The mule had begun to squeal and lash out with alternate hoofs, his eyes rolling, his ears flattened.

He ran a few steps, halted, and squealed again.

Then, suddenly wheeling at right angles, set off on a jog trot to the north, squealing and kicking from time to time.

McTeague ran after him shouting and swearing, but for a long time the mule would not allow himself to be caught.

He seemed more bewildered than frightened.
"He's eatun some of that loco-weed that Cribbens spoke about," panted McTeague.