e morning when there arose a fearful racket in
the runway, and, looking in, he saw the quagga tearing along toward him.
He concluded that some one had unfastened the door, and was just
preparing to check the animal, when around the curve came Rajah in full
pursuit. Bonavita stepped back, drew his revolver, and, as the tiger
rushed past, fired a blank cartridge, thinking thus to divert him from
the quagga. But Rajah paid not the slightest heed, and in long bounds
came out into the arena hard after the terrified quadruped, which was
galloping now with the speed of despair. A keeper who was sweeping
clambered up the iron sides and anxiously watched the race from the top.
Bonavita, powerless to interfere, watched from the bridge.

[Illustration: THE TIGER "RAJAH" KICKED BY THE QUAGGA.]

Of all races ever run in a circus this was the most remarkable. It was a
race for life, as the quagga knew and the tiger intended. Five times
they circled the arena, Rajah gaining always, but never enough for a
spring. In the sixth turn, however, he judged the distance right, and
straightway a black-and-yellow body shot through the air in true aim at
the prey. Whereupon the quagga did the only thing a quagga _could_
do--let out both hind legs in one straight, tremendous kick; and they do
say that a quagga can kick the eyes out of a fly. At any rate, in this
case a pair of nervous little heels caught the descending tiger squarely
under the lower jaw, and put him to sleep like a nice little lullaby.
And that was the end of it. The quagga trotted back to its cage,
Bonavita put up his revolver, the frightened sweeper climbed down from
the bars, and Rajah was hauled back ignominiously to his den.

Here we have three instances showing the extreme importance of little
things in a menagerie. A keeper opens door No. 13 instead of door No.
14, and is straightway killed. A screw is loose in a bolt fastening,
and, presto! a tiger is at large. A watcher at a peep-hole looks away
for a moment, and a life goes into jeopardy. It is always so; and I will
let Mr. Bostock tell how a little thing gave Rajah his first longing to
kill.

"It was several years ago," said he, "when I was running a wagon show in
England. I remember we were about a mile and a half out of a certain
town when this thing happened. For some reason Rajah had been
transferred to a bear-wagon, and we ought to have examined it more
carefully, for bears are the worst fellows in the world to