982 A PHANTOM JOURNEY 



On we dashed, the two outside horses cantering, 

 the shaft horse trotting, all three anon breaking 

 into a hard gallop, which set the sleigh bells 

 tankling and jerking, whilst the long-drawn cries of 

 our driver rang out across the frozen expanse. Far 

 off a string of little black dots swung into view. 

 Momentarily they grew larger. Their outlines 

 became less blurred. Then we distinguished 

 sleighs, four, one behind the other. Our driver 

 gave one of his full-chested roars. Nearer came 

 the advancing sleighs ; but they made no haste to 

 vacate the road. We were going full gallop, our 

 driver, the reins at arm's length, back-braced, 

 talking to the horses between his cries. On we 

 went, faster and faster, and still the obstructing 

 sleighs held on their course. A crash seemed 

 imminent. "Hold on!" cried George. The sleighs 

 were right on us. Then, yelling like a fiend, our 

 buccaneer swerved across the front sleigh, and 

 crack went his whip across the driver's back. I saw 

 an avenging lash fly up against the moon-lit sky, but 

 it buried itself harmlessly enough in the snow 

 behind us, to the accompaniment of its owner's 

 curse. Crack again, across the third man's knees ; 

 then we were back on the road again, and I caught 

 a gleam of white teeth in a bearded face as a great 

 roaring laugh went echoing back to a confused 

 tangle of men and sleighs. It was a superb piece 

 of driving. 



On we went in our mad career. In front again 

 jogged another sleigh. Almost before its owner 

 realised our existence we had flashed past him, 

 there was a slight shock, and I saw him flounder 

 backwards into the snow. His foot caught as he 



