“Well, sir, ’tis hard to tell ... and the light was bad ... but it looked about eight foot high and had a pair o’ horns a yard wide and more ... tipped wi’ fire! Aye, sir, I know it sounds outrageous, but it looked worse than it sounds! Mr. S. see it too ... he was walking p’r’aps a dozen yards or so in my front and me creeping in his rear ... and suddenly he gives a kind o’ groan and dropped to his knees, then scrambles to his feet and away he goes at a run, gasping and groaning ’till he was out o’ sight.”
“And what did you, Bob?”
“Well, sir, chancing to have a pistol handy, I let fly ... but though I’ll swear my bullet took it clean through the head ... it didn’t do no good, sir, not a bit—quite the re-verse, your honour; the thing got up and danced at me, sir ... aye, jigged it did—Lord!”
“And then, Bob?”
“Why, then, sir, I took to my heels and bolted, ah—a sight faster than Mr. S.”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John. “I don’t think you should have fired, Bob.”
“No, sir?”
“No, you might have injured it! Besides, ghosts are supposed to be impervious to bullets, I believe. And the thing had horns, you say?”
“Sir, I’ll lay my oath on its horns ... ah, and fiery horns at that! And there’s others have seen it too, before me.”
“Who, Bob?”