t of the question, remain the nose and the
ears as the parts to which to make fast.

Through the perforation Mulcachy immediately clamped a metal ring. To
the ring he fastened a long "lunge"-rope, which was well named. Any
unruly lunge, at any time during all the subsequent life of St. Elias,
could thus be checked by the man who held the lunge-rope. His destiny
was patent and ordained. For ever, as long as he lived and breathed,
would he be a prisoner and slave to the rope in the ring in his nostril.

The nooses were slipped, and St. Elias was at liberty, within the
confines of his cage, to get acquainted with the ring in his nose. With
his powerful forepaws, standing erect and roaring, he proceeded to get
acquainted with the ring. It certainly was not a thing persuasible. It
was living fire. And he tore at it with his paws as he would have torn
at the stings of bees when raiding a honey-tree. He tore the thing out,
ripping the ring clear through the flesh and transforming the round
perforation into a ragged chasm of pain.

Mulcachy cursed. "Here's where hell coughs," he said. The nooses were
introduced again. Again St. Elias, helpless on his side against and
partly through the bars, had his nose punched. This time it was the
other nostril. And hell coughed. As before, the moment he was released,
he tore the ring out through his flesh.

Mulcachy was disgusted. "Listen to reason, won't you?" he objurgated,
as, this time, the reason he referred to was the introduction of the ring
clear through both nostrils, higher up, and through the central dividing
wall of cartilage. But St. Elias was unreasonable. Unlike Ben Bolt,
there was nothing inside of him weak enough, or nervous enough, or high-
strung enough, to break. The moment he was free he ripped the ring away
with half of his nose along with it. Mulcachy punched St. Elias's right
ear. St. Elias tore his right ear to shreds. Mulcachy punched his left
ear. He tore his left ear to shreds. And Mulcachy gave in. He had to.
As he said plaintively:

"We're beaten. There ain't nothing left to make fast to."

Later, when St. Elias was condemned to be a "cage-animal" all his days,
Mulcachy was wont to grumble:

"He was the most unreasonable animal! Couldn't do a thing with him.
Couldn't ever get anything to make fast to."

CHAPTER XXXIV

It was in the Orpheum Theatre, of Oakland, California; and Harley Kennan
was in the act of reaching