“Yes, I’ll have him in a minute!” cried the man with the net. “That will make the wagon full, and we’ll take ’em all to the pound.”
“You’ll never take me there—not if I can help it!” thought Don.
He ran on, his red tongue hanging out of his mouth, and his breath coming in gasps. He was thirsty, too, but he saw no place to get a drink. Even if there had been a puddle of water, Don would not have dared stop to lap up any, for the dog catcher was close to him, coming on and on.
“Oh dear!” thought Don. “This is terrible! How much better I would have been had I stayed on the farm. No more running away for me.”
But Don was not at the end of his adventures, even yet.
He gave one more glance backward, to see how close the man with the net was to him, and then something happened. Don stepped on a sharp piece of glass in the street, and cut his foot, not badly, but enough to make him limp. And then he could not run so fast. The piece of glass must have stuck in his foot, for Don could not step on it without its hurting him very much. He had to run on three legs.
Now a dog cannot run as fast on three legs as he can on four, and Don had to go slower and slower.
“Now you can get him!” cried the man on the wagon.
“Yes, I’ll have him now,” shouted the man with the net.