r
into the hearts of two thousand members of a superior race.

The sudden movement of Kit created a sensation only less than the
appearance of the lion.

The residents of Smyrna all knew him, but they could not understand the
cause of his apparent fool-hardiness.

"Come back! Come away, for your life!" exclaimed dozens of Kit's friends
and acquaintances.

"Who is that boy? Is he one of the circus men?" asked strangers who were
present.

"You will be killed, Kit! Come back!" implored Dan Clark, appalled at
the danger of his friend.

Kit heard, but did not heed, the various calls. He knew what he was
about, and he did not mean to be killed. But there seemed the greatest
danger of it. He was six feet from the angry beast, who lashed his tail
with renewed wrath, when he saw his new and puny foe. Kit knew, however,
that the lion's method of attack is to spring upon his victims, and that
he needs a space of from twelve to fifteen feet to do it. He himself,
being but six feet distant, was within the necessary space. The lion
must increase the distance between them in order to accomplish its
purpose.

Now it happened that Mr. Watson had in his kitchen an elderly woman, who
had for years been addicted to the obnoxious habit of snuff taking--a
habit, I am glad to be able to say, which is far less prevalent now than
in former days. Just before Kit had started for the circus, Ellen, who
was a Scotch woman, said: "Master Kit, if you are going near the store,
will you buy me a quarter of a pound of snuff?"

"Certainly, Ellen," answered Kit, who was always obliging.

The snuff he had in his pocket at the time of the lion's appearance in
the ring, and it was the thought of this unusual but formidable weapon
that gave him courage. If he had merely had a pistol or revolver in his
pocket, he would not have ventured, for he knew that a wound would only
make the lion fiercer and more dangerous.

The lion stood stock still for a moment. Apparently he was amazed at the
daring of the boy who had rushed into his presence. His fierce eyes
began to roll wickedly and he uttered one of those deep, hoarse growls,
such as are wont to strike fear alike into animals and men. He glared at
Kit very much as a cat surveys a puny mouse whom she purposes to make
her victim.

It was a few brief seconds, but to the audience, who were spellbound,
and scarcely dared to breathe, it seemed as many minutes that the boy
and lion stood confronting each