The Phantom Rides

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 22949, 29 January 1938, Page 13 (Supplement)

The Phantom Rides

b "schoreld

ON a certain afternoon away back in 1914 1 was 011 my way home, having completed an interesting day trading among the unlive cane-cutters and "carretcros" in one of Cuba's richest cane districts. It was five o'clock, and I had stopped at Don Pedro's "barracon" to refresh myself, before starting on the hist lap of my journey —ii 20-mile ride mostly through forest. "That is bad trail, nmigo. And there'll he no moon till Into. Besides, the river is swollen with the recent r "i" appreciated Don", Pedro's concern, hut made light of liis remarks as I - assured him: _ " 'Pinto' knows tlie trail well. Haven't "c heen over it. scores and scores of times together? And not onco have we met with accident," 1 reniituled him. Shade of Mystery "Ah, si—-m. I'into is good line horse. j] u t ( von, amigir—have you ever travelled that road l>.v night:- Have you?" And I - IUV 11 sluulo of mystery on his face. ' "But whv?" I wanted to know. "Ghosts!" And Don Pedro eyed me "auizzically. "Si. mi caro aniigo, the 'either side of the river is haunted . . . That is what they are saying." ! I didn't helieve it, of course, and told him so. ".Just some more of their superstitious nonsense," 1 added. "I\h. well —maybe it is not so. But the nieit, they talk. Jt is getting now so jione of them want to go into those woods to cut *traviesas.' Or even to j gather tl*e majagua hark. And Dios ' jniol" lie sighed, "1 have reasoned with them enough." "Take no Chances" I could see that Don Pedro himself , half believed the rumour. And plainly lie didn't want his "young English friend" taking any chances: "You stay here to-night, aniigo," lie j was saying. "Always we have the extra j hammock. You will stay, yes?" "No," T thanked him. "No. Don i Pedro. 1 really must be getting along." lbit to tell the truth. 1 wasn't feeling j quite so sure of myself now. A lot of my buoyancy had left me while listen- I ' ing to my friend: Though naturally 1 wasn't going to admit it. For just a monienK the temptation Jo accept Don Pedro's hospitality was Very strong. Hut that would mean keeping the folks up, and mother, I knew, would he worrying. Inky Blackness So a little while later 1 was • bidding " adios " to my friend, turning my back on his invit- - / iitg barracqn and riding away / into the night. It was still / fairly early, but 'quite dark, J because in the tropics there is / 110 twilight, '1 nd the blanket J / of night descends almost ft A abruptly. ; fj As we swung along the road ft .> | into t'lie edge of the f _ -

forest, I could lienr tlioso guitars, and the voices of Don Pedro's men blending in really beautiful harmony. "We've no reason to be scared, have we?" 1 was talking to Pinto and patling him 011 the shoulder —110 answering with reassuring snorts. Ho was a lovely creature—a Cuban pony with a dash of Arabian blood in his veins. And with amazing intuition. Take to-night—the way lip was feeling his way nlong in the inky blackness as wo got into the forest. dodging tree trunks, overhanging branches and other tangled masses, missing all the bad spots in the road — it was uncanny. Woods' Haunted Two hours or more and wo had cleared the first bit of forest—forded the tricky Maximo —and were invading that part of the woods supposedly haunted. Here the growth ivas if anything denser. In the daytime it was a glorious sight —huge banyan, jiquc, and a fortune in magnificent rosewood and mahogany trees. Hut nothing of all this could be seen at night. Now and again, however, where a top-heavy banyan had gone over, I got a welcome glimpse of sky. and the hazy effect of a rising moon —to relieve the monotonous darkness. 1 was glad the moon was coming up. We were pushing along, and bad covered about five miles since lo.'ning the river, when suddenly the stillness was broken, and a iffocking bird went screeching through the forest. It startled me. to sav the least. At the same moment I thought I heard the tramping of hoofs behind me. Yes, Pinto, too. had heard if. That Creepy Feeling I pulled up in the next clearing and waited. In a moment or two J heard it again. Plunk . . . plunk . . . plunk . . . from behind us —the unmistakable sound of hoofs on the muddy road. Pinto swung round and faced the hirnl trail, j ears cocked.

"Nonsense, " when they w Was that jungle spectre nonsense,

Illustrated by F. Van Brussell

This wasn't a bit like my horse. Ho seemed quito nervous. Then, looking in tlio direction of the sounds, 1 saw what could have been a fi roily—a small light. As i sat there, the I i 111 drew nearer and nearer. Presently the white head of a horse emerged from tho shade. |''or some unaocountahle reason 1 began to experience that " creepy " feeling. Mut in another moment both the horse and its rider came into full view; and at sight of them L was considerably relieved.

I can't say, exactly, what it was I'd been expecting; hut it was only a Cuban, smoking a, cigarette! He was riding bareback. Welcome Company Bo called out to inn cheerfully, above the racket ol the stamping horse —a very high-spirited animal, seemed to he doing its best to dismount its rider. And L'into. just to be sociable, apparently, was putting on a little act of his own.

I acknowledged the stranger's greeting. and then remarked that as we were both headed the same way, we .might as well ride together. "Your company will be m.ist welcome. my friend." l lie fellow assured me pleasantly. And immediately, needing no coaxing, the two horses wero away l'into in the lead, tearing through that trail just as fast as lie could, the other animal right on bis heels all the time, both of them snorting their heads off.

We mood along liko this for quite n distance, before we had a chance to s|)oak to each other again. .But t knowone tiling—-1 was more grateful for this stranger's company than T cared to lot on. Don Pedro s talk about these I woods kept thrusting itself into my mind. ] was on the point of asking the Cuban if he'd heard anything—but instead 1 said: "Wonder what makes the horses so nervous ?" He laughed softly. "Possibly the night . . . the dark woods," Ho laughed again, then grew quiet. Hut he was constantly smoking cigarettes. No sooner had he finished one than he lit another. Astonishing News "Lonely place, amigo." His voice broke another long silence. "The loneliest place on earth," 1 agreed wholeheartedly. "I'll bo glad when we're out into the open, believe nie." ",\h, yes. the open." And then as if that had just reminded him: "Have you heard the outside news, my friend?" I answered in the negative. "Germany has declared the war." His,.voice groiv-•■distant- and remote. "There will he four years of slaughter. Britain and all the groat nations of the world will be drawn into the struggle, j And it will be the greatest war of all ! times." "Britain at war! What a shock this was going to be to the folks in our little Knglisli settlement.'' That was my first thought. Then I turned to my companion eagerly: "August the Fourth" "When diil you hear this?" ".Just have heard it now." He paused. "August the fourth. You will remember this date, my friend." And no matter how I questioned him that is all he would tellume. "He's a funny sore of duck." I muttered, feeling just a l>it peeved. Then I got to thinking of the news lie had given me, and soon all other thoughts were crowded out, as we continued for mile upon mile along that lonely trail, j

] can't say how far we'd 20110. when my companion quietly informed me: "I'm stopping here, amino. I go no further." We had ju.it reached the foot of a great banyan. "Stopping here? -What the devil for?'' With difficulty I brought Pinto to a halt turned around, and got my first good look at the man. "That Makes Me Sorry" Seated Ihero 011 his extremely restive horse, still smoking, the glew irom the cigarette lighting up his face under a battered cap, lie made a striking enough picture. Hut it was his eyes . . . ] found myself looking into a pair of the most sombre eyes 1 vc ever seen. There was a sadness 1 cannot describe, 011 his liuelv chiselled features.

"1 live here," he told me simply, and alighted 11 is horse, the moment it was released, bolted and made off through the forest like the wind.

"Live here!" I echoed his words lamely, "i —1 don't understand." "That makes me sorry I have not the time to explain it all to you. .But you shall know my name," ho continued. "It is Juan Gonsale/.. And ! have lived here since the last great battle in the wars for Cuban Independence. T am a i veteran." He wasn't at all boastful. ! His voice was gentle, almost apologetic, j "Good night, amigo. I must leave you now, but El Hnen Dios He will keep you safe the rest of the way." "Come and See" With that lie sot out briskly around the banyan tree, (f have told you that this tree was immense. At its base it must have been *lO feet through.) And then my recent companion's voice came laughing back to me from somewhere the other side of the tree: "You don't think this is nice place to live? You can come to see —if you like it." jiy this time, T suppose anybody would have come to the conclusion the man was a bit off, or let us say, mildly cracked. Just the same, ] was curious to want to see his place Pinto, however, very definitely had other ideas, and for quite a while absolutely refused to budge. As a last resort, reluctantly, 1 used the spurs. ] had succeeded in getting him about half-way round the banyan, when 1 not the fright of my life—a fright that sent us streaking through that forest like lightning and 011 to the moonflooded savannah a mile away. Embraced in Forest Folds A moonbeam —slanting obliqely—had picked its way through the foliage, and come to rest 011 a jique cross; upon' which the following inscription stood out as clearly as if it had been broad daylight: JUAN GOXSALEZ Veteran of the Wars of Independence Died Aug, 4th, 1895 J had forgotten all about the old cemetery grounds just east, of the Maximo. Yet in my boyhood I'd heard much about them . . . graves embraced in the dark folds of the forest.