Behind, less distinct, appeared running men.
And a shot was fired.

Somebody had run indoors for a pistol, before joining the chase.

The same somebody, in the van of the pursuers, had opened fire; and was in danger of doing far more damage to life than could a dozen allegedly mad dogs.
Just then, out from the post-office, came the Mistress.

Crossing the narrow sidewalk, she neared the car.

Lad stood up, wagging his plumed tail in welcome; his tiny white forepaws dancing a jig of eagerness on the leather seat-cushion.
On reeled the black mongrel; crazed by noise and pain.