istles and thundering cannons, had broken out of the
fraily constructed yard, and at least a dozen of them had stampeded
straight toward Canal Street.

Persons crushed against each other and fell over each other in frantic
haste to get out of the way for the cattle to pass. Some were thrown
down and trampled on by the fear-stricken throng. Men shouted hoarsely,
and women shrieked.

Mad with terror, blinded by dust, furious with the joy of sudden
freedom, the Texan steers, heads lowered, horns glistening, eyes glowing
redly and nostrils steaming, charged straight into the crowd.

It was a terrible spectacle.

"For Heaven's sake, is there no way of stopping those creatures?" cried
Frank.

"We'll all be killed!" quavered Professor Scotch.

Into Canal Street rushed the crowd, and the procession was broken up in
a moment. The one thought of everybody seemed to be to get out of the
way of the steers.

The horses on the flower barge became unmanageable, turned short,
snorting with terror, and upset the barge, spilling flowers, girls, and
all into the street. Then, in some way, the animals broke away, leaving
the wrecked barge where it had toppled.

The girls, with one exception, sprang up and fled in every direction.

The one exception was the Queen of Flowers, who lay motionless and
apparently unconscious in the street, with the beautiful flowers piled
on every side of her.

"She is hurt!" cried Frank, who was watching her. "Why doesn't some one
pick her up?"

"They do not see her there amid the flowers," palpitated the professor.
"They do not know she has not fled with the other girls!"

"The cattle--the steers will crush her!" shouted the driver.

"Not if I can save her!" rang out the clear voice of our hero.

Professor Scotch made a clutch at the lad, but too late to catch and
hold him.

Frank leaped from the carriage, clearing the heads of a dozen persons,
struck on his feet in the street, tore his way through the rushing,
excited mob, and reached the side of the unconscious Flower Queen. He
lifted her from the ground, and, at that very instant, a mad steer, with
lowered head and bristling horns, charged blindly at them!

CHAPTER XIV.

THE HOT BLOOD OF YOUTH.

A cry of horror went up from those who beheld the peril of the brave boy
and the Queen of Flowers, for it looked as if both must be impaled by
the wicked horns of the mad steer.

Well it was that Frank was a lad of nerve, with whom a