“I think I should back my little friend,” said Lord John, caressing his Express.  “But the beast would certainly have a good sporting chance.”

Summerlee raised his hand.

“Hush!” he cried.  “Surely I hear something?”

From the utter silence there emerged a deep, regular pat-pat.  It was the tread of some animal—­the rhythm of soft but heavy pads placed cautiously upon the ground.  It stole slowly round the camp, and then halted near our gateway.  There was a low, sibilant rise and fall—­the breathing of the creature.  Only our feeble hedge separated us from this horror of the night.  Each of us had seized his rifle, and Lord John had pulled out a small bush to make an embrasure in the hedge.

“By George!” he whispered.  “I think I can see it!”

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.

“I thought he wouldn’t face the fire,” said Lord John, laughing, as he came back and threw his branch among the faggots.

“You should not have taken such a risk!” we all cried.

“There was nothin’ else to be done.  If he had got among us we should have shot each other in tryin’ to down him.  On the other hand, if we had fired through the hedge and wounded him he would soon have been on the top of us—­to say nothin’ of giving ourselves away.  On the whole, I think that we are jolly well out of it.  What was he, then?”