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"
They
had
gone
a
mile
or
two
when
they
passed
one
of
the
night
shepherds
upon
the
moorlands
,
and
they
cried
to
him
to
know
if
he
had
seen
the
hunt
.
And
the
man
,
as
the
story
goes
,
was
so
crazed
with
fear
that
he
could
scarce
speak
,
but
at
last
he
said
that
he
had
indeed
seen
the
unhappy
maiden
,
with
the
hounds
upon
her
track
.
'
But
I
have
seen
more
than
that
,
'
said
he
,
'
for
Hugo
Baskerville
passed
me
upon
his
black
mare
,
and
there
ran
mute
behind
him
such
a
hound
of
hell
as
God
forbid
should
ever
be
at
my
heels
.
'
So
the
drunken
squires
cursed
the
shepherd
and
rode
onward
.
But
soon
their
skins
turned
cold
,
for
there
came
a
galloping
across
the
moor
,
and
the
black
mare
,
dabbled
with
white
froth
,
went
past
with
trailing
bridle
and
empty
saddle
.
Then
the
revellers
rode
close
together
,
for
a
great
fear
was
on
them
,
but
they
still
followed
over
the
moor
,
though
each
,
had
he
been
alone
,
would
have
been
right
glad
to
have
turned
his
horse
's
head
.
Riding
slowly
in
this
fashion
they
came
at
last
upon
the
hounds
.
These
,
though
known
for
their
valour
and
their
breed
,
were
whimpering
in
a
cluster
at
the
head
of
a
deep
dip
or
goyal
,
as
we
call
it
,
upon
the
moor
,
some
slinking
away
and
some
,
with
starting
hackles
and
staring
eyes
,
gazing
down
the
narrow
valley
before
them
.
"
The
company
had
come
to
a
halt
,
more
sober
men
,
as
you
may
guess
,
than
when
they
started
.
The
most
of
them
would
by
no
means
advance
,
but
three
of
them
,
the
boldest
,
or
it
may
be
the
most
drunken
,
rode
forward
down
the
goyal
.
Now
,
it
opened
into
a
broad
space
in
which
stood
two
of
those
great
stones
,
still
to
be
seen
there
,
which
were
set
by
certain
forgotten
peoples
in
the
days
of
old
.
The
moon
was
shining
bright
upon
the
clearing
,
and
there
in
the
centre
lay
the
unhappy
maid
where
she
had
fallen
,
dead
of
fear
and
of
fatigue
.
But
it
was
not
the
sight
of
her
body
,
nor
yet
was
it
that
of
the
body
of
Hugo
Baskerville
lying
near
her
,
which
raised
the
hair
upon
the
heads
of
these
three
daredevil
roysterers
,
but
it
was
that
,
standing
over
Hugo
,
and
plucking
at
his
throat
,
there
stood
a
foul
thing
,
a
great
,
black
beast
,
shaped
like
a
hound
,
yet
larger
than
any
hound
that
ever
mortal
eye
has
rested
upon
.
And
even
as
they
looked
the
thing
tore
the
throat
out
of
Hugo
Baskerville
,
on
which
,
as
it
turned
its
blazing
eyes
and
dripping
jaws
upon
them
,
the
three
shrieked
with
fear
and
rode
for
dear
life
,
still
screaming
,
across
the
moor
.
One
,
it
is
said
,
died
that
very
night
of
what
he
had
seen
,
and
the
other
twain
were
but
broken
men
for
the
rest
of
their
days
.
"
Such
is
the
tale
,
my
sons
,
of
the
coming
of
the
hound
which
is
said
to
have
plagued
the
family
so
sorely
ever
since
.
If
I
have
set
it
down
it
is
because
that
which
is
clearly
known
hath
less
terror
than
that
which
is
but
hinted
at
and
guessed
.
Nor
can
it
be
denied
that
many
of
the
family
have
been
unhappy
in
their
deaths
,
which
have
been
sudden
,
bloody
,
and
mysterious
.
Yet
may
we
shelter
ourselves
in
the
infinite
goodness
of
Providence
,
which
would
not
forever
punish
the
innocent
beyond
that
third
or
fourth
generation
which
is
threatened
in
Holy
Writ
.
To
that
Providence
,
my
sons
,
I
hereby
commend
you
,
and
I
counsel
you
by
way
of
caution
to
forbear
from
crossing
the
moor
in
those
dark
hours
when
the
powers
of
evil
are
exalted
.
"
This
from
Hugo
Baskerville
to
his
sons
Rodger
and
John
,
with
instructions
that
they
say
nothing
thereof
to
their
sister
Elizabeth
.
"
When
Dr.
Mortimer
had
finished
reading
this
singular
narrative
he
pushed
his
spectacles
up
on
his
forehead
and
stared
across
at
Mr.
Sherlock
Holmes
.
The
latter
yawned
and
tossed
the
end
of
his
cigarette
into
the
fire
.
"
Well
?
"
said
he
.
"
Do
you
not
find
it
interesting
?
"
"
To
a
collector
of
fairy
tales
.
"
Dr.
Mortimer
drew
a
folded
newspaper
out
of
his
pocket
.
