His tormentors were snatching up sods and stones and he had no choice.

He turned, his long strides taking him swiftly over the ground, with the air full of missiles at his back.
Before he had gone a hundred yards he abandoned the road and, turning off across an unfenced field, ran toward the woods and swampy bottom.
Twenty men were in chase behind him.

The judge was the sheriff's prisoner--that official had settled that point--but Mr.Mahaffy was common property, it was his cruel privilege to furnish excitement; his keen rage was almost equal to the fear that urged him on.

Then the woods closed about him.

His long legs, working tirelessly, carried him over fallen logs and through tall tangled thickets, the voices behind him growing more and more distant as he ran..