strongly built for a boy; even at sea I never suffered much from the
cold, and this night was not intensely cold--snowy weather seldom
is. What made the ride so exhausting was the beating of the snow into
my eyes and mouth. It fell upon me in a continual dry feathery
pelting, till I was confused and tired out with the effort of trying
to see ahead. For a little while, I had the roar of the trout-stream
in my ears to comfort me; but when I topped the next combe that died
away; and there I was in the night, beating on against the storm, with
the strange moaning sound of the wind from Dartmoor, and the snow
rustling to keep me company. I was not exactly afraid, for the snow in
my face bothered me too much, but often the night would seem full of
people--laughing, horrible people--and often I would think that I saw
Mrs Cottier lying half-buried in a drift.

I rode three miles or more without seeing anybody. Then, just before I
reached the moor cross-roads, in a lull when the snow was not so bad,
I heard a horse whinny, and old Greylegs baulked. Then I heard voices
and a noise as of people riding; and before I could start old Greylegs
I saw a party of horsemen crossing my road by the road from the sea to
Dartmoor. They were riding at a quick trot, and though there were many
horses (some thirty or forty), I could see, even in that light, that
most of them were led. There were not more than a dozen men; and only
one of all that dozen carried a lantern. Something told me that they
were out for no good, and the same instinct made me cover my lantern
with my coat, so that they passed me without seeing me. At first I
thought that they were the fairy troop, and that gave me an awful
fear; but a moment later, in the wind, I felt a whiff of tobacco, and
of a strong, warm, sweet smell of spirits, and I knew then that they
were the night-riders or smugglers. After they had gone, I forced old
Greylegs forward, and trotted on, against the snow, for another