Crouched in the shadow, they waited; beheld dimly a wild rabble of fleeing men who sobbed and groaned and cast away weapons and equipment to aid their flight. For there, flitting in pursuit, was a monstrous and gruesome thing outlined in pallid flame, a gigantic horror that lifted high in air two huge, widespreading horns tipped with green fire. On it came, swiftly, silently, a ghastly shape of fear, at sight of which Sir Hector groaned aloud and strove to hide his gigantic person behind the tree, while Robert, recoiling upon his master, drew forth a pistol with shaking hand.
“Don’t shoot!” cried Sir John in fierce command; even as he spoke the fearful thing flitted past and all suddenly was gone.
“Save us a’!” gasped Sir Hector. “Yon was a kelpie!” And, sitting down at foot of the tree, he took off his hat and wig to mop sweating brow, while the Corporal stood rigid, glaring, hand tight clenched upon the pistol he held.
“Your honour observed its horns?” he questioned at last hoarsely.
“I did, Robert!”
“Tipped wi’ fire, sir, an’ a yard wide, just as I told your honour.”
“The description was very exact, Robert. I recognised your ghost on the instant.”
“Ghost, is it?” quoth Sir Hector scornfully. “Man, a ghost is a pretty poppet in comparison! Yon was a kelpie, I’m tellin’ ye.”
“And the soldiers are all fled away, Hector, and ha’ left their prisoners behind ’em!”