of my foot- ing and looked ahead to make sure I would crash into no bridge while running swiftly with the train. When one more car whirled by me, I started running. If I missed the end of the last car I at least would not be thrown under the train. Running full speed, my brain racing with my feet, I knew that to grab was one thing, to grab and not to miss was another, and to cling like frozen death once my hands went round the iron rung of the ladder. I knew that I must race with the train, else if I grabbed it while I stood still, my arms might be jerked out of their sockets. My cap was gone. The rain slashed across my face. When about to grab, my right foot slipped, and I was thrown off my balance for a second. With muscles suddenly taut, then loosened like a springing tiger’s, I sprang upward. My hands clung to the iron rung. My body was jerked toward the train. Thinking quickly, I buried my jaw in my left shoulder, pugilist fashion. It saved me from [242] Surprise being knocked out by the impact of my jaw with the side of the car. I finally got my left foot on the bottom of the ladder, my right leg dangling. The car passed the group who had been redlighted with me. A man grabbed at my right foot. I kicked desperately, and felt for an instant my foot against the flesh of his face. My arms ached as though they were being severed from my shoulders with a razor blade. A numbness crept over me. My brain throbbed in unison with my heart. Drilled in primitive en- durance of the road for four long years, I was to _ face the supreme test. I had no love for the red-lighted men. Rather, I admired Blackie more. Neither did I blame him for red-lighting me. A man had once trusted an- other in my world. He was betrayed. I had the young road kid’s terrible aversion — against walking the track for any man. My law was —to stay with the train, to allow no man to “ditch” me. When the numbness left me I crawled up the lad- der. Blinded by the rain, my hair plastered to my head in spite of the wind that roared round the train, I lay, face downward, and clawed with tired hands at the roof of the smooth wet car. [243] Circus Parade Sometime afterward, whether a minute or an hour, I do not know, I tried to rise. My arms bent. I lay flat again. My mania had been to tell Jock. It suddenly dawned on me to tell anybody I saw. But how could I see anyone while the train lurched through the wind-driven and rain-washed night? I cried in the intensity of emotion. Pulling my- self together, I dragged my body to the end of the first car, about sixty feet. Reaching there, I had not the strength to muscle my body to the next car. After a seemingly endless exertion I pulled myself across the three-foot chasm between the two cars. Beneath me the wheels clicked with fierce revolu- tions on the rails. The wind blew the rain in heavy gusts through the chasm. , With the aid of the chain which ran from the wheel at the top of the car to the brake beneath, I worked my body around to the ladder, and crawled laboriously to the top of the second car. My muscles throbbed with pain at the armpits. I wondered if I had dislocated my arms. I tried to crawl on my hands and knees, and gave it up. Finally I suc- ceeded in dragging myself across the second car. My heart pounded as though it would jump from my breast. [244] Surprise I leaned out from my position between the cars. The light still gleamed in the open door of the car from which we had been red-lighted. Blackie was standing in the doorway. His shadow was thrown far across the ground. The running train gave it a weird dancing effect. It pumped over the rough earth and cut through telegraph poles and fences as the rain splashed upon it. The engine whistled loud and long. My heart jumped with glee. It was going to stop. Suddenly the train gained momentum and the engine whistled twice. This meant: straight through. We passed a few red and green lights, and later some that were yellowish white. | The whistle shrieked again, a low moaning dismal effort like a whistle being blown under water. I sensed a long run for the train. The fireman’s hand lay heavily on the bell rope. It became light as day each time he opened the fire-box to shovel in coal. The rain still slashed downward with blinding fury. In spite of everything my eyes became heavy. Knowing the folly of going to sleep and falling be- tween the cars, I opened my coat and held my body close to the iron rod which held the brake. I then buttoned the coat around it. While being forced to stand as rigid as one in a straight jacket, it would [245] Circus Parade nevertheless save me from being dashed under the wheels. After many wet miles the train slowed at the edge of a railroad yard. Lights from engines blended with white steam and made the yards light as early day. I looked across the yards and saw Blackie mak- ing for the open road, | We gained speed for a few minutes and then ran © slower, at last coming to a stop in the yards. I hurried to the horse car and found Jock. He was sitting on some straw near Jerry, the sick horse. I gasped out the story of the red-lighting to him. Jock said without energy, “It was a tough break for you, kid,” and shrugged his shoulders. “T'll tell the Baby Buzzard.’ He frowned. “We'll have to go back after them, I guess.” He studied for another moment. “It would be a great stunt to let °em walk in. They deserve it. But no. I guess it’s best for you to come and tell the Baby Buzzard. We'll be all finished in a week and you’d lose your wages if you ducked now and didn’t tell.” “Yeah, Jock, you’re right,” I said. And then, “I saw Blackie beatin’ it across the yards about a mile back.”’ “Well,” exclaimed Jock, “say nothin’ about it, [246] Surprise kid. A guy that kin pull a stunt like that deserves to go free. I don’t think he meant you no harm. He had to red-light you, too.” “Gosh! I wonder what he’d think if he knew I made the train again.” “He wouldn’t be surprised. He’d have made it if you'd of red-lighted him. He’s just a hell of a guy, that’s all.” Jock put on his soft grease-stained hat. “We'd better go an’ tell the Baby Buzzard together, kid, but don’t mention seein’ Blackie. Let him make his getaway. I wouldn’t turn a dog over to the law.” “All right, Jock,” I muttered, and followed him out of the car. [247] XVII: A Railroad Order XVII: A Railroad Order HE misty morning at last turned clear. The 4 sunshone bright. We walked toward the Baby Buzzard’s car. In a few words I told my story. The Baby Buzzard’s eyes narrowed. “Who'd you say red-lighted ’em?” I told her again. “What become of him?” she asked. “That don’t matter,’ answered Jock, “‘it’s what'll become of them if we don’t get ’em. Maybe they’re hurt, or even killed.” The Baby Buzzard sneered. “Killed hell. No sich luck for some of ’em.”? Then quickly, “Come with me. We followed her toward the engine. The fireman leaned out of the left window and watched the en- gineer oil the large drive wheels. The Baby Buzzard approached him and asked, “Are you a runnin’ this here train?” “I was, till it stopped,” he answered with irri- tation. The engineer’s answer angered the Baby Buzzard. [251] sind: aa ale Circus Parade “Well, would you mind runnin’ your damn train back about fifty mile an’ pickin’ up my husban’ and some more of his men that got red-lighted with the kid here.” “Not me, lady. I’m all through. I’ve been smellin’ this circus long enough. You'll have to tell your troubles to the trainmaster. He’s right over in that corner of the round house.” 3 We walked across the tracks in the direction of the round house, a place in which the engines were kept like so many automobiles in a huge round garage. The Baby Buzzard hobbled along with us, delivering a scathing remark toward the engineer, which ran, “The nerve o’ that devil. No wonder poor people git no wheres in this world. They’re too damn saucy.” The trainmaster had one arm and a happy smile. His hair was sandy, his face the color of an over- ripe mulberry. He telephoned the chief train des- patcher and asked, ““What’s due out of 2 Boss of the circus and some other fellows made to walk the plank.” Turning to me—“You say it was about fifty miles out? No towns between of any size?” “No sir.” The despatcher made answer! [252] A Railroad Order “Then Number Four’ll ketch ’em if they’ve stayed close to the track. All right—tell conductor Number Four to be on lookout for them—bring ’em on in here.” “How long’ll it be?” “About three or four hours, lady.” The Baby Buzzard grunted and walked away. “Pay the railroads all the damn money you make an’ then they can’t do you a little favor. Have to wait all this time to git started.” The Baby Buzzard lost no time in getting the circus unloaded. The property boss was given Silver Moon Dugan’s work to do. Buddy Conroy took charge in place of Slug Finnerty. She hobbled about snapping orders. The men cursed her under their breath. An old “roughneck”’ canvasman and stake-driver laid out the tent on the lot. And to the surprise of all it was done as well as Dugan could have accom- plished. Jock gave me some dry clothes and allowed me to sleep until time for the parade to return. All that day I basked in my little glory. Number Four arrived after dinner with its di- versified cargo. Cameron with both legs broken, was carried out [2531] Circus Parade of the caboose. On his face was scorn for his posi- tion and pity for himself. The entire circus gathered about the train. Silver Moon Dugan looked ashamed. His limp was more decided. “‘How’s hittin’ the ties, Silver?” yelled a voice. *““Go to hell,” was Silver’s retort. The Ghost and Gorilla Halen were unhurt. Back of them came the young fellow whom Silver Moon Dugan had red-lighted. His clothing was badly torn, his face deeply scratched. : As I had spread the story of his first having been red-lighted by Dugan, his appearance was greeted with a wild shout. A doctor was called. He pulled and twisted at Cameron’s legs, and then put them in crude plaster casts. The battered barbarian looked at them when the doctor had finished. He glanced then at the Baby Buzzard and shook his head violently, at last snapping out: “God damn the God damned luck!” One of the hardest, the most merciless, and the meanest of mankind, who had red-lighted many men himself and who had cheated many hundreds in his wandering life, he added: [254] . . = mat gts ie Ones a us ? Sa aS. i ae Tw — See ee se eee A Railroad Order “That man ain’t human. He’s lower’n a skunk’s belly.” “Well he’s hard enough to be human,” sneered Silver Moon Dugan, “and I’ve seen him somewhere. It seems to me he pulled a fast one with Robinson’s five or six years ago. Believe me or not, if J ever put my glims on ’im agin there’ll be music along this railroad. Pll play ‘Home Sweet Home’ on his God damn ribs with bullets.” Cameron tried to turn over. His body twitched with pain. : “You're a tune too late, Silver. You’ll never see that bozo this side of hell.” His eyes were bleared with the wind and rain of the night. They were crossed for a moment with clouds of humor. “But you gotta say this, Silver, you done met your match in that greaser.” “IT have like so much hell,” returned Silver Moon Dugan. Cameron, oblivious of the retort, added: “It’s funny about people. The minute I saw that guy I felt like apologizin’ for ownin’ the show. That’s the kind of a guy he was. His damn hard eyes were like diamond drills an’ his nose hooked like a buzzard’s. He’s no regular roughneck, I knew it, but what’n hell is he?” [255] Circus Parade The Baby Buzzard, never soft, looked down at the hulk with broken legs. She started to say some- thing, changed her mind, then turned to me. Her flat and aged breast rose once, then sank. An emo- tion was killed within her. In all the months she displayed no interest in me, save that I could read well aloud—and now: “Where you from, kid?” “Oh, I’m just a drifter. Joined on in Louisiana before the Lion Tamer got bumped off.” “That’s right. I’'d forgot,” she returned. “Did that lousy wretch take your money too?” “My last two bits,” I replied. The Baby Buzzard allowed herself the shadow of a grin. Then for fear of being too BeneIOUE with herself, she frowned. “Damn his hide, the nerve. A guy that'd do that ud skin a louse for its hide.” She handed me a half dollar. Clutching it in my hand I returned to Jock. Cameron insisted on being present each time the tent was pitched, A covered wagon was turned over to him, the canvas on each side being made to roll up like curtains. It was roped off from the gaze of the public. Here he would lie like a flabby, wounded [256] A Railroad Order but unbeaten general directing his forces. I was his errand boy. The circus was to close in a week. The nights even in the South were now cold. Frost covered everything each morning. Roughnecks, musicians, acrobats, all talked of a headquarters for the winter. Cameron’s reputation as a red-lighter had been accentuated by his own catastrophe. “He’ll have to pay us now, the old devil. He can’t make a gitaway on broken pins,”’ was the comment of the old rough- neck who had laid out the tents in Silver Moon Du- gan’s absence. But nevertheless we were all worried about our wages. If we allowed the show to go into head- quarters in another state it would be impossible to collect. We would not be allowed to go near Camer- on’s headquarters. Citizens and police would protect Cameron against the claims of circus hoboes. Such communities had always protected Cameron and his tribe of red-lighting circus owners from the ravages of roughnecks who wanted justice. I could feel the tension on the lot. Many of the older canvasmen had what is known as a “month’s holdback” due them, twenty or thirty dollars for a month of drudging labor. It was wealth to men of [2571] Circus Parade our kind to whom a dollar was often opulence. The final pay-day would cost Cameron several thousand dollars. How would he face the situation with two broken legs? We all wondered. “You'll git yours, kid, don’t worry,’ Jock had assured me. But even then, I was not so sure. To ease my mind I talked over the matter in- directly with the Baby Buzzard. “Gosh, I'll feel rich next Thursday, when the show closes,” I said to her. “What for?’ she asked. “Money only runes people like you. You won’t do nothin’ with it but git drunk an’ go to whore houses an’ git your back- bones weak.” I passed the word along. It made us more de- termined to collect than ever. [258] XVIII: The Last Day “3 E 3 XVIII: The Last Day UTTING up the tent was a spasmodic effort on the last day. _ A feeling of uneasiness pervaded the lot. A half dozen roughnecks rejoined us. They had deserted the show after the hey rube fight. “What? You back?” roared Silver Moon Du- gan, as they advanced in a body toward him. “Yeap, what’s left of us, Silver,” the ringleader replied insolently. “An’ we want our dough, too. This is pay day, you know.” Dugan parleyed with them no more. They either looked too formidable, or he had other plans. No attempt was made to “‘chase ’em off the lot.” Instead, Dugan hurried to Cameron. They were soon joined by Finnerty, Jock and the Baby Buz- zard. I went with Jock. Jock’s heart was never with Cameron. He loved morphine and horses. Life was to him, except when he had ‘‘a habit on,’ a dream that had broken in the middle and had left him dazed. Every horse had his love. He was all pity when he saw a galled [261] Circus Parade shoulder or spavin on any animal, whether it were in his keeping or not. The “paste brigade” awaited our arrival. Travel- ing days ahead of us in the advance car, they were now ready to go into winter headquarters with buckets, paste and several unused tons of vari- colored circus advertising. Giant yellow, red and green posters everywhere announced Cameron’s “‘acres of tents.” The paste brigade and other advance men left in their car at noon after a long parley with Cam- eron. One of the paste slingers waved some greenbacks at us. It made us more hopeful of being paid that day. Word was soon spread that we were to be given our wages next day at Cameron’s winter head- quarters. A feeling of rebellion followed. Silver Moon Dugan exerted himself to keep his canvasmen from mixing with their six former com- rades. To avoid open warfare he used all the crude diplomacy of which he was capable. He realized that if the local police were called in there would be a great deal of damage done. An- other general hey rube fight might result. By an underground current the workingmen had [262] The Last Day decided that Cameron was to pay or the circus would not move. Cameron’s legs were heavily plastered and held high above his head with a rope and pulley. In spite of this he was half propped up in his bed when we arrived. The canvas curtains were down on each side of the wagon. The Baby Buzzard rose when I entered. Her manner was very kind. I sensed what was to follow. Presently Goosey and the property boss entered. There was much random talk of the situation, then Jock’s voice: “Don’t try it, I’m tellin’ you, you'll never move the show.” “Well we can’t pay ’em here. We’ve got to figger things up an’ it'll take till tomorrow to do it,” said Finnerty. Jock interrupted with, “Well it’s no skin off my beak, but I’ve gotta play half-square. All I’m tellin’ you is—don’t.” “Well, the boss has a right to pay tomorrow if he likes,” snapped Silver Moon Dugan. “You'll have the dough for your bunch. That'll let you out.” “But it won’t let you fellows out,” Jock looked down at Cameron. Finnerty rubbed his one eye. [263] Circus Parade “Oh hell,” he said, ‘‘tell °em to come to winter headquarters for their money. Who gives a damn about a lot of hoboes, anyhow. Money spoils bums, that’s my opinion.” “Same here,” snapped the Baby Buzzard. Cameron motioned to me. “Here, kid, take this message to the men. Just tell "em I said pay-day was tomorrow. At two o'clock every man will get his bonus and we'll have a big barbecue in the evening.” Jock followed me out. Together we walked in the direction of the horses. There was a blare of music along the midway. A strong wind began to blow. Tiny pieces of paper and empty peanut sacks whirled about the lot. Jock said nothing to me. He walked slowly, and save for a nervous twitching about the mouth was calm. “We'll go tell ’em, kid,” he said at last, “but tell °em I got the money for my squad today. You should worry, you’ll never want to travel with this damned outfit again anyhow. This is goin’ to be the damndest blow-off Cameron ever had. I can feel it in the air.” The men received Cameron’s message with sullen contempt. They stood in groups about the lot. When the last rube had gone home, and while [264] The Last Day the wind swirled across the lot carrying the debris of a rustic holiday with it, at least a hundred and fifty men marched toward Cameron’s wagon. Down the midway they came, Rosebud Bates in the lead playing on the clarinet. There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight. Back of Rosebud Bates was Blackie. His appearance startled me. I could hardly be- lieve my eyes. “I knew he’d show up again, by God,” said Jock. Blackie’s eyes were wild in his face. “Is he drunk?” I asked Jock. “Nope. He’s full o’ heroin.” The six roughnecks who had appeared early were with him, three on each side. Their eyes, less vivid, still had something of the same expression as Black- ie’s. Each of their right hands were in their right coat pockets. Their coats were jerked sideways as their arms swung. Blackie’s coat was unbuttoned. Experience had taught me that the hands gripped revolvers in the coat pockets. If trouble came, the bullets would rip through the cloth. They marched directly to Cameron’s wagon. “Good Lord, Jock, what'll happen?” I asked. [2657] Circus Parade “Anything. When guys are loaded up on heroin itll give ’°em more nerve an’ make ’em more des- — perate an’ make ’em think faster’n anything on earth.” He grunted. “‘Cameron’s in trouble sure as hell. I just know now that Blackie was loaded when he red-lighted you guys.” A shot was fired from the rear of the wagon. Blackie, untouched, started running toward it. The others followed him. Silver Moon Dugan and Finnerty stood near the rear wheel. “Thought you’d git me quick, did you, Silver,” sneered Blackie, hand held high in his coat pocket. Dugan hesitated, his mind not as alert as Blackie’s who was on fire with murderous heroin. Blackie fired. The bullet crashed through the thick muscle of Dugan’s right arm. He groaned dismally. The gun dropped. One of Blackie’s comrades picked it up. Blackie then stepped in close. His immense arm went upward. There followed a bone-crushing thud. Dugan’s jaw cracked. He sank. Finnerty, dumbfounded by the suddenness of Blackie’s action, held his hands up as if to plead. Blackie sprang at him with the agility of a moun- tain panther. [266] _ The Last Day His hand left his pocket, clinging to his blue revolver. Half circling, he twisted Finnerty’s body until it seemed he would break his back. Then his monstrous arm went around Finnerty’s throat like a vise. “Search the rat. Quick,” he yelled. _ Two men pounced upon Finnerty ripped a watch and chain from his breast and went through his pockets swiftly. In another instant Blackie’s gun thudded brutally against his jaw. It tore Fin- nerty’s flesh and covered his one good eye with blood. The men surrounded the wagon. “Keep a gun on these birds,’’ snapped Blackie. A roughneck stood over the unconscious Finnerty and Dugan. Gorilla Haley and four others of Dugan’s hench- men ran quickly toward the wagon. They were caught like mice in a trap. Blackie saw them and yelled, “Hey Rube! Du- gan’s stool pigeons! Let ’em have it!” Cameron lay in his bed helpless while the Baby Buzzard shrieked curses. “Ain't they a man among you, you God damn crummy varmints.” Her shrieks were soon lost in the avalanche of brutality that followed. [267)] Circus Parade The “Ghost” collapsed in fear before a fist reached him. “Give him the boot,” yelled Blackie. His face and body were quickly kicked beyond recognition. He squirmed on the ground like a mass of blub- ber and then became rigid. The rest were annihilated by more than a hun- dred circus roughnecks, a tribe of men the equal of which in sheer courage and primitive fighting ability no frontier country in the world’s history has ever produced. Recruited from the roughest of the rough, sur- viving hunger, cold, dreary and seemingly endless hours of labor without fatigue, they were now in their proper element. Gorilla Haley, the seasoned fighter, did imme- diately that which had made his name a byword in annals of circus barbarism. He looked about quickly and backed against the wagon so that no one could get behind him. He would at least be able to see his antagonists. “He'll get it anyhow,” said Jock, “the damn fool. It’s not his circus. They’ll murder him.” Gorilla Haley was everything in the human calen- dar of vices. But he was not a coward. Weighing at least two hundred and forty pounds [2687 | The Last Day of muscles, his immense sparse body bent low, his long arms reached out with fierce blows and warded off the attacks of a dozen men. Blackie shouted, “Lay off, men, I'll give him a chance and take him myself.” The wind had died down for a few moments. Combined with the temporary lull of voices, the effect was spectral. The mind even in great danger often sees pic- tures for an instant that are remembered a lifetime. I threw my head back from sheer fatigue of excite- ment. Above me was a deep blue sky dotted with shin- ing regiments of wonder. An immense silver and blue cloud seemed hung suspended in the center of the blue dome. Tired and wretched at the end of a long season of migratory labor, with nothing but the insecurity of a gypsy at the finish, I still had left that mightiest heritage of toil-worn men—a sense of wonder. To the left was the Milky Way. A half Pawnee Indian stake-driver, long since red-lighted, had told me one night as our train traveled through an edge of Kansas that the Milky Way was only white dust made by a horse ten miles high and a buffalo even taller, racing like hell and high water across the [269] Circus Parade sky. He told me that the horse ran on one side where the biggest stars were; that the buffalo made the little dust. | Reality blotted out the sky. The lull ended. Blackie, not so ponderous as Gorilla Haley, closed in upon him as we formed a ring around them. Never _ was there fiercer impact. Their foreheads crashed together. Stunned, Gorilla’s knees sagged. Blackie’s wild eyes danced like a vicious animal’s. He tore the clothing from Gorilla’s body as he yelled, “I like to fight ’em naked.” The cloud darkened and ran down the sky on all sides like spilled ink. The wind came up. It thun- dered. Rain drops rattled on the paper-strewn ground, 7 Into the fusillade of blows Blackie stepped. One caught him across the nose and the blood streamed. Angered to a pitch of even fiercer fury, he struck with accurate aim at Gorilla’s head and body. With clothing torn from their bodies they cursed each other through lacerated lips. They broke apart and crashed together again. Breasts heaving, faces trickling blood, they reeled, punch-drunk, under the brain-jarring monotony of blows. The men pushed in closer and the fighters had barely room in which to move. All of Gorilla’s cau- [270] er 4 ee. aa a ed + Se ee ‘es a Sas Pas ee so ae ee eh ss sal a 2 The Last Day tion was not enough. A black jack crashed upon his skull as Blackie’s mallet fist connected under his chin. He fell instantly. Blackie kicked him in the face. One of the six roughnecks rushed up to Blackie. “T done it! I done it!” he shouted. Blackie looked toward the big top and yelled, “Hurray! !? Instantly the circus grounds were lit like day. There came the shrill neighing of horses, and the whining of other animals. “The big top’s on fire,” shouted the army of roustabouts. Forgetting money, they all ran toward the burning tent. “Let ’er burn,” yelled Blackie as he sprang into Cameron’s wagon followed by the six roughnecks. The curtains of the wagon were ripped off. “Where’s your money, you broken-legged old faker? This is pay-day. I’ve got three weeks’ wages comin’. Do you think I swing a sledge for you for nothing?” And Blackie danced a jig before the prostrate Cameron, saying, “The boobs love a fire. It gets them every time.” Sheets of white and yellow flame crackled up- ward. The Baby Buzzard rushed at Blackie, her with- . [271] Circus Parade ered fists clenched. “Hold this old rip,’ shouted Blackie. One of the men grabbed her carelessly. She scratched and bit until he pinioned her arms. An- other man held her legs. Cameron raised his hand. ‘“Won’t you listen a moment, gentlemen?” Then the cry reached his ears, ““The main tent’s burnin’.”’ The magnificent old ruffian jerked his plas- tered legs from their moorings and tried to stand erect. The crackling flames mingled with the roar of lions and the wails of hyenas. The elephants trump- eted. A panther screamed like a woman. Cameron stood erect and tried to walk. The seven desperadoes laughed as he fell backward. Blackie, eyes blazing, stepped close to his cot and slapped his face. ‘You don’t remember red-lightin’ me, do you, you old double crossing bastard? Well, I do. And you didn’t break my legs neither. But to hell with that. It’s money we want. I’m paymaster now. Where’s the money?” | a Blackie laughed like a maniac. The old man lay silent. [272] The Last Day The noises increased. Men shouted everywhere. _ The flames brightened. “The old paraffine tent burns like dry matches,”’ exclaimed an excited canvasman. Cameron heard the words. A more deathly calm came over him. ‘Who started the fire?” he asked dully, rubbing his bleared and tired eyes. ““Where’s the money?’ shouted Blackie. The circus owner’s mouth went tighter still. He glared at Blackie. The seven men edged closer about the cot. “All right, you won’t talk?” Blackie held a gun at Cameron’s temple. The broken-legged circus own- er’s eyes closed as though awaiting a bullet to rip through his head. Blackie put his left foot forward. His body was tense. Death was five inches from Cameron’s brain. Blackie’s finger rubbed the trigger. The Baby Buzzard screamed shrilly, her nerve broken: “Under his bed. Under his bed.” Blackie withdrew the gun. The cot was pushed to one side. The undaunted Cameron tried to leap upon Blackie as he stooped for the money, secure in heavy sacks in an open safe. [273] Circus Parade Blackie threw a heavy fist against Cameron’s jaw. His plastered legs spread out. His head went back- ward. He lay still. “Now it’s pay-day, men.” Blackie motioned to the six cronies. “Hold the guns level. If anybody comes near, spatter his brains out.” The Baby Buzzard was tied with a rope and placed by Cameron’s side. Blackie then ordered Fin- nerty and Dugan tied. The wagon was overturned. The old lady screamed. “Shut up or we'll burn it,” yelled Blackie as he rushed into the darkness followed by the six ruffians. *K *K * Silver Moon Dugan regained consciousness and rolled over. The canvasmen returned and stared at the upturned wagon. Cameron and the Baby Buz- zard groaned. The wild confusion at last died down. Citizens and police, attracted by the fire, now swarmed the lot. All that was left of the big top were the three charred poles which had once held it. Red remnants of pine seats still glowed. The gilded circus wagons were turned black with [274] The Last Day heat and smoke. The wind blew the odor of burnt paraffine over the circus ground. The animals paced nervously in their cages. An elephant trumpeted. Two horses neighed; one after the other. Soon the lot was deserted. The silence of desolation reigned where the big top once had been. [2751] XIX: Later rial a eg avk XIX: Later O trace of Blackie or his comrades could be found, The police asked many questions, and left. The circus roustabouts looked at each other sheepishly. Silver Moon Dugan was taken to the hospital, his arm shot away. Gorilla Haley’s skull was fractured. He later be- came a member of the Chicago police. Finnerty, beaten but not broken, took charge of everything. He stood at the end of Cameron’s wagon, which had been placed upright again. Cam- eron, his jaw bandaged, was in a half-sitting posi- tion as Finnerty addressed the men: “We have shared danger together, gentlemen, and now we have endured robbery. It was our intention to pay you each and all, here this evening, but that, alas, cannot now be done. “But we hold you no ill-will. Your mistake, if any, was of the head rather than of the heart.” As Finnerty continued the men became more shamefaced and uneasy. [279] Circus Parade “T will wire our headquarters at Mr. Cameron’s suggestion tonight.” Cameron, feeling his bandaged jaw, nodded his approval. “The money to pay each and every one of Cam- eron’s World’s Greatest Combined Shows will be here in the morning. I will meet you in front of the post office at eleven tomorrow and pay you. Those who would rather travel on to headquarters may do so.” The circus was loaded with alacrity. At ten o’clock next morning the men marched in a body toward the post office. Finnerty left with them. At ten forty-five the circus train departed for winter headquarters. Finnerty was aboard. ¥ [280] ig ; > Fe ~ " = aS ars