uthinallthesestories?IsitpossiblethatIamreallyindangerfromsodarkacause?Youdon’tbelieveit,doyou,Watson?”
“No,no.”
“AndyetitwasonethingtolaughaboutitinLondon,anditisanothertostandouthereinthedarknessofthemoorandtohearsuchacryasthat.Andmyuncle!Therewasthefootprintofthehoundbesidehimashelay.Itallfitstogether.Idon’tthinkthatIamacoward,Watson,butthatsoundseemedtofreezemyveryblood.Feelmyhand!”
Itwasascoldasablockofmarble.
“You’llbeallrighttomorrow.”
“Idon’tthinkI’llgetthatcryoutofmyhead.Whatdoyouadvisethatwedonow?”
“Shallweturnback?”
“No,bythunderwehavecomeouttogetourman,andwewilldoit.Weaftertheconvict,andahell-hound,aslikelyasnot,afterus.Comeon!We’llseeitthroughifallthefiendsofthepitwerelooseuponthemoor.”
Westumbledslowlyalonginthedarkness,withtheblackloomofthecraggyhillsaroundus,andtheyellowspeckoflightburningsteadilyinfront.Thereisnothingsodeceptiveasthedistanceofalightuponapitch-darknight,andsometimestheglimmerseemedtobefarawayuponthehorizonandsometimesitmighthavebeenwithinafewyardsofus.Butatlastwecouldseewhenceitcame,andthenweknewthatwewereindeedveryclose.Agutteringcandlewasstuckinacreviceoftherockswhichflankeditoneachsidesoastokeepthewindfromitandalsotopreventitfrombeingvisible,saveinthedirectionofBaskervilleHall.Aboulderofgraniteconcealedourapproach,andcrouchingbehinditwegazedoveritatthesignallight.Itwasstrangetoseethissinglecandleburningthereinthemiddleofthemoor,withnosignoflifenearit—justtheonestraightyellowflameandthegleamoftherockoneachsideofit.
“Whatshallwedonow?”whisperedSirHenry.
“Waithere.Hemustbenearhislight.Letusseeifwecangetaglimpseofhim.”
Thewordswerehardlyoutofmymouthwhenwebothsawhim.Overtherocks,inthecreviceofwhichthecandleburned,therewasthrustoutanevilyellowface,aterribleanimalface,allseamedandscoredwithvilepassions.Foulwithmire,withabristlingbeard,andhungwithmattedhair,itmightwellhavebelongedtooneofthoseoldsavageswhodweltintheburrowsonthehillsides.Thelightbeneathhimwasreflectedinhissmall,cunningeyeswhichpeeredfiercelytorightandleftthroughthedarknesslikeacraftyandsavageanimalwhohasheardthestepsofthehunters.
Somethinghadevidentlyarousedhissuspicions.ItmayhavebeenthatBarrymorehadsomeprivatesignalwhichwehadneglectedtogive,orthefellowmayhavehadsomeotherreasonforthinkingthatallwasnotwell,butIcouldreadhisfearsuponhiswickedface.Anyinstanthemightdashoutthelightandvanishinthedarkness.Isprangforwardtherefore,andSirHenrydidthesame.Atthesamemomenttheconvictscreamedoutacurseatusandhurledarockwhichsplinteredupagainsttheboulderwhichhadshelteredus.Icaughtoneglimpseofhisshort,squat,stronglybuiltfigureashesprangtohisfeetandturnedtorun.Atthesamemomentbyaluckychancethemoonbrokethroughtheclouds.Werushedoverthebrowofthehill,andtherewasourmanrunningwithgreatspeeddowntheotherside,springingoverthestonesinhiswaywiththeactivityofamountaingoat.