Miss Stella Starr had two acts. When she retired from the ring, kissing
her little hands prettily to the applauding audience, the manager turned
her horse again facing the curtain in the canvassed passageway.

The equestrienne sank gracefully to a rest on the flank of the big white
horse, patting him affectionately, while some hands began rolling great
tubs into the ring.

These were to form a pyramid, up one side of which and down the other
the white horse was to pass.

Suddenly, as Andy's interest was divided between the ring and the
equestrienne, a sharp crack rang out. It was accompanied by a swishing,
ominous, tearing sound.

An uneasy murmur swayed the audience. The manager ran out into the ring,
swiftly glanced at the centre pole, and drawing a whistle from his
pocket gave three piercing blasts.

"It's a wind storm," Andy heard some one remark.

A second gust swayed the centre pole. The great spreads of canvas bulged
and flapped. The audience arose in their seats.

Andy saw the manager seize a great megaphone near the band stand. He
shouted:

"Preserve order. There is no danger. Keep your seats. It is only a
passing gust of wind. Play! play!" he shouted frantically to the band.