once
turning to see what was behind them, set off helter-skelter through
bog and bush for the nearest, and left my father to himself with the
foul fiend. All at once it popped into his head the tales he had once
heard about the '_Spectre Horseman_,' that was said to ramble about
these hills, sometimes in the air, sometimes on the ground, like the
dark clouds and their shadows upon the soft grass, without ever a
footprint. My poor father could have wished the ground to gape and
swallow him, he said, he was so frightened. Where the stones had been
there was a great hole gaping, like one of the mouths of the
bottomless pit, and try how he would, he could not turn away his eyes
from it. 'That's the place,' said this fearful thing; but my father
was ready to cower down with terror. He could not speak, but he
thought he saw a great long black arm thrust out of the hole. 'Take
what he gives thee,' says Blackface, 'and make haste.' But he might
as well have spoken to the whins and gorses, for the chance of being
obeyed. 'Take it!' said this ill-tongued limb of Old Harry, in a voice
like thunder. But my father could not stir, and then there waur
shrieks, yells, and moans, and such noises as he had never heard. The
creature looked angry, and full of venom as a toad. 'I shall miss my
time,' said he; and with that he began to listen, for there came the
sound of footsteps on the dark heather, and then the ugly thing did
laugh for very gladness. 'Go, fool,' he cried, 'here comes one better
than thee;' and with that he lent my father a kick that might have
sent him across the valley, at a moderate calculation, had he not
remembered an old witch charm which he mumbled as he fell. How long he
lay there, and what happened the while, he did not know, but when he
awoke, he saw the heap was in its place again, the moon looking down
bright and beautiful as ever, as if she thought nothing particular had
taken place. He could hardly persuade himself that he had not dreamed
an ugly dream, until he remembered the spot, and how he had been
enticed, or rather forced there against his will. You may be sure he
made the best of his way home again, where he came in the condition I
have just told you. Not many days after we heard that a gentleman of
no mean condition, that lived not many miles off--I have forgotten
his name--and who was supposed to be crossing the hills on that very
night, was lost. He never appeared afterwards. It was generally
thoug