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I stooped and peered over his shoulder through the gap. Yes, I
could see it, too. In the deep shadow of the tree there was a
deeper shadow yet, black, inchoate, vague--a crouching form full
of savage vigor and menace. It was no higher than a horse, but
the dim outline suggested vast bulk and strength. That hissing
pant, as regular and full-volumed as the exhaust of an engine,
spoke of a monstrous organism. Once, as it moved, I thought I
saw the glint of two terrible, greenish eyes. There was an
uneasy rustling, as if it were crawling slowly forward.
"I believe it is going to spring!" said I, cocking my rifle.
"Don't fire! Don't fire!" whispered Lord John. "The crash of a
gun in this silent night would be heard for miles. Keep it as a
last card."
"If it gets over the hedge we're done," said Summerlee, and his
voice crackled into a nervous laugh as he spoke.
"No, it must not get over," cried Lord John; "but hold your
fire to the last. Perhaps I can make something of the fellow.
I'll chance it, anyhow."
It was as brave an act as ever I saw a man do. He stooped to
the fire, picked up a blazing branch, and slipped in an instant
through a sallyport which he had made in our gateway. The thing
moved forward with a dreadful snarl. Lord John never hesitated,
but, running towards it with a quick, light step, he dashed the
flaming wood into the brute's face. For one moment I had a
vision of a horrible mask like a giant toad's, of a warty,
leprous skin, and of a loose mouth all beslobbered with fresh blood.
The next, there was a crash in the underwood and our dreadful
visitor was gone.
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