"The devil! And has he turned up again?"
After looking cautiously round, Jim edged his horse up alongside mine and said quietly,—
"He's been hovering round these cattle for the past half-hour. They can see him, and that's what's making them so confoundedly restless. You take my word for it, we shall have serious trouble directly!"
"Confound it all," I said. "That will mean double watches all night, and in this drizzle too."
"It can't be helped. But you had better tell the boys to be ready in case they are wanted. Look! Look! Here he comes again!"
I looked in the direction he indicated, and, true enough, out of the thick mist which now hid the trees along the river bank, and into the half moonlight where we stood, rode the phantom whom we had seen two hours before by our camp fire. But there was a difference now; this time he was mounted on his white horse, and seemed to be like us on watch. At first I fancied my brain was creating a phantom for me out of the whirling mist; but the snorting and terror of the cattle, as they became aware of his presence, soon convinced me of his reality.
Little by little the fellow edged round the scrub, and then disappeared into the fog again, to reappear a minute or two later on our left. Then he began to come slowly towards us. I can tell you the situation was uncanny enough to creep the flesh of a mummy. He was sitting loosely in his saddle, with his stock-whip balanced on his hip; indeed, to show how details impress themselves on one's mind, I can remember that he had one of his sleeves rolled up and that he carried his reins slung over his left arm.
When he was within eight or ten paces of where we stood, my horse, which had been watching him as if turned to stone, suddenly gave a snort, and wheeling sharp round bolted across the plain as if the devil were behind him. Before I had gone fifty yards I heard Spicer come thundering after me, and we must have had a good two miles gallop before we could pull the terrified beasts up. Then we heard the cattle rushing a mile or so on our right.
"I knew they'd go," wailed Spicer; "they're well-nigh mad with fright. Now, what the deuce is to be done?"
"Try and head them, I suppose."