Then, scrambling aboard again, he jammed down the accelerator.
Lad had made a flying leap over the door of the Master's car.

He struck ground with a force which crumpled his healing right shoulder under him.

Heedless of the pain, he hurled himself forward, on three legs, at an incredible speed; straight for the runabout.

His great head low, his formidable teeth agleam beneath drawn-back lips, his soft eyes a-smolder with red flame, Lad charged.
But, for all his burst of speed, he was too late to avenge; even as he had been too late to save.

By the time he could reach the spot where Lady lay crumpled and moveless in the ditch, the runabout had gathered full speed and was disappearing down the bend of the highway.
After it flew Lad, silent, terrible,--not stopping to realize that the fleetest dog,--even with all four of his legs in commission,--cannot hope to overhaul a motor-car driven at fifty miles an hour.
But, at the end of a furious quarter-mile, his wise brain took charge once more of his vengeance-craving heart.