Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-09-22

y
slow. "Here goes, them
He was over the balcony and dropping
easily among the rhododendrons, while
Rawlns Richardson's swiftly outf1ung arm
sought to hold him. "Hurrah!" he cried, re-
trieving the bit of lace and waving 1T. keep
him covered, Orlovsky, until l climb back"
Young Winslow's sudden appearance
made the puzzled animal shrink against the
tapestries at the far end of the courtyard.
There he crouched, snarlng.
Then Madame Orlovsky darted toward
the gallery staircase. Somewhere as she ran
she snatched up heavy rawhide whip, the
unmistakable weapon of the wild beast
tanner. She screamed a sentence to the man
with the gun.
Don't novel shouted Orlovsky to Win
slow, who stood uncertainty, holding the
handkerchief The Russian slipped to his
knees, the rifle barrel resting between the
rails Great drops of perspiration trickled
down his beard; but his fingers did not trern-
be- Don't move! Wait! The tiger may
remember the lash!" he called. "The pillars
hide him-I cannot take good aim now!'
Constance Warnings face was buried in her
ringed hands; Richardson was staring at
Natica Forester repeating, "Curse her! Oh,
curse her for that" Miss Forester herself
stood as she had stood before she dropped
her fragment of lace, as if that queer smile
had been painted on her lips to stay. Each
man and each woman was facing horror IN
the way most natural to him and to her, old
Bruxton whimpering like punished child.
When Madame Orlovsky reached the last
step, with astonishing quickness she swerved
to the left, her back to young Wlnslow, the
whip menacing the face Of the escaped tiger.
Between the pistol-like reports of the lash
she berated the animal in staccato Russian.
The beast crouched lower snarls rasping be-
meath its neck folds as persistently as at
first, but not so loudly.
A child could have told what she was try
ing to do,-to delay the animals leap until
the rifle from above could speak to advan-
tage As she swung her whip she retreated,
an inch or two at time, in the direction of
Young Winslow, a rooted pawn IN this game
of life and death.
Now she was at the Fountain now she
was behind it, her lash never ceasing, the
grace of the practised wielder of the animal
knout in every whirl of the arm. But the
beast was stealing after her His first Won
der and fear were wearing away. He would be
curious for only moment more; and then
The few upon the gallery who dared look
saw it plainly. In a flash the tiger settled
into springing crouch. What were the
pitifu1 little frecrackers of a whiplash to him
now? 1t had come to him that this man
and woman in the patio were afraid of him.
He roared once, and the Gagged beasts
without answered. In the clamor young
Winslow seized Madame Orlovsky and
tossed her behind him. And even louder
than the roar of the jungle king was the bel
low Ivan Orlovsky gave as he fired at
launched yellow bulk that blotted the patch
Of noonbeam athwart the FLASHING fountain.
TWO shots that cracked almost together
must have found their target in mid air.
Orlovsky had not boosted vainly of his skill
with firearms. The tiger that had not
learned to fear the tanners lash thudded
upon the tiles within paw stretch of his prey.
He was dead. But half maniacal opera
singer would make sure. He pumped bullet
after bullet into the quivering carcass, bel
lowing Russian the while, the sound fairly
torn from his hairy throat. Then he also
hurdled the railing and approached the pros
trate beast. The two men servants, carry
ing pike and pistol, followed.
Of sudden the blood heat of terror was
dissipated. Again this was only July
moonlight at the Thwitney hacienda. The
dead tiger might have been a rug upon the
pavement In the quickly restored silence
one could hear the copper coffee machine