But fast as they went, they could not
outstrip the sound of the howling, which gradually drew nearer and
nearer, until around the curve we had just passed shot into view a huge
gaunt wolf. I raised my rifle and fired. The beast fell, but another
instantly took its place, and then another and another, till the whole
pack came into sight, and close behind us was an ocean of white,
tossing, foam-flecked jaws and red gleaming eyes. "I emptied my rifle into them as fast as I could pull the trigger, but
it only checked them momentarily. A few snaps, and of their wounded
brethren there was nothing left but a pile of glistening bones. Then,
hie away, and they were once again in red-hot pursuit. At last our pace
slackened, and still I could see no signs of the lake. A great grey
shape, followed by others, then rushed by us and tried to reach the
horses' flanks with their sharp, gleaming teeth. A few more seconds,
and I knew we should be both fighting, back to back, the last great
fight for existence. Indeed I had ceased firing, and was already
beginning to strike out furiously with the butt end of my rifle, when a
new sound arrested my attention. The baying of dogs! 'Dogs!' I screamed,
'Dogs, Ivan!' (that was the coachman's name) 'Dogs!' and, in my mad joy,
I brained two wolves in as many blows. The next moment a large pack of
enormous white hounds came racing down on us. The wolves did not wait to
dispute the field; they all turned tail and, with loud howls of terror,
rushed off in the direction they had come. On came the hounds--more
beautiful dogs I had never seen; as they swept by, more than one brushed
against my knees, though I could feel nothing save intense cold. When
they were about twenty yards ahead of us, they slowed down, and
maintained that distance in front of us till we arrived on the shores of
the lake. There they halted, and throwing back their heads, bayed as if
in farewell, and suddenly vanished. We knew then that they were no
earthly hounds, but spirit ones, sent by a merciful Providence to save
us from a cruel death." CHAPTER III

HORSES AND THE UNKNOWN


As in my chapters on cats and dogs, I will preface this chapter on
horses with instances of alleged haunted localities. I take my first case from Mr. W.T. Stead's _Real Ghost Stories_,
published in 1891. It is called "A Weird Story from the Indian Hills,"
and Mr. Stead preludes it thus: The "tale is told by General Barter,
C.B., of Careystown, Whitegate, Co. Cork. At the time he witnessed the
spectral cavalcade he was living on the hills in India, and when one
evening he was returning home he caught sight of a rider and attendants
coming towards him. The rest of the story, given in the General's own
words, is as follows:--

"At this time the two dogs came, and, crouching at my side, gave low,
frightened whimpers. The moon was at the full--a tropical moon--so
bright that you could see to read a newspaper by its light, and--I saw
the party before me advance as plainly as it were noon day. They were
above me some eight or ten feet on the bridle-road, the earth thrown
down from which sloped to within a pace or two of my feet. On the party
came, until almost in front of me, and now I had better describe them. The rider was in full dinner dress, with white waistcoat, and wearing a
tall chimney-pot hat, and he sat a powerful hill pony (dark brown, with
mane and tail) in a listless sort of way, the reins hanging loosely from
both hands. A Syce led the pony on each side, but their faces I could
not see, the one next to me having his back to me and the one farthest
off being hidden by the pony's head. Each held the bridle close by the
bit, the man next me with his right and the other with his left hand,
and the hands were on the thighs of the rider, as if to steady him in
his seat. As they approached, I knowing they could not get to any place
other than my own, called out in Hindustani, 'Quon hai?' (Who is it?). There was no answer, and on they came until right in front of me, when I
said, in English, 'Hullo, what the d----l do you want here?' Instantly
the group came to a halt, the rider gathering the bridle reins up in
both hands, turned his face, which had hitherto been looking away from
me, towards me, and looked down upon me. The group was still as in a
tableau, with the bright moon shining upon it, and I at once recognized
the rider as Lieutenant B., whom I had formerly known. The face,
however, was different from what it used to be; in the place of being
clean-shaven, as when I used to know it, it was now surrounded by a
fringe (what used to be known as a Newgate fringe), and it was the face
of a dead man, the ghastly waxen pallor of it brought out more
distinctly in the moonlight by the dark fringe of hair by which it was
encircled; the body, too, was much stouter than when I had known it in
life. "I marked this in a moment; and then resolved to lay hold of the thing,
whatever it might be. I dashed up the bank, and the earth which had been
thrown on the side giving under my feet, I fell forward up the bank on
my hands, recovering myself instantly. I gained the road, and stood in
the exact spot where the group had been, but which was now vacant, there
was not the trace of anything; it was impossible for them to go on, the
road stopped at a precipice about twenty yards further on, and it was
impossible to turn and go back in a second. All this flashed through my
mind, and I then ran along the road for about 100 yards, along which
they had come, until I had to stop for want of breath, but there was no
trace of anything, and not a sound to be heard. I then returned home,
where I found my dogs, who, on all other occasions my most faithful
companions, had not come with me along the road. "Next morning I went up to D., who belonged to the same regiment as B.,
and gradually induced him to talk of him. I said, 'How very stout he had
become lately, and what possessed him to allow his beard to grow with
that horrid fringe?' D. replied, 'Yes, he became very bloated before his
death. You know he led a very fast life, and while on the sick list he
allowed the fringe to grow, in spite of all that we could say to him,
and I believe he was buried with it.' I asked him where he got the pony
I had seen, describing it minutely. 'Why,' said D., 'how do you know
anything about all this? You hadn't seen B. for two or three years, and
the pony you never saw. He bought him at Peshawur, and killed him one
day riding in his reckless fashion down the hill to Trete.' I then told
him what I had seen the night before. "Once, when the galloping sound was very distinct, I rushed to the door
of my house. There I found my Hindoo bearer, standing with a tattie in
his hand. I asked him what he was there for. He said that there came a
sound of riding down the hill, and 'passed him like a typhoon,' and went
round the corner of the house, and he was determined to waylay it,
whatever it was."