“This it said and vanished. I lifted my whip, but needed not to strike my horse, for not a bird that has wings could fly faster than he now flew with me on his back. No path was before me, nor did I know where we were going. Through rushes and through thickets, over burrows of wild animals, stones, rivers, marshes, we flew as if all the devils that are on the earth and under it were at our heels; and when the horse stopped it was at my own door. I stayed not to unsaddle him, but, cutting the surcingle with my knife, left him to shake the saddle off; then with the bridle I hammered on the door, shouting to my wife to open. I heard her fumbling for the tinder-box. 'For the love of Heaven, woman, strike no light,' I cried. 'Santa Barbara bendita! have you seen a ghost?' she exclaimed, opening to me. 'Yes,' I replied, rushing in and bolting the door, 'and had you struck a light you would now have been a widow.'
“For thus it is, sirs, the man who after seeing a ghost is confronted with a light immediately drops down dead.”
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 to-night 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.