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.