Round the block he went once more, and still no chance at that empty stairway where, perhaps, he thought, there might be succor and safety.Blood was upon his side where Martin Pike's boot had crashed, foam and blood hung upon his jaws and lolling tongue.He ran desperately, keeping to the middle of the street, and, not howling, set himself despairingly to outstrip the Terror.The mob, disdaining the sun superbly, pursued as closely as it could, throwing bricks and rocks at him, striking at him with clubs and sticks.Happy Fear, playing "tic-tac-toe," right hand against left, in his cell, heard the uproar, made out something of what was happening, and, though unaware that it was a friend whose life was sought, discovered a similarity to his own case, and prayed to his dim gods that the quarry might get away.
"MAD DOG!" they yelled."MAD DOG!" And there were some who cried, "JOE LOUDEN'S DOG!"that being equally as exciting and explanatory.