“But there was one man， Wallace， who was afraid ofnothing. He was the lion-tamer， and he had the self-sametrick of putting his head into the lion’s mouth. He’d putit into the mouths of any of them， though he preferredAugustus， a big， good-natured beast who could always bedepended upon.
“As I was saying， Wallace— ‘King’ Wallace we calledhim—was afraid of nothing alive or dead. He was a kingand no mistake. I’ve seen him drunk， and on a wager gointo the cage of a lion that’d turned nasty， and without astick beat him to a finish. Just did it with his fist on thenose.
“Madame de Ville—”
At an uproar behind us the Leopard Man turned quietlyaround. It was a divided cage， and a monkey， pokingthrough the bars and around the partition， had had its pawseized by a big gray wolf who was trying to pull it off bymain strength. The arm seemed stretching out longer endlonger like a thick elastic， and the unfortunate monkey’smates were raising a terrible din. No keeper was at hand，so the Leopard Man stepped over a couple of paces， dealtthe wolf a sharp blow on the nose with the light cane hecarried， and returned with a sadly apologetic smile to takeup his unfinished sentence as though there had been nointerruption.
“—looked at King Wallace and King Wallace looked ather， while De Ville looked black. We warned Wallace， butit was no use. He laughed at us， as he laughed at De Villeone day when he shoved De Ville’s head into a bucket ofpaste because he wanted to fight.
“De Ville was in a pretty mess—I helped to scrape himoff； but he was cool as a cucumber and made no threats atall. But I saw a glitter in his eyes which I had seen often inthe eyes of wild beasts， and I went out of my way to giveWallace a final warning. He laughed， but he did not lookso much in Madame de Ville’s direction after that.
“Several months passed by. Nothing had happened and Iwas beginning to think it all a scare over nothing. We wereWest by that time， showing in ’Frisco. It was during theafternoon performance， and the big tent was filled withwomen and children， when I went looking for Red Denny，the head canvas-man， who had walked off with my pocketknife.
“Passing by one of the dressing tents I glanced inthrough a hole in the canvas to see if I could locate him.
He wasn’t there， but directly in front of me was KingWallace， in tights， waiting for his turn to go on with hiscage of performing lions. He was watching with muchamusement a quarrel between a couple of trapeze artists.
All the rest of the people in the dressing tent werewatching the same thing， with the exception of De Villewhom I noticed staring at Wallace with undisguisedhatred. Wallace and the rest were all too busy followingthe quarrel to notice this or what followed.
“But I saw it through the hole in the canvas. De Villedrew his handkerchief from his pocket， made as thoughto mop the sweat from his face with it （it was a hot day），and at the same time walked past Wallace’s back. The looktroubled me at the time， for not only did I see hatred in it，but I saw triumph as well.
“‘De Ville will bear watching，’ I said to myself， and Ireally breathed easier when I saw him go out the entranceto the circus grounds and board an electric car for downtown. A few minutes later I was in the big tent， where Ihad overhauled Red Denny. King Wallace was doing histurn and holding the audience spellbound. He was in aparticularly vicious mood， and he kept the lions stirred uptill they were all snarling， that is， all of them except oldAugustus， and he was just too fat and lazy and old to getstirred up over anything.
“Finally Wallace cracked the old lion’s knees with hiswhip and got him into position. Old Augustus， blinkinggood-naturedly， opened his mouth and in popped Wallace’shead. Then the jaws came together， crunch， just like that.”
The Leopard Man smiled in a sweetly wistful fashion，and the far-away look came into his eyes.
“And that was the end of King Wallace，” he went on inhis sad， low voice. “After the excitement cooled down Iwatched my chance and bent over and smelled Wallace’shead. Then I sneezed.”
“It ... it was ... ？” I queried with halting eagerness.
“Snuff—that De Ville dropped on his hair in the dressingtent. Old Augustus never meant to do it. He only sneezed.”