Larry fired the revolver. It was an automatic one, and all he had to do was to pull the trigger. Right at the face of the lion he aimed it, as the animal was in the air above him. “Crack! Crack! Crack!” Streaks of fire from the heavy cartridges shot in the direction of the beast. “Crack!” It was the last shot. As he fired it Larry leaped to one side to escape the lion’s claws. Then he cast the revolver at the beast, and fled. But there was no need of this. Cowed by the streaks of flame, and the noise of the reports, the brute, who had been only slightly wounded, had no sooner landed on the sawdust, than, with tail between its legs, it started back toward the cage it had left. “Chase after him, some of you fellows!” shouted the head trainer. “His nerve’s gone now. That boy has more sense and grit than the whole lot of you!” Now that the danger was practically over, the attendants ran back, and toward the lion’s wagon. The brute, though still growling and roaring, had leaped into its broken cage, where it stood crouching in one corner. “Quick, now; wheel another cage up in front of the broken one!” the trainer exclaimed. “That will hold him until we can fix his.” This was soon done, and all further danger was past. “I’m much obliged to you,” the trainer said, coming up to Larry, having taken the hot irons back. “It was a nervy bit of work.” “I guess if I’d stopped to think I’d never have done it,” replied Larry. “That’s all right, my lad, and it was well done, just the same. If Nero had gotten loose, the way he’s feeling now, and once got the taste of human blood, there’s no telling what might have happened.” The trainer drew a pad from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on it, handing the paper to Larry. “What’s this?” asked the reporter. “It’s a pass for you and any friend you want to bring along, to come and see the show,” the trainer replied. “It’s good for two box seats at any performance, and as often as you like to come.” “I don’t believe I’d better take it,” said Larry. “I didn’t stop the lion for pay, and besides the office might not like it.” “Don’t let that worry you,” responded the trainer. “I know what you mean; you don’t want to ‘graft’ the way a lot of fellows do who think they’re newspaper men. But that is all right. A real newspaper man never grafts, but this pass isn’t graft. We always send the newspapers lots of tickets, anyhow. It’s part of our advertising contract. This is simply an extra one for yourself, as a sort of recognition for what you did, though it doesn’t begin to pay for the trouble you saved us.” “If you think it’s all right I’ll take it,” Larry answered. “Of course it is. Come to the show, and see Nero go through his paces.”