up with the eyes of a dumb, persecuted animal. "And de gemmen
in de show didn't tell nobody why--jes' speaked about de udder gal
takin' her place."

"Why DIDN'T she ride?" cried Douglas, in an agony of suspense.

"Dat's what I don' know, sah." Mandy began to cry. It was the first time
in his experience that Douglas had ever known her to give way to any
such weakness. He walked up and down the room, uncertain what to do.

Hasty came down from the window and tried to put one arm about Mandy's
shoulders.

"Leab me alone, you nigga!" she exclaimed, trying to cover her tears
with a show of anger that she did not feel; then she rushed from the
room, followed by Hasty.

The band was playing loudly; the din of the night performance was
increasing. Douglas's nerves were strained to a point of breaking. He
would not let himself go near the window. He stood by the side of the
table, his fists clenched, and tried to beat back the impulse that was
pulling him toward the door. Again and again he set his teeth.

It was uncertainty that gnawed at him so. Was she ill? Could she need
him? Was she sorry for having left him? Would she be glad if he went for
her and brought her back with him? He recalled the hysterical note in
her behaviour the day that she went away; how she had pleaded, only a
few moments before Jim came, never to be separated from him. Had she
really cared for Jim and for the old life? Why had she never written?
Was she ashamed? Was she sorry for what she had done? What could it
mean? He threw his hands above his head with a gesture of despair. A
moment later, he passed out into the night.

Chapter XIII

JIM was slow to-night. The big show was nearly over, yet many of the
props used in the early part of the bill were still unloaded.

He was tinkering absent-mindedly with one of the wagons in the back lot,
and the men were standing about idly, waiting for orders, when Barker
came out of the main tent and called to him sharply:

"Hey, there, Jim! What's your excuse to-night?"

"Excuse for what?" Jim crossed slowly to Barker.

"The cook tent was started half an hour late, and the side show top
ain't loaded yet."

"Your wagons is on the bum, that's what! Number thirty-eight carries the
cook tent and the blacksmith has been tinkering with it all day. Ask HIM
what shape it's in."

"You're always stallin'," was Barker's sullen complaint. "It's the
wagons, or the black-smiths, or anything but the truth. _I_