Miss Caprice | Page 4

Those people are almost crazed. I've seen such a sight in Chicago, when a wild Texan steer got loose and tossed things right and left," asserts the medical student.
"That's what's the matter. See! they point at something as they run! Look out for the bull!" cries Philander.
Thus, in watching for a bulky frame to appear, they fail to notice the actual cause of the disturbance.
The street is almost deserted, save where people begin to reappear below, as though the danger were past, to reappear and shout afresh as they wave their arms.
Some one is shouting close to them now. They turn their heads and behold the crowd of commissionaires dashing headlong for the shelter of adjacent houses, and acting like crazy men.
It is Signor Giovani who shouts, first in Arabic, then in Italian, and finally in English. They hear him now, and no wonder the blood runs cold in their veins--it is a cry to alarm the boldest warrior on earth.
"Mad dog! Run, signors!--save the ladies! To the houses, or you are lost!"
That is what the old fencing-master of Malta shouts while he retreats. It causes them to turn their heads, and what do they see? Advancing up the middle of the inclined street, turning aside for neither king nor peasant, comes a great gaunt beast, his square head wagging from side to side, his eyes blood-shot, and the foam dropping from his open jaws.
Heavens! What a spectacle to rivet one with horror to the spot. Fortunately there are some people of action present.
Aunt Gwen clutches her infant by the shoulder, and drags him along in the direction of the nearest house.
"Run, Philander, or you're a goner! It's worse than snake poison, the bite of a mad dog is. Haven't I seen a bitten man so furious that it required six to hold him down? Faster, professor! on your life!"
With that iron grip on his shoulder poor Philander's feet barely touch the ground as he is whirled through space, and the dog, mad or not, that overtakes Aunt Gwen and her infant must be a rapid traveler, indeed. Thus they reach a house, and in another minute reappear upon a balcony, to witness a scene they will never forget.
Lady Ruth, though naturally quivering with excitement, has plenty of cavaliers to hurry her to a place of safety. Besides, after that one first shock, she shows more grit than might have been expected of her.
She allows herself to be hurried along. A strong hand grasps each arm; and if every one in the path of the mad brute were as well attended, there would be little cause for anxiety or alarm.
Now they have reached a house, and safety is assured, for the hospitable door stands open to welcome them.
Already a number have preceded them, for they seem to be the last in the vicinity.
Just as they arrive, the colonel, who appears intensely excited, is saying, hoarsely:
"Enter quickly, I beg, Lady Ruth."
She turns her head in curiosity for one last look, impelled by an unknown power--turns, and is at once petrified by what she sees.
They notice the look of horror on her lovely face, and instinctively guessing, also cast a glance in the direction where last the savage brute was seen.
He has continued to advance in the interim, and is now quite close, though not moving out of the straight line in the center of the street--a repulsive looking object truly, and enough to horrify the bravest.
Colonel Lionel gives a gasp. He is trembling all over, for it chances that this brave soldier, who has led forlorn hopes in the Zulu war, and performed prodigies of valor on Egyptian battle-fields, has a peculiar dread of dogs, inherited from one of his parents.
It is not the animal that has fixed Lady Ruth's attention. Just in front and directly in the line of the dog's advance is a small native child that has been playing in the street.
He cannot be over three years of age, and with his curly black head and half-naked body presents a picture of robust health.
Apparently engrossed in his play, he sees and hears nothing of the clamor around until, chancing to look up, he sees the dog, and fearlessly extends his chubby arms toward it.
The picture is one never to be forgotten.
It thrills every one who looks on.
No one seems to have a gun or weapon of any kind. A peculiar paralysis affects them, a feeling of dumb horror.
A shriek sounds; from a window is seen the form of a native woman, who wrings her hands in terrible anguish.
The child's mother! God pity her! to be an eye-witness of her darling's fate!
Lady Ruth turns to the colonel, to the man who so recently proudly declared that no English woman ever asked a favor that a British officer would not