Three times round, and still the little fugitive maintained a lead.A gray-helmeted policeman, a big fellow, had joined the pursuit.He had children at home who might be playing in the street, and the thought of what might happen to them if the mad dog should head that way resolved him to be cool and steady.He was falling behind, so he stopped on the corner, trusting that Respectability would come round again.He was right, and the flying brownish thing streaked along Main Street, passing the beloved stairway for the fourth time.The policeman lifted his revolver, fired twice, missed once, but caught him with the second shot in a forepaw, clipping off a fifth toe, one of the small claws that grow above the foot and are always in trouble.This did not stop him; but the policeman, afraid to risk another shot because of the crowd, waited for him to come again; and many others, seeing the hopeless circuit the mongrel followed, did likewise, armed with bricks and clubs.Among them was the pimply clerk, who had been inspired to commandeer a pitchfork from a hardware store.
When the fifth round came, Respectability's race was run.He turned into Main Street at a broken speed, limping, parched, voiceless, flecked with blood and foam, snapping feebly at the showering rocks, but still indomitably a little ahead of the hunt.There was no yelp left in him--he was too thoroughly winded for that,--but in his brilliant and despairing eyes shone the agony of a cry louder than the tongue of a dog could utter: "Omaster! O all the god I know! Where are you in my mortal need?"Now indeed he had a gauntlet to run; for the street was lined with those who awaited him, while the pursuit grew closer behind.A number of the hardiest stood squarely in his path, and he hesitated for a second, which gave the opportunity for a surer aim, and many missiles struck him."Let him have it now, officer," said Eugene Bantry, standing with Judge Pike at the policeman's elbow.
"There's your chance."
But before the revolver could be discharged, Respectability had begun to run again, hobbling on three legs and dodging feebly.A heavy stone struck him on the shoulder and he turned across the street, making for the "National House" corner, where the joyful clerk brandished his pitchfork.
Going slowly, he almost touched the pimply one as he passed, and the clerk, already rehearsing in his mind the honors which should follow the brave stroke, raised the tines above the little dog's head for the coup de grace.They did not descend, and the daring youth failed of fame as the laurel almost embraced his brows.A hickory walking-stick was thrust between his legs; and he, expecting to strike, received a blow upon the temple sufficient for his present undoing and bedazzlement.
He went over backwards, and the pitchfork (not the thing to hold poised on high when one is knocked down) fell with the force he had intended for Respectability upon his own shin.
A train had pulled into the station, and a tired, travel-worn young man, descending from a sleeper, walked rapidly up the street to learn the occasion of what appeared to be a riot.When he was close enough to understand its nature, he dropped his bag and came on at top speed, shouting loudly to the battered mongrel, who tried with his remaining strength to leap toward him through a cordon of kicking legs, while Eugene Bantry again called to the policeman to fire.
"If he does, damn you, I'll kill him!" Joe saw the revolver raised; and then, Eugene being in his way, he ran full-tilt into his stepbrother with all his force, sending him to earth, and went on literally over him as he lay prone upon the asphalt, that being the shortest way to Respectability.
The next instant the mongrel was in his master's arms and weakly licking his hands.
But it was Eskew Arp who had saved the little dog; for it was his stick which had tripped the clerk, and his hand which had struck him down.All his bodily strength had departed in that effort, but he staggered out into the street toward Joe.
"Joe Louden!" called the veteran, in a loud voice."Joe Louden!" and suddenly reeled.The Colonel and Squire Buckalew were making their way toward him, but Joe, holding the dog to his breast with one arm, threw the other about Eskew.
"It's a town--it's a town"--the old fellow flung himself free from the supporting arm--"it's a town you couldn't even trust a yellow dog to!"He sank back upon Joe's shoulder, speechless.
An open carriage had driven through the crowd, the colored driver urged by two ladies upon the back seat, and Martin Pike saw it stop by the group in the middle of the street where Joe stood, the wounded dog held to his breast by one arm, the old man, white and half fainting, supported by the other.Martin Pike saw this and more; he saw Ariel Tabor and his own daughter leaning from the carriage, the arms of both pityingly extended to Joe Louden and his two burdens, while the stunned and silly crowd stood round them staring, clouds of dust settling down upon them through the hot air.
