When it became maddeningly unendurable, he sprang, only to be jerked back by the ten strong men who held the rope to his neck.  And wrath, and ferocity, and intent to destroy, passed out utterly from the tiger’s inflamed brain, until he knew fear, again and again, always fear and only fear, utter and abject fear, of this human mite who searched him with such pain.

Then the lesson of the first trick was taken up.  Mulcachy tapped the chair sharply with the butt of the whip to draw the animal’s attention to it, then flicked the whip-lash sharply on his nose.  At the same moment, an attendant, through the bars behind, drove an iron fork into his ribs to force him away from the bars and toward the chair.  He crouched forward, then shrank back against the side-bars.  Again the chair was rapped, his nose was lashed, his ribs were jabbed, and he was forced by pain toward the chair.  This went on interminably—­for a quarter of an hour, for half an hour, for an hour; for the men-animals had the patience of gods while he was only a jungle-brute.  Thus tigers are broken.  And the verb means just what it means.  A performing animal is broken.  Something breaks in an animal of the wild ere such an animal submits to do tricks before pay-audiences.

Mulcachy ordered an assistant to enter the arena with him.  Since he could not compel the tiger directly to sit in the chair, he must employ other means.  The rope about Ben Bolt’s neck was passed up through the bars and rove through the block-and-tackle.  At signal from Mulcachy, the ten men hauled away.  Snarling, struggling, choking, in a fresh madness of terror at this new outrage, Ben Bolt was slowly hoisted by his neck up from the floor, until, quite clear of it, whirling, squirming, battling, suspended by his neck like a man being hanged, his wind was shut off and he began to suffocate.  He coiled and twisted, the splendid muscles of his body enabling him almost to tie knots in it.

The block-and-tackle, running like a trolley on the overhead track, made it possible for the assistant to seize his tail and drag him through the air till he was above the chair.  His helpless body guided thus by the tail, his chest jabbed by the iron fork in Mulcachy’s hands, the rope was suddenly lowered, and Ben Bolt, with swimming brain, found himself seated in the chair.  On the instant he leaped for the floor, received a blow on the nose from the heavy whip-handle, and had a blank cartridge fired straight into his nostril.  His madness of pain and fear was multiplied.  He sprang away in flight, but Mulcachy’s voice rang out, “Hoist him!” and he slowly rose in the air again, hanging by his neck, and began to strangle.

Once more he was swung into position by his tail, jabbed in the chest, and lowered suddenly on the run—­but so suddenly, with a frantic twist of his body on his part, that he fell violently across the chair on his belly.  What little wind was left him from the strangling, seemed to have been ruined out of him by the violence of the fall.  The glare in his eyes was maniacal and swimming.  He panted frightfully, and his head rolled back and forth.  Slaver dripped from his mouth, blood ran from his nose.