“And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it isanother to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hearsuch a cry as that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of thehound beside him as he lay. It all fits together. I don’t think thatI am a coward, Watson, but that sound seemed to freeze my veryblood. Feel my hand!”
It was as cold as a block of marble.
“You’ll be all right to-morrow.”
“I don’t think I’ll get that cry out of my head. What do youadvise that we do now?”
“Shall we turn back?”
“No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we willdo it. We after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, afterus. Come on! We’ll see it through if all the fiends of the pit wereloose upon the moor.”
We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loomof the craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burningsteadily in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of alight upon a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemedto be far away upon the horizon and sometimes it might have beenwithin a few yards of us. But at last we could see whence it came,and then we knew that we were indeed very close. A gutteringcandle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which flanked it on eachside so as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent it frombeing visible, save in the direction of Baskerville Hall. A boulder ofgranite concealed our approach, and crouching behind it we gazedover it at the signal light. It was strange to see this single candleburning there in the middle of the moor, with no sign of life nearit—just the one straight yellow flame and the gleam of the rock oneach side of it.
“What shall we do now?” whispered Sir Henry.
“Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get aglimpse of him.”
The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him.
Over the rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, therewas thrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamedand scored with vile passions. Foul with mire, with a bristlingbeard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have belonged toone of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides.
The light beneath him was reflected in his small, cunning eyeswhich peered fiercely to right and left through the darkness, like acrafty and savage animal who has heard the steps of the hunters.
Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may havebeen that Barrymore had some private signal which we hadneglected to give, or the fellow may have had some other reasonfor thinking that all was not well, but I could read his fears uponhis wicked face. Any instant he might dash out the light and vanishin the darkness. I sprang forward therefore, and Sir Henry didthe same. At the same moment the convict screamed out a curseat us and hurled a rock which splintered up against the boulderwhich had sheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short, squat,strongly built figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run.
At the same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke throughthe clouds. We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there wasour man running with great speed down the other side, springingover the stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. Alucky long shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but I hadbrought it only to defend myself if attacked and not to shoot anunarmed man who was running away.
We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but wesoon found that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw himfor a long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speckmoving swiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill.
We ran and ran until we were completely blown, but the spacebetween us grew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat panting ontwo rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the distance.
And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strangeand unexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and wereturning to go home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. Themoon was low upon the right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granitetor stood up against the lower curve of its silver disc. There,outlined as black as an ebony statue on that shining background,I saw the figure of a man upon the tor. Do not think that it wasa delusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my life seenanything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was thatof a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little separated, hisarms folded, his head bowed, as if he were brooding over thatenormous wilderness of peat and granite which lay before him.
He might have been the very spirit of that terrible place. It wasnot the convict. This man was far from the place where the latterhad disappeared. Besides, he was a much taller man. With a cryof surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instantduring which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone.
There was the sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the loweredge of the moon, but its peak bore no trace of that silent andmotionless figure.
I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but itwas some distance away. The baronet’s nerves were still quiveringfrom that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and hewas not in the mood for fresh adventures. He had not seen thislonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which hisstrange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. “Awarder, no doubt,” said he. “The moor has been thick with themsince this fellow escaped.” Well, perhaps his explanation may bethe right one, but I should like to have some further proof of it.
