Neither then nor later did Reason assert herself. He ran without
question or amazement. His brain--the part where human reasoning holds
normal sway--was dominated by the purely primitive instinct of flight.
And in that sudden rout of courage and self-respect one conscious
thought alone remained. Whatever it was that was even then at his heels,
he must not see it. At all costs it must be behind him, and, resisting
the sudden terrified impulse to look over his shoulder, he unbuttoned
his tweed jacket and disengaged himself from it as he ran. The faint
haze that had gathered round the full moon dispersed, and he saw the
moor stretching before him, grey and still, glistening with dew.

He was of frugal and temperate habits, a wiry man at the height of his
physical powers, with lean flanks and a deep chest.

At Oxford they had said he was built to run for his life. He was running
for it now, and he knew it.

The ground sloped upwards after a while, and he tore up the incline,
breathing deep and hard; down into a shallow valley, leaping gorse
bushes, crashing through whortle and meadowsweet, stumbling over
peat-cuttings and the workings of forgotten tin-mines. An idiotic
popular tune raced through his brain. He found himself trying to frame
the words, but they broke into incoherent prayers, still to the same
grotesque tune.

Then, as he breasted the flank of a boulder-strewn tor, he seemed to
hear snuffling breathing behind him, and, redoubling his efforts,
stepped into a rabbit hole. He was up and running again in the twinkling
of an eye, limping from a twisted ankle as he ran.

He sprinted over the crest of the hill and thought he heard the sound
almost abreast of him, away to the right. In the dry bed of a
watercourse some stones were dislodged and fell with a rattle in the
stillness of the night; he bore away to the left. A moment later there
was Something nearly at his left elbow, and he smelt again the nameless,
f[oe]tid reek. He doubled, and the ghastly truth flashed upon him. The
Thing was playing with him! He was being hunted for sport--the sport of
a horror unthinkable. The sweat ran down into his eyes.

He lost all count of time; his wrist watch was smashed on his wrist. He
ran through a reeling eternity, sobbing for breath, stumbling, tripping,
fighting a leaden weariness; and ever the same unreasoning terror urged
him on. The moon and ragged skyline swam about him; the blood drummed
deafeningly in his e