Primal Spillane: Early Stories 1941-1942

Devil Cat

Sharply, the clang of the steel cage door echoed throughout the big tent. Mark Costel, whip in hand, strode into the emptiness of the barred enclosure. His hand shook. He jumped violently at the noise of the gate shutting on him.

Two months before he had been the most famed of all animal trainers. His daring in the arena was unsurpassed. Fearlessly, he would stride into a cage full of the most vicious animals of the jungle, beasts that were ready to tear him and each other apart at the slightest provocation. But his whip would crack, his chair would poke into the faces of the lions and tigers, forcing them to do his bidding. They snarled and grimaced, but they were afraid of this man. Afraid of his courage, his strength with his meager weapons, and the look in his eye that they could not stare down.

Every time he made his appearance, the crowd would roar. His was the feature act. Every person in the stands came to see him, alone, mastering the wild cats of the jungle! Their sleek bodies would come noiselessly down the wooden chute and jump to their positions on the top of their pedestals.

The whip would crack, the chair would go forward, and the tigers and lions would begin their weird routine. Glittering dangerously, the eyes of the animals would fasten on the slim man who commanded their every movement. If for a moment he relaxed his vigilance, there was the sudden snarl of defiance, a roar, and a yellow blur as one of the great cats shot through the air at him.

But the chair would come up, the whip crack across a blunt nose, and the cat would retire, snarling, to the stool. The audience ate it up! Even Mark enjoyed his knowledge of superiority over the brutes. Never for a second did he doubt that the cats could beat him at this game! Every one of them hated the man, hated him with all their animal instinct. They waited only for the time when the chair could not be brought into play nor the whip crack.

In his belt was a gun. It served only to frighten the tawny beasts, for it had blank cartridges. Never would Mark take the chance of killing anything so valuable. His only protection against the sudden charges was the men outside the cage armed with hoses that were ready to spit a powerful stream of water at the cats if they started to attack him.

ALL the performers in the circus were ready to admit that Mark’s was the most dangerous act of the group. None envied him the chance to match his wits against the fury and cunning of the death that paced violently in the cage. They would watch the daily work-outs before the show started with as much anxiety as did the paid customers, for it was during the actual training that the cats were most dangerous. In the evenings, the spotlights would hit the cage with their beams, blinding the animals into submission. Then, too, they were always held back by the roaring of the many strange voices.

It was during a workout nearly two months ago that it happened. Mark had entered the cage, with the confidence of a king. An attendant handed him the whip and chair, shut the steel door after him, then pulled up the gate of the chute that led to the cages. Swiftly, the soft padding of many feet came down the wooden runway, and eight huge cats entered the great cage.

Rex came first, a great dark-maned lion that fairly shouted that he was the leader of the pack. He trotted out, bunched his muscles for a leap, then jumped to the high perch that was his. Keena was next, a young male tiger that snarled at anything in his path. Keena was new in the circus, and hated everything about it.

This day he was mad. He braked swiftly when he ran out of the chute, and faced Mark, defiance in his little eyes. The hair on his striped back rose slowly as he measured the distance for a leap at the trainer. Mark brought the whip up. A swift snap, and it lashed across Keena’s face. The cat howled, turned... and jumped up next to Rex.

Immediately the Kings’ paw went out and cuffed him sharply. The next instant the cage was a maze of flying fur and the furious growls of the fighters. Without hesitation Mark went in. The chair battered into the cats’ faces while the whip whistled through the air, and cracked time after time! A jet of water hit them both, throwing them to the side of the cage.

That stopped the fight, but the fury was still in Keena’s eyes. The tiger’s shackles rose every time Mark came near. Then the act began. Responding neatly to every command, the lions jumped over their striped partners. They hopped on barrels and rolled them around the barred arena. Gradually the act went on faster and faster, until it came time for the cats to walk the tight-rope.

They were half way across when the performers outside the cage began to cheer. Mark turned his head to acknowledge the applause... and Keena jumped! The snarling, spitting demon landed on Mark’s back. Claws raked through his shirt and sharp teeth sunk into his shoulder. Bones crunched under the mighty jaws. Before anyone could move, a yellow flash whipped across space, and the body of the king of the pack hit the tiger.

Then the king tore into the other cat. The tiger was young, but he didn’t stand a chance against the unleashed fury of the lion. Outside, the men manned the powerful water hoses and the fight broke up. The cats retired into the chute. An attendant ran to the cage, picked up the torn body of the trainer and sped him to a hospital.

For two months he laid on his hospital cot, his feverish brain continually brooding over the fateful day. His nerve was gone, he was sure of that! When he returned to the lot he quivered at the thought of having to again enter the cage with the cats. Mark hated himself for his cowardice. He realized that if he could only force himself to enter the empty cage, he also would be able to face the cats once more.

So while everyone slept in the wagons, he crept softly into the Big Top. He nervously carried his whip and chair. Every part of his body shook with fear. Why? The cage was empty! Surely nothing could happen now! He reached the cage door, opened it and stepped inside. The clang made him jump... for he had forgotten that it was securely shut now. The lock could only be opened from the outside! Beads of perspiration grew on his wrinkled forehead!

IN his cage not far away, Keena sniffed the air. His back arched with hate, for he again scented his enemy. The cat was a wary one. He padded to the sliding gate at the end of his cage. For a minute he toyed with it, then a claw went under it and the gate rose. Keena’s nose went into it, pushed, and his body squeezed into the chute! Silently, he crawled to the other end.

An inner sense turned Mark around. There, staring at him from the chute at the door which someone had carelessly neglected to close was a pair of green, devilish eyes. Mark froze, his blood ran cold! Then the cat charged. Mark’s instinct saved him. The whip spilt the air and the chair rammed into the tiger. The weight of the cat knocked him over, but Mark scrambled to his feet.

Like a cat himself, he set himself to meet the next rush. Keena crouched, then sprang! Mark ducked under the attack. As the tiger passed over him he rammed the chair into its belly. That hurt. Keena was more cautious this time. He didn’t set to jump again... instead, he quietly stalked the trainer. With muscles rippling under his coat, the cat circled Mark, coming closer each time.

Mark cracked the whip in front of him, waving the chair about. The four legs confused the cat. He reared up on his hind legs and pawed at them. Mark brought the blunt butt-end of the whip down across Keena’s nose. Keena recoiled, spitting his hate. Then Mark became the aggressor. With his flimsy weapons he forced the tiger into a corner.

That was a mistake! With a new and sudden fury Keena charged. He hit the chair and knocked Mark over backwards, his claws raking the air desperately. Before Mark could rise, the cat was on him. His fear was forgotten... Mark was furious. He kicked out with all he newfound strength and swung a blow at the tiger’s head. Keena rolled off.

In an instant Mark was on his feet, chair and whip forgotten! He went after Keena with his feet and hands. He kicked, and his boot “thocked” under Keena’s chin. With a sharp snarl, the cat rose on his hind legs and pawed the air, his sharp claws flashing in the dim light from the single bulb overhead. This was nothing new to Mark. He feinted one way, then came in like a boxer with a fist to the exposed underside of the tiger. Keena dropped to his feet and backed off.

Mark had forgotten that minutes before he had shivered with fear when he went to enter an empty cage. Now he faced one of the most dangerous of jungle beasts with a quiver. Again and again he came in on the cat. This was something new to Keena, and the tiger was confused. Keens lashed out at the boot that was tormenting him, but each time Mark ducked the savage claws.

Suddenly the place was a bedlam of shouts. The circus attendant ran into the place expecting to find the mangled remains of the trainer under the teeth of the tiger. They were astounded, for the big cat lay in a corner, scared stiff by the fury of the man. Mark went over to him ignored the bared teeth, then bent down and cuffed the hairy face with a backhanded slap. This time Mark turned to receive the acclaim of his friends. He nodded his head at their applause, but even though he was the indisputable master once more, he kept the shaking form of the cat well covered out of the corner of his eye!