If he had not been gripping his gun and that package of shells, Bluff might have rubbed his eyes to find out if he were really and truly awake.
"Run! run!"
It sounded as though a dozen people were shouting that word. Why should they want to get others to run? Had the lion broken out of his cage, and was he coming down the street, looking for victims?
Some boys were climbing trees with mad haste. Perhaps they did not as yet fully understand the need of such a retreat, but in time of danger it seems natural for the ordinary boy to find refuge in a tree, as though he were, in truth, descended from monkey ancestors.
Now for the first time they caught other words that were being shouted by the panic-stricken people along the street, as they rushed hither and thither, anxious to find shelter somewhere.
"Mad dog! Mad dog!"
Pet Peters gave a howl of fear. He was greatly afraid of all dogs, and the very idea of a mad cur caused him to turn white and show his craven blood.
He made a wild rush for the nearest tree, and clambered into the lower branches with a speed that would have won a medal in a race.
Bluff wanted to follow after him. He felt his nerves quivering with fright, and as he started to run his knees showed an inclination to knock together.
There was the choirmaster, Mr. Melod, chasing across the street, and heading for the milliner's establishment opposite. He was usually a very dignified man, but just then, with his hat fallen off, and fear written upon his face, he startled Bluff not a little.