IN NIGHTMARE’S GRIP. 117 
One fine brown young cow in particular 
seemed as though ridden bya fiend. She was 
not; but a big, brownish, hornet-like fly was 
chasing her, and doing its best, apparently, to 
ride her. And from that fly’s wings came the 
peculiar hum that spread terror beyond ex- 
pression in words. 
But the cow was such a racer that the fly 
gave up the chase. It swerved. It whirred 
away across the field, where the cattle stood 
dotted everywhere. The young cow pulled 
up. 
You behold the intruder, a portent of evil, 
as it were, dancing in the sun, approaching 
another cow. She gave one glare of horror, 
spun with amazing agility, curled her tail in 
that same odd way, and jumped into full gallop 
at once. 
Away they went, fly and cow, sweeping 
over the luscious, long grass with a rush that 
put up the young starlings in squawking, 
amazed companies, and set even the sedate 
rooks on wing. 
Past the old cow with the tumours they — 
shot. She, wise thing, ‘froze’ motionless in 
her tracks where she stood, hoping against 
hope to avoid discovery—and then, in a flash, 
the fly was on the other cow’s back. 
It did not stay there long. It did not bite. 
