an scarce retain hold
of the rein; and the animal, uncontrolled, is left to take its course--
only, it must not stop or stay. Every time it shows sign of lagging, he
kicks mechanically against its ribs, urging it on, on, anywhere away
from that dread damnable apparition.

It is some time before he recovers sufficient coolness to reflect--then
only with vague comprehensiveness; nothing clear save the fact that he
has completely lost himself, and his way. To go on were mere guesswork.
True, the moon tells him the west, the direction of Coyote creek. But
westward he will not go, dreading to again encounter that ghostly thing;
for he thinks it was there he saw it.

Better pull up, and await the surer guidance of the sun, with its light,
less mystical.

So deciding, he slips out of the saddle; and letting his horse out on
the trail-rope, lays himself down. Regardless of the animal's needs, he
leaves all its caparison on, even to the bitt between its teeth. What
cares he for its comforts, or for aught else, thinking of that horrible
head?

He makes no endeavour to snatch a wink of sleep, of which he has had
enough; but lies cogitating on the series of strange incidents and
sights which have late occurred to him, but chiefly the last, so
painfully perplexing. He can think of nothing to account for a
phenomenon so abnormal, so outside all laws of nature.

While vainly endeavouring to solve the dread enigma, a sound strikes
upon his ear, abruptly bringing his conjectures to a close. It is a
dull thumping, still faint and far off; but distinguishable as the tramp
of a horse.

Starting to his feet, he looks in the direction whence it proceeds. As
expected, he sees a horse; and something more, a man upon its back, both
coming towards him.

Could it, perchance, be Bosley? Impossible! He was their prisoner
under the live-oak. They would never let him go. Far more like it is
Woodley--the terrible backwoodsman, as ever after him? Whoever it be,
his guilty soul tells him the person approaching can be no friend of
his, but an enemy, a pursuer. And it may be another phantom!

Earthly fears, with unearthly fancies, alike urging him to flight, he
stays not to make sure whether it be ghost or human; but, hastily taking
up his trail-rope, springs to the back of his horse, and again goes off
in wild terrified retreat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It scarce needs telling,