Dando was a dissolute old priest whose flock heard more of horn than of homily. At a "kill" one day, having drunk all that his followers would readily offer, he accepted the flask of a strange horseman. He returned it empty and reluctantly, for never before had such rare vintage stirred his veins. "I'll gallop to Hell for more," he swaggered. "Then come!" cried the handsome stranger, who whisked Dando on to his pommel and raced away with the hounds at his heels. So great was the speed that the pack was soon outdistanced and still at night-time it follows its endless quest.