"But it was set amongst the mountains," Ross noted, "not part of the mountain."
"Which would argue for it being a crown like them that royalty wears," Snipes added.
"Anybody figure it out?" Henryson asked Snipes. "Last night, I mean?"
"One of the cooks claimed there was a Crown Ridge over near Knoxville. That was all they come up with, and Galloway had already gone over there the day before and caught nary a scent of them."
Ross stared west toward the Tennessee line and slowly nodded to himself.
"I know where they are," he said. "Or leastways I can narrow it to two places."
"You ain't going to tell Galloway, are you?" Stewart asked.
"No," Ross said. "Maybe there's nothing I can do to stop them, but I damn well won't help them. I can give that girl a few more hours head start."
Henryson shook his head.
"I'd still not give you a dime to a dollar they'll survive another week."
Ross was about to speak in agreement when he saw a curious assemblage making its way into the camp.
"What in the name of heaven is that?" he said.
Three horse-drawn prairie schooners led the procession. Grimy muslin stretched over the iron hoop frames, and each tarp bore a different proclamation. HAMBYS CARNIVAL DIRECT FROM PARIS said the first, the second SEEN BY EUROPES ROYALTY, the third ADULTS A DIME. CHILDREN A NICKEL. Behind the wagons came a tethered menagerie, around each animal's neck a wooden placard naming the species. The animals traveled two abreast, led by a pair of slump-backed Shetland ponies. Next came two ostriches, their serpentine necks bowed as if embarrassed to be part of such an entourage, then two white horses striped with what appeared to be black shoe polish. ZEBRA, their placards proclaimed. A flatbed wagon ended the parade, a steel cage filling its wood-plank bottom. WORLDS DEADLIEST CREATURE was written on a tarp concealing the cage's bottom half.
The first wagon halted in front of the commissary steps. A portly man adorned in a rumpled beige cotton suit doffed his black top hat with a flourish and bid Snipes and his fellows a good afternoon. The stranger spoke with a nasal accent none of the men had ever heard before but Snipes immediately suspected had been cultivated at a European university.
"Appears you've took a wrong turn," Ross said, nodding at the paired animals. "That ark I notion you're searching for ain't around here. Even if it was, you're a tad late to get a seat on it."
"Our destination is the Pemberton Lumber camp," the man said, puzzled. "Is this not it?"
Snipes stood up. "Yes sir, it is, and unlike Mr. Ross here I'm a man of some culture and respectful of others that has it as well. How may I assist you?"
"I need to speak with the camp's owners, for permission to perform this evening."
"That would be Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton," Snipes said. "They like to ride their horses on Sundays, but they ought to be heading back in soon enough. They'll come right by here, so's the best thing to do is just sit and wait."
"Your suggestion appears a sound choice," the man said, and despite his considerable bulk leaped off the buckboard and landed with surprising light-footedness, the top hat wobbling but remaining on his head. "My name is Hamby, and I am the owner of this carnival."
Hamby knotted the horse's reins to a porch rail and clapped his hand twice. The other three men, who up until this moment had been inanimate as statues, now tethered their wagons as well. They immediately went about various tasks, one watering the menagerie while another searched possible sights to raise the tent. The third, a small swarthy man, disappeared into his wagon.
"Say you been doing your show across the ocean," Henryson said, nodding at the second wagon.
"Yes sir," the carnival owner said. "We're only back in this country for a limited engagement. We're headed to New York, then back to Europe."
"Kind of a roundabout way to get to New York, coming through these mountains," Ross said.
"Indeed it is," Hamby said, weariness tinting his voice, "but as professional entertainers, we feel a need, dare I say a moral obligation, to bring culture to those such as yourself exiled to the hinterlands."
"Awful kind of you to do that for us," Ross said.
At that moment, the man who'd entered the wagon reemerged in black tights and a black-and-white checked shirt made of the same pliable material, four bowling pins dangling from his hands. But it was what adorned his head that most intrigued Snipes and his crew, a piece of haberdashery concocted from red and green felt and silver bells, splayed atop the man's skull like an exhausted octopus.
"What do you call that thing on your noggin?" Snipes asked.
"A cap and bells," the man said in a thick accent, then began juggling the bowling pins.
"A cap and bells," Snipes repeated. "I've read of them but yours is the first I ever seen. I'd of not notioned it to have so much color."
Snipes joined the other crew members who'd gathered around the last wagon. The worker who'd been tending to the animals walked toward it as well, a bantam chicken squawking and flapping in his grip. The worker lifted the tarp and with obvious trepidation shoved the chicken and as little of his flesh as possible between the steel bars. He jerked his hand back and looked at it dubiously, as if surprised it was still there. Something very large and very powerful lunged against the cage with such force the whole wagon shook, the wheels rocking a few inches forward. A flurry of feathers rose into the cage's upper realm, seemed to hang a few moments before slowly floating down. One slipped through the bars, and Henryson reached out so it might settle in his hand. He peered at the feather and spoke.
"Favors chicken, does it?"
The carnival worker gave an enigmatic smile that did not balance the flinty look in his eyes.
"It favors anything that's got meat on it."
Hamby joined Snipes and the others. For a few moments the only sound came from within the cage, a brisk crunching of bones.
"I reckon you got to pay to know what sort of critter you got in there?" Henryson asked.
"Not at all, sir," Hamby said, opening his hands and arms in an expansive gesture. "It's a dragon."
Ross nodded at the zebras, one of which was licking a stripe off its shoulder, the long tongue black as licorice.
"I hope it's a sight more convincing than them."
"Convincing," Hamby spoke the word as if it had a pleasant taste. "That's the main purpose of our show, to convince our audience it has seen, in the flesh, the world's most dangerous creature. My dragon has fought a jaguar in Texas, an alligator in Louisiana, an orangutan in London, innumerable breeds of canine and several men now deceased."
"And never lost?" Stewart asked.