I made no sceptical remarks, and did not even shake my head. The circumstances of the encounter were described by Mariano with such graphic power and minuteness that it was impossible not to believe his story. Yet some things in it afterwards struck me as somewhat absurd; that straw hat, for instance, and it also seemed strange that a person of Mula’s disposition should have been so much improved in temper by his sojourn in a warmer place.
“Talking of ghosts—” said Laralde, the other man—but proceeded no further, for I interrupted him. Laralde was a short, broad-shouldered man, with bow legs and bushy grey whiskers; he was called by his familiars Lechuza (owl) on account of his immense, round, tawny-coloured eyes, which had a tremendous staring power in them.
I thought we had had enough of the supernatural by this time.
“My friend,” I said, “pardon me for interrupting you; but there will be no sleep for us tonight if we have any more stories about spirits from the other world.”
“Talking of ghosts—” resumed Lechuza, without noticing my remark, and this nettled me; so I cut in once more:
“I protest that we have heard quite enough about them,” I said. “This conversation was only to be about rare and curious things. Now, visitors from the other world are very common. I put it to you, my friends—have you not all seen more ghosts than lampalaguas drawing foxes with their breath?”
“I have seen that once only,” said Rivarola gravely. “I have often seen ghosts.”
The others also confessed to having seen more than one ghost apiece.
Lechuza sat inattentive, smoking his cigarette, and when we had all done speaking began again.
“Talking of ghosts—”
Nobody interrupted him this time, though he seemed to expect it, for he made a long, deliberate pause.
“Talking of ghosts,” he repeated, staring around him triumphantly, “I once had an encounter with a strange being that was not a ghost. I was a young man then—young and full of the fire, strength, and courage of youth—for what I am now going to relate happened over twenty years ago. I had been playing cards at a friend’s house, and left it at midnight to ride to my father’s house, a distance of five leagues. I had quarrelled that evening and left a loser, burning with anger against the man who had cheated and insulted me, and with whom I was not allowed to fight. Vowing vengeance on him, I rode away at a fast gallop; the night being serene, and almost as light as day, for the moon was at its full. Suddenly I saw before me a huge man sitting on a white horse, which stood perfectly motionless directly in my path. I dashed on till I came near him, then shouted aloud. ‘Out of my path, friend, lest I ride over you’; for I was still raging in my heart.
“Seeing that he took no notice of my words, I dug my spurs into my horse and hurled myself against him; then at the very moment my horse struck his with a tremendous shock, I brought down my iron whip-handle with all the force that was in me upon his head. The blow rang as if I had struck upon an anvil, while at the same moment he, without swerving, clutched my cloak with both hands. I could feel that they were bony, hard hands, armed with long, crooked, sharp talons like an eagle’s, which pierced through my cloak into my flesh. Dropping my whip, I seized him by the throat, which seemed scaly and hard, between my hands, and thus, locked together in a desperate struggle, we swayed this way and that, each trying to drag the other from his seat till we came down together with a crash upon the earth. In a moment we were disengaged and on our feet. Quick as lightning flashed out his long, sharp weapon, and, finding I was too late to draw mine, I hurled myself against him, seizing his armed hand in both mine before he could strike.
“For a few moments he stood still, glaring at me out of a pair of eyes that shone like burning coals; then, mad with rage, he flung me off my feet and whirled me round and round like a ball in a sling, and finally cast me from him to a distance of a hundred yards, so great was his strength. I was launched with tremendous force into the middle of some thorny bushes, but had no sooner recovered from the shock than out I burst with a yell of rage and charged him again. For, you will hardly believe it, sirs, by some strange chance I had carried away his weapon, firmly grasped in my hands. It was a heavy two-edged dagger, sharp as a needle, and while I grasped the hilt I felt the strength and fury of a thousand fighting-men in me. As I advanced he retreated before me, until, seizing the topmost boughs of a great thorny bush, he swung his body to one side and wrenched it out of the earth by the roots. Swinging the bush with the rapidity of a whirlwind round his head, he advanced against me and dealt a blow that would have crushed me had it descended on me; but it fell too far, for I had dodged under it to close with him, and delivered a stab with such power that the long weapon was buried to its hilt in his bosom. He uttered a deafening yell, and at the same moment a torrent of blood spouted forth, scalding my face like boiling water, and drenching my clothes through to the skin. For a moment I was blinded; but when I had dashed the blood from my eyes and looked round he had vanished, horse and all.
“Then, mounting my horse, I rode home and told everyone what had
