n such haste. But anon their
bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be
done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar, some
calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for
another flask of wine. But at length some sense came back to
their crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number,
took horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above
them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the
maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home.

"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,
whi