"Well, then, I'm not!" he retorted. "I'm afraid of naught – that I can see and get at. All the same we both agreed that this was a queer place."

"Queer or no queer, here we are, my lad, at a ridiculous rental, and here we stop," said Isaac. "It'll take something that I've never heard of to shift us."

An hour later, it then being nine o'clock – the brothers took a lanthorn and, after their usual custom, went round the farm-buildings to see that everything was safe for the night. They were well-to-do young men, these two, and they had brought a quantity of valuable live stock with them. The stables, the folds, the byres, the cow-houses were all full; the pig-cotes were strained to their utmost capacity, for both Simpson and Isaac believed in pigs as a means of making money. Not for many a year had the old farmstead contained so much life.

They went from stable to stall, from fold to byre, from cote to granary – all was in order for the night. The horses turned sleepy heads and looked round at the yellow light of the swinging lanthorn; the cows gazed at their owners with silky eyes; the young bullocks and heifers in the knee-deep straw of the folds stared lazily at the two inspectors. Over this bovine life, over the high roofs and quaint gables the deep blue of the night hung, pierced with the shafts of a thousand stars.

"All's right," said Isaac, as they finished up at the pigs. "By the bye, where did Trippett fasten up that new dog?"

"Back-yard, I told him," answered Simpson, laconically.

"Let's have a look at him," said Isaac.

He led the way round to a cobble-paved yard at the rear of the house, where in a corner near the back-kitchen door stood a brick kennel. Out of this, at the sound of their footsteps, came a diminutive collie, who, seeing them, got down on his belly and did obeisance after his fashion. Isaac considered him attentively.

"I never did see such dogs as Trippett contrives to get hold of, Simpson," he said, half peevishly. "Why can't he get something decent to look at?"

"He says this is a rare good one with sheep, anyway," said Simpson.

"He says that about all of 'em," said Isaac. "I'll try him myself to-morrow. Come on – I see they've given him something to eat."

The dog, still grovelling, whined and trembled. He came the length of his chain towards the two brothers, wriggling ridiculously, wagging his tail, gazing slavishly out of his brown eyes.

"Doesn't look much of a plucked one," commented Isaac. "I expect he's another of Trippett's failures. Come on, Sim."

They went off round the house, and the new dog, whom the shepherd had that day purchased from a very particular friend for a sovereign, shivered and whimpered as the light disappeared. Then he retreated into his kennel and curled up … listening as a frightened child listens in a lonely room.

The two brothers went round the house by the outer paddock. All about them lay the land, silent as the sea is when no wind stirs. There was not a sound to be heard, not a light to be seen save in their own windows. They stood for a moment under the great black-blue, star-pierced dome.

"It's a quietish spot this, Sim, at night," said Isaac, in a whisper which was quite involuntary. "I'd no idea – "

Crash went the lanthorn out of Simpson's hand – that hand, shaking, convulsive, gripped his brother's arm as if with fingers of steel.

"My God, Isaac, what's that! that – there!" he gasped.

Isaac felt himself shiver as he looked. Right in the darkness before him he saw what seemed to be two balls of vivid green fire – no, red fire, yellow fire, all sorts of fire, burning, coruscating, and … fixed on him. And for a second he, like Simpson, stood spell-bound; then with a wild cry of "A gun, a gun!" he turned and dashed for the parlour, followed by his brother. But when they dashed back with their guns a moment later the eyes had gone. And from somewhere in the adjacent wood there suddenly rose into the profound stillness of the night a strange cry, such as neither of them had ever heard before. It was a long, wailing cry as of something in infinite despair.

The brothers, breathing hard, went back into the house and shut the door. Inside the parlour, looking at each other, each saw the other's brow to be dripping with sweat; each, after one look, turned away from the other's eyes. And each, as by mutual instinct, poured out a glass of spirit and drank it off at a gulp.

"Isaac," said Simpson, "there is something!"

Isaac put his gun aside, shook himself, and tried to laugh.

"Pooh!" he said. "We're a couple of fools, Simpson. Happen it's because it's our first night here and we're feeling strange, and haven't forgotten what the lawyer told us. It was a fox."

"A fox hasn't eyes that size," said Simpson. "And, what about that cry? You never heard aught like that, Isaac, never! No more did I."

"An owl in the woods," said Isaac.

"You can't deceive me about owls," answered Simpson. "No, nor dogs, nor foxes, nor anything else that makes a noise at night in the country. Isaac, there is something!"

"Oh, confound it!" said Isaac. "You'll make me think you're as bad as the lawyer. Come on, let's go to bed."

And to bed they went, and nothing happening, slept. But very early next morning Isaac was awakened by loud knocking at his door. Then sounded the housekeeper's voice, agitated and frightened.

"Mr. Isaac, sir, Mr. Isaac, will you get up at once, sir!"

"What's the matter?" growled Isaac. "Is the place on fire?"

"That new dog, sir, that Trippett bought yesterday – oh, I do wish you'd come down quick, sir – we're that afraid!"

Isaac suddenly bounced out of bed, bundled on some clothes, and rushed out of his room. On the landing he met Simpson, similarly attired to himself, and very pale.

"I heard her," he said. "Come on!"

They ran down-stairs and through the kitchen to the little yard behind. There stood a group of frightened people – the shepherd, Trippett, a ploughboy or two, the housekeeper, the maid. In their midst, at their feet, lay the unfortunate little collie, dead. And they saw at one glance that his throat had been torn clean out.

Once inside the house again the brothers looked at each other for a long minute without speaking. They were both very pale and their eyes were queer and their hands shook. Simpson spoke first: his voice was unsteady.

"There is something, Isaac," he said, in a low voice. "There is – something!"

Isaac set his teeth and clenched his hands.

"I'll see it through, Simpson," he said. "I'll see it through."

"Aye, but what is it?" said Simpson.

"Wait," said Isaac.

Then began the same course of events which had signalized the short stay of their predecessors. The horses were frightened in their stables; the cattle were found huddled together and panting in the folds; the sheep were driven off the land into the surrounding roads and woods. And the two brothers watched and watched – and saw nothing, not even the fiery eyes. Until that period of their existence neither Isaac nor Simpson Greaves had known what it was to come in touch with anything outside the purely material elements of life. Coming of a good sound stock which had been on the land and made money out of the land for generations, they had never done anything but manage their affairs, keep shrewd eyes on the markets, and sleep as comfortably as they ate largely. They were well-balanced; they were not cursed with over-much imagination; such things as nerves were unknown to them. But with their arrival at High Elms Farm matters began to alter. The perpetual fright amongst the horses and cattle at night, the cause of which they could not determine; the anxiety of never knowing what might occur at any moment; these things, conspiring with the inevitable loss of sleep, affected health and appetite. Simpson gave way first; he was a shade more susceptible to matters of this sort than his brother, and possibly not so strong physically. And Isaac noticed it and grew more incensed against this secret thing, and all the more so because he felt himself so impotent in respect to combating it.

One night matters came to a climax. In the very hush of midnight pandemonium broke out in the stables. The horses were heard screaming with fear; when the two brothers got to them they found that every beast had broken loose and that they were fighting and struggling for life to force a way out – anywhere. They burst through the door which Isaac opened, knocking him down in their wild rush, leapt the low wall of the fold, and fled screaming into the darkness of the fields. Some were found wandering about the land in the morning; some were brought back from distant villages. But one and all refused, even to desperate resistance, to enter the stables again.

A few mornings after that Simpson came down to breakfast attired for travelling.

"Look here, Isaac," he said, "ask no questions, but trust me. I'm going away – about this business. I'll be back to-morrow night. Things can't go on like this."

Then he made a pretence of eating and went off, and Isaac heard nothing of him until the next afternoon, when he returned in company with a stranger, a tall, grizzled, soldier-like man, who brought with him a bloodhound in a leash. Over the evening meal the three men discussed matters – the stranger seemed mysteriously confident that he could solve the problem which had hitherto been beyond solution.

There was almost a full moon that night – at nine o'clock it was lighting all the land. The stranger took his bloodhound out into the paddock in front of the house and fastened it to a stake which Isaac had previously driven securely into the ground. At a word from him the great beast barked three times – the deep-chested notes went ringing and echoing into the silent woods. And from somewhere in the woods came in answer the long, despairing wail which the brothers had heard more than once and could never trace.

"That's it!" they exclaimed simultaneously.

"Then whatever it is, it's coming," said the bloodhound's master. "Get ready for it."

He spoke a word to the hound, which immediately settled down trustfully at the foot of the stake. He and the brothers, each armed with a shot-gun, took up a position behind a row of shrubs on the edge of the garden, and waited.

Some minutes passed; then the bloodhound stirred and whined.

"Coming," said the visitor.

The bloodhound began to growl ominously – in the moonlight they saw him bristle.

"Close by," said his master.

In the coppice in front of them they heard the faintest rustling sound as of a body being trailed over dried leaves. Then —

"The eyes!" whispered Simpson. "Look – there!"

Out of the blackness of the coppice the two gleaming eyes which the brothers had seen before shone like malignant stars. They were stationary for a moment; then, as the bloodhound's growls grew fiercer and louder they moved forward, growing larger. And presently into the light of the moon emerged a great, grey, gaunt shape, pushing itself forward on its belly, until at last it lay fully exposed, its head between its paws, its baleful eyes fixed on the hound.

"Steady!" whispered the visitor. "It'll get up – it's wondering which side to go at him from. Wait till I give the word."

The grey thing's tail began to lash from side to side; its body began to quiver. Little by little it lifted itself from the ground and began to creep circle-wise towards the bloodhound, now tearing madly at his chain. The fierce eyes were turned slantwise; there was an ugly gleam of bared white fangs; the tread was that of a panther. Suddenly its back arched, its limbs seemed to gather themselves together.

"Now!"

The three guns rang out simultaneously, and the grey shape, already springing, jerked convulsively and fell in a heap close to the tethered hound. There it lay – still. Simpson Greaves fetched a lanthorn which he had kept in readiness within the house, and the three men went up to the dead animal and examined it. Till that moment they had felt uncertain as to what it really was that they had destroyed – they now found themselves looking at a great dog of uncertain breed, massive in size, more wolf than dog in appearance, with a wicked jaw and cruel fangs which snarled even in death. And one of them at least began to have some dim comprehension of the mystery.

The noise of the shooting had roused the other inmates of the house; they came running into the paddock to hear what had happened. There, too, came hurrying the woman from the neighbouring cottage who had cooked and tidied for Josiah Maidment in the old days. And gazing at the dead beast in the light of the lanthorn she lifted up her hands with a sharp exclamation.

"Lord ha' mussy, if that there isn't Mr. Maidment's gre't dog!" she said. "It went away wi' him that very mornin' he disappeared."

"Why didn't you tell us Maidment had a dog?" growled Isaac. "I never heard of it."

"Why, mister, I'm sure I never thought of it," said the woman. "But he had, and that's it, as sure as I'm a Christian. It were the savagest beast ever you see – wouldn't let anybody go near the old gentleman. Where can it ha' been all this time?"

"That," said the bloodhound's master, "is just what we are going to find out."

He released the hound from its chain, and putting it in a leash, bade the brothers follow him. Then he set the hound on the dead animal's track – hound and men broke into the deep woods. There was no break in their course, no turning aside, no loss of scent. The baying of the usurper had been instantly answered by the former guardian of High Elms Farm. Through thick undergrowth, by scarcely passable paths, beneath thickets and bushes, the three men, led by the straining hound, pushed on until they came to a deep valley in the woods, where a limestone crag jutted out from beneath overhanging trees. Here, behind a bramble-brake, which concealed it from any one in the valley, the hound stopped at a hole just large enough to admit a fully-grown man. By the light of the lanthorn which Simpson had brought with him they saw the footprints of a dog on the loose soil.

"There's a cave in there," said the bloodhound's master. "Give me the light – I'm going in."

"So shall I, then," said Isaac, stoutly.

"And I," said Simpson.

The tunnel leading into the cave was not more than a few feet in length; they were quickly able to stand upright and to throw the light around them. And with a mutual fear they gripped each other's arms, for there huddled on the floor lay the body of an old, grey-headed man, who had evidently been stricken with death as he was counting over the secret hoard of which he had made this lonely place the receptacle.

"We will give that poor brute a fitting burial," said the bloodhound's master, as they went back to the farmstead. "He was a primitive savage in his ways, but a rare upholder of what he felt to be his rights. Bury him under the big elm-tree."