“I must! I will!” She flew into the ring before he could stop her. He took one step to follow her. “You'd better let her alone and get out o' here,” said Strong. His voice was like a firebrand to Douglas. He turned upon him, white with rage. “You drove her to this.” His fists were clenched. He drew back to strike. Jim came from behind the wagons just in time to catch the uplifted arm. “Leave HIM to ME, this ain't no parson's job.” The pastor lowered his arm, but kept his threatening eyes on the deacon's face. “Where's Poll?” asked Jim. “In there! Douglas pointed toward the main tent without turning his head. He was still glaring at the deacon, and breathing hard. “What?” cried Jim, in alarm. He faced about and saw Eloise. He guessed the truth. A few quick strides brought him to the entrance curtains. He threw them back and looked into the ring. “My God! Why don't Barker stop her?” “What is it?” called Douglas. He forgot the deacon in his terror at Jim's behaviour, and Strong was able to slip away, unnoticed. “She's goin' ter ride! She's goin' ter ride Barbarian!” Douglas crossed to his side and looked. Polly was springing onto the back of Barbarian. He was a poorly trained horse, used by the other girl for more showy, but less dangerous feats than Polly's. “She's goin' through her regular turn with him, she's tryin' ter break her neck,” said Jim. “She wants ter do it. It's your fault!” he cried, turning upon Douglas with bloodshot eyes. He was half insane, he cared little whom he wounded. “Why can't we stop her?” cried Douglas, unable to endure the strain. He took one step inside the entrance. “No, no; not that!” Jim dragged him back roughly. “If she sees you now, it will be the end.” They watched in silence. “She's over the first part,” Jim whispered, at last. Douglas drew back, his muscles tense, as he watched the scene inside the ring. Eloise stood at the pastor's side, horror-stricken at Polly's reckless behaviour. She knew Barbarian. It was easy to guess the end. “She's comin' to the hoops,” Jim whispered, hoarsely. “Barbarian don't know that part, I never trained him,” the other girl said. Polly made the first leap toward the hoops. The horse was not at fault; it was Polly. She plunged wildly, the audience started. She caught her footing with an effort. One, two, three hoops were passed. She threw herself across the back of the horse and hung, head downward, as he galloped around the ring. The band was playing loudly, the people were cheering. She rose to meet the last two hoops. “She's swayin',” Jim shrieked in agony. “She's goin' to fall.” He covered his face with his hands. Polly reeled and fell at the horse's side. She mounted and fell again. She rose and staggered in pursuit.