We followed the cart track till it ended in a little grassy clearing from which a few steps brought us to the spot Sliefer had called "Rocky Hollow." It was a small, narrow valley, filled with masses of piled boulders, some enormous, some small, the remains evidently of some ancient moraine. They looked as if giant hands had flung them there in sport, one upon another. Seen by daylight, with the black wooded hillside shutting it in, the place would be desolate enough; by the faint growing moonlight it had a look indescribably grim and sinister. Here, one felt, among those barren stones and piled boulders, that took fantastic shapes in the play of light and shadow, would be a fit hiding-place for anything evil. Higher up the ravine, near us but hidden from sight, the hound was baying furiously, no longer the bell-like note that had guided us through the woods, but a hoarse deep voice of warning and anger. We made our way towards the sound, scrambling over the stones, and found him standing before an opening between two boulders, where an overhanging rock formed a sort of rough cavern. There was a glimpse of something white within, and for a moment my heart turned sick with fear. But it was only a sheet of crumpled greasy newspaper that had evidently contained food. There were the charred remains of a small campfire and an old tin can lay in one corner. Sliefer caught the dog by his collar as we peered inside. He picked up the crumpled sheet. "A week old," he said. "Here's where he hung out, all right. No tramp ever comes here; it's too far off the main road." Stooping forward, I had rested my hand on the rock at one side. It was warm to the touch, and I turned quickly to the blackened embers near. "He's not far off, either. That fire----" "Is cold," returned Herrick quickly, touching the ashes. The stone was warm, I could have sworn it. Somebody, only a moment ago, had lain there. There was a sudden oath from Sliefer, and I turned to see, a hundred feet down the gorge, something that twisted and moved, a stealthy misshapen shadow, between the gray boulders. It was a bare glimpse, seen in a flash and blotted out immediately against the grayish rocky background, but in that second I thought of Lennox and I too felt cold down my spine. The farmer's face had gone a curious sickly white. He stood holding his gun stupidly, with fingers that shook. "That ... that weren't no man ... that...." "Did you see?" cried Herrick. There was a sharp note of excitement in his voice. I nodded. "It ... went off down there." Sliefer had pulled himself together. He swung round, his face suddenly savage. "Man or beast, by God, we'll get him now! _That_ shan't run the woods another night, not if I drop in my tracks!"