Собака Баскервиллей
The Hound of the Baskervilles
"Hist! "criedHolmes,andIheardthesharpclickofacockingpistol. "Lookout! It’scoming!"
Therewasathin,crisp,continuouspatterfromsomewhereintheheartofthatcrawlingbank. Thecloudwaswithinfiftyyardsofwherewelay,andweglaredatit,allthree,uncertainwhathorrorwasabouttobreakfromtheheartofit. IwasatHolmes’selbow,andIglancedforaninstantathisface. Itwaspaleandexultant,hiseyesshiningbrightlyinthemoonlight. Butsuddenlytheystartedforwardinarigid,fixedstare,andhislipspartedinamazement. AtthesameinstantLestradegaveayellofterrorandthrewhimselffacedownwardupontheground. Isprangtomyfeet,myinerthandgraspingmypistol,mymindparalyzedbythedreadfulshapewhichhadsprungoutuponusfromtheshadowsofthefog. Ahounditwas,anenormouscoal-blackhound,butnotsuchahoundasmortaleyeshaveeverseen. Fireburstfromitsopenmouth,itseyesglowedwithasmoulderingglare,itsmuzzleandhacklesanddewlapwereoutlinedinflickeringflame. Neverinthedeliriousdreamofadisorderedbraincouldanythingmoresavage,moreappalling,morehellishbeconceivedthanthatdarkformandsavagefacewhichbrokeuponusoutofthewalloffog.
Withlongboundsthehugeblackcreaturewasleapingdownthetrack,followingharduponthefootstepsofourfriend. Soparalyzedwerewebytheapparitionthatweallowedhimtopassbeforewehadrecoveredournerve. ThenHolmesandIbothfiredtogether,andthecreaturegaveahideoushowl,whichshowedthatoneatleasthadhithim. Hedidnotpause,however,butboundedonward. FarawayonthepathwesawSirHenrylookingback,hisfacewhiteinthemoonlight,hishandsraisedinhorror,glaringhelplesslyatthefrightfulthingwhichwashuntinghimdown.
