It was not _toward_ the rapidly advancing horse that the boy ran, but in exactly the opposite direction, as though he were being chased. With the wagon flinging about from side to side, and hindering the progress of the runaway to some extent, Paul believed that he could almost hold his own in the race.
Little by little he meant to let the horse overtake him. Then, at just the right second his chance would come to jump at the animal's head, seize upon the lines close to the bit, and throw his entire weight upon them.
He knew that it called for good judgment, since the slightest mistake would be apt to cost him dear. To be thrown under the iron-shod hoofs of the galloping animal might mean making him a cripple for the rest of his life.
Even that possibility did not daunt Paul. He only saw the frightened face of the little chap who so valorously clung to the lines, and shouted shrilly at the top of his childish voice, as though expecting the usually tractable horse to mind.
A human life in peril--that was one of the cardinal points that must call for action on the part of a true Boy Scout. He might refuse to engage in a sanguinary battle with some rival who had dared him to a fight; but under no conditions must he hold back when the chance offered to do a good deed.
Now the horse was just behind him, and still galloping furiously. If anything, the animal was making more desperate headway than ever, for the outcries on every side seemed to add to his fright.
Every eye was focussed on the runner. One man in a vehicle had drawn in his horse, and with white cheeks watched the remarkable scene.
If any among that throng had reason to send up a silent prayer for the safety of that daring lad just then, surely he might. For the man in the buggy was Doctor Alan Morrison, Paul's own father!
Five seconds passed, but it seemed an hour, a day, a life-time to that man, as his heart ceased to beat, and he gripped the reins convulsively in his clenched hands.
Then the heavens seemed to almost split with the sudden outburst of wild shouts that raced up and down that street.
"He's done it! Hurrah! The boy's stopped him! Bully for Paul Morrison!"
Men shouted, boys shrieked, while women embraced in their tears. The tense strain was over, for willing hands had clutched the lines after Paul's weight had brought the wild runaway to a staggering halt; and the danger was past.