"Doyle, Arthur Conan - Hound Of The Baskervilles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Arthur Conan)

"Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable
to understand all that had been done in 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 whim-
pering 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 Baskerviile lying near her,
which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-
devil 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