"Yes, Jen, for I love you very much."

His face brightens as he says so, and becomes almost beautiful.

And yet he does not know himself how dear to him has become this small bright head.

He has nothing else in this world but her, and he watches her as the faithful dog guards his mistress. By her fragile side he looks like Hercules, but he is unconscious of this.

"Jen," says he after a moment, "listen to what I tell you."

Jenny, who shortly before had got up to look at the horse, now turns and, kneeling down before Orso, puts her two elbows on his knees, crosses her arms and, resting her chin on her wrists, uplifts her face and is all attention.

At this moment, to the consternation of the children, the "artist of the whip" enters the ring in a very bad humor, because his trial with a lion had entirely failed.

This lion, who was bald from old age, desired only to be let alone, had no inclination to attack the "artist," and hid himself from the lash of the whip in a far corner of the cage. The manager thought with despair that if this loyal disposition remained with the lion until the evening the contest with the whip would be a failure; for to fight a lion who slinks away needs no more art than to eat a lobster from his tail. The bad temper of the proprietor became still worse when he learned from the ticket seller that he was disposing of no seats in the "G.o.ds;" that the Cahuillas evidently had spent all their money that they had earned in the vineyards for drinks, and that they came to his window and offered their blankets, marked "U. S.," or their wives, especially the old ones, in exchange for tickets of admission.

The lack of money among the Cahuillas was no small loss for the "artist of the whip;" for he counted on a "crowded house," and if the seats in the "G.o.ds" were not sold no "crowded house" was obtainable; therefore the manager wished at this moment that all the Indians had but one back, and that he might give an exhibition of his skill with the whip on that one back, in the presence of all Anaheim. Thus he felt as he entered the ring, and seeing the horse standing idle under the parapet, he felt like jumping with anger. Where are Orso and Jenny? Shading his eyes with his hand he looked all around the circus, and observed in a bright beam, Orso, and Jenny kneeling before him with her elbows resting on his knees. At this sight he let the lash of his whip trail on the ground.

"Orso!"

If lightning had struck in the midst of the children they could not have been more startled. Orso jumped to his feet and descended in the pa.s.sageway between the benches with the hasty movement of an animal who comes to his master at his call; behind him followed Jenny with eyes wide open from fright, and clutching the benches as she pa.s.sed them.

Orso, on entering the ring, stopped by the parapet, gloomy and silent, the gray light from above bringing into relief his Herculean trunk upon its short legs.

"Nearer," cried out the manager in a hoa.r.s.e voice; meanwhile the lash of his long whip moved upon the sand with a threatening motion, like the tail of a tiger watching his approaching prey.

Orso advanced several steps, and for a few minutes they looked into each other's eyes. The manager's face resembled that of the tamer who enters the cage, intending to subdue a dangerous animal, and at the same time watches it.

His rage overcame his caution. His legs, incased in elk riding breeches and high boots, pranced under him with anger. Perhaps it was not the idleness alone of the children which increased his rage.

Jenny, from above, looked at both of them like a frightened hare watching two lynxes.

"Hoodlum! dog catcher, thou cur!" hissed the manager.

The whip with the velocity of lightning whistled through the air in a circle, hissed and struck. Orso winced and howled a little, and stepped toward the manager, but the second stroke stopped him at once, then the third, fourth--tenth. The contest had begun, although there was no audience. The uplifted hand of the "great artist" scarcely moved, but his wrist revolved, as if a part of some machinery, and, with each revolution, the sharp point of the lash stung the skin of Orso. It seemed as if the whip, or rather its poisonous fang, filled the whole s.p.a.ce between the athlete and the manager, who in his increasing excitement reached the genuine enthusiasm of the artist.

The "master" simply improvised. The cracking end flashing in the air twice had written down its b.l.o.o.d.y trace on the bare neck of the athlete. Orso was silent in this dance. At every cut he stepped one step forward and the manager one step backward. In this way they circled the arena, and at last the manager backed out of the ring as a conqueror from the cage, and disappeared through the entrance to the stables, still as the conqueror. As he left his eye fell on Jenny.

"Get on your horse," he cried; "I will settle with you later."

His voice had scarcely ceased before her white skirt flashed in the air, and in a moment she was on the back of the horse. The manager had disappeared, and the horse began to gallop around the ring, occasionally striking the side with its hoofs.

"Hep! Hep!" agitatedly said Jenny to the horse with her childish voice: "Hep! hep!" but this "hep, hep," was at the same time a sob.

The horse increased his speed, clattering with his hoofs as he leaned more and more to the center. The girl, standing on the pad with her feet close together, seemed scarcely to touch it with the ends of her toes; her bare rosy arms rose and fell as she maintained her balance; her hair and light muslin dress floated behind her supple figure, which looked like a bird circling in the air.

"Hep! hep!" she kept exclaiming. Meanwhile her eyes were filled with tears, and to see she had to raise her head; the movement of the horse made her dizzy; the terrace of seats and the ring seemed to revolve around her; she wavered once, twice, and then fell down into the arms of Orso.

"Oh! Orso, poor Orso!" cried the child.

"What's the matter, Jen? why do you cry? I don't feel the pain, I don't feel it."

Jenny threw both her arms around his neck and began to kiss his cheeks. Her whole body trembled, and she sobbed convulsively.

"Orso, oh, Orso," she sobbed, for she could not speak, and her arms clung closer to his neck. She could not have cried more if she had been beaten herself. So, in the end, he began to pet and console her.

Forgetting his own pain he took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart, and his nerves being excited by the beating, he now felt for the first time that he loved her more than the dog loved his mistress.

He breathed heavily, and his lips panted out the words:

"I feel no pain. When you are with me, I am happy, Jenny, Jenny!"

When this was transpiring the manager was walking in the stables, foaming with rage. His heart was filled with jealousy. He saw the girl on her knees before Orso; recently this beautiful child had awakened the lower instincts in him, but as yet undeveloped, and now he fancied that she and Orso loved each other, and he felt revengeful, and had a wild desire to punish her--to whip her soundly. This desire he could not resist. Shortly he called to her.

She at once left Orso, and in a moment had disappeared in the dark entrance to the stables. Orso stood stupefied, and instead of following her he walked with unsteady steps to a bench, and, seating himself, began to breathe heavily.

When the girl entered the stables she could see nothing, as it was much darker there than in the ring. Yet, fearing that she would be suspected of having delayed her coming, she cried out in a faint voice:

"I am here, master, I am here."

At the same moment the hand of the manager caught hers, and he hoa.r.s.ely said:

"Come!"

If he had shown anger or badly scolded her she would have felt less frightened than at this silence with which he led her to the circus wardrobe. She hung back, resisting him, and repeating quickly:

"Oh, dear Mr. Hirsch, forgive me! forgive me!"

But forcibly he dragged her to the long room where they stored their costumes, and turned the key in the door.

Jenny fell down on her knees. With uplifted eyes and folded hands, trembling as a leaf, the tears streaming down her cheeks, she tried to arouse his mercy; in answer to her supplications, he took from the wall a wire whip, and said:

"Lie down."

With despair she flung herself at his feet, nearly dying from fright.

Every nerve of her body quivered; but vainly she pressed her pallid lips to his polished boots. Her alarm and pleading seemed to arouse the demon in him more than ever. Grasping her roughly, he threw her violently on a heap of dresses, and in an instant, after trying to stop the kicking of her feet, he began beating her cruelly.

"Orso! Orso!" she shouted.

About this moment the door shook on its hinges, rattled, creaked and gave way, and half of it, pushed in with a tremendous force, fell with a crash upon the ground.

In this opening stood Orso.

The wire whip fell from the hand of the manager, and his face became deadly pale, because Orso looked ferocious. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips covered with foam, his head inclined to one side like a bull's, and his whole body was crouched and gathered, as if ready to spring.

"Get out!" cried the manager, trying to hide his fear behind a show of authority.

The pent-up dam was already broken. Orso, who was usually as obedient to every motion as a dog, this time did not move, but leaning his head still more to one side, he moved slowly and threateningly toward the "artist of the whip," his iron muscles taut as whipcords.

"Help! help!" cried the manager.

They heard him.

Four brawny negroes from the stables ran in through the broken door and fell upon Orso. A terrible fight ensued, upon which the manager looked with chattering teeth. For a long time you could see nothing but a tangled ma.s.s of dark bodies wrestling with convulsive movements, rolling on the ground in a writhing heap; in the silence which followed sometimes was heard a groan, a snort, loud short breathing, the gritting of teeth.

In a moment one of the negroes, as if by a superhuman force, was sent from this formless ma.s.s, whirling headlong through the air, and fell at the feet of the manager, striking his skull with great force on the ground; soon a second flew out; then from the center of this turbulent group Orso's body alone arose, covered with blood and looking more terrible than before. His knees were still pressing heavily on the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the two fainting negroes. He arose to his feet and moved toward the manager.