It may have been their intention merely to give him a sound thrashing; but, unluckily, there was the man who had a brother to avenge. He had a sword concealed under his cloak, and when the others had pulled the priest off the horse and thrown him to the ground, the man drew his sword and cut off the priest’s head. The moment the deed was done they were filled with terror of discovery, and thought only of escape. They let the horse run loose and left the corpse lying at the roadside, to make it appear that the murder had been committed by wild robbers. Running for home by the way they had come, over the bogs, they hoped no one had seen them. They had not been on any passable road, and their venturing across the marshes would not have aroused suspicion. Things went better than they expected. Inasmuch as the priest had been at odds with his parishioners, there was no eager search for him. When at last his body was found the crime was attributed to robbers and outlaws. Even in death he was regarded as unclean. No one would touch the body. Since the people deemed him unfit to rest in consecrated ground, they let him lie where he was, merely covering him with sod, over which they built a cairn of large stones to prevent wild beasts digging him out. But the priest could not find rest in the grave thus prepared for him. On moonlight nights he would appear in the road near the Resting-stone in his long cassock, holding his head between his hands. Horses saw him plainer than humans did, and would shy and rear so that riders were frequently obliged to make a long detour through the wild forest. So long as there were only cowherds and shepherds at Mårbacka, these ghostly appearances meant very little. It was quite another matter when Mårbacka became a regular farmstead. How to lay the ghost none knew, and year after year folk had to take care not to be out on the road near the Resting-stone along about midnight. The old mistress, however, had assured the housekeeper that nowadays none need fear the headless priest. A housewife at Mårbacka--a strong-minded, determined woman, who knew a little more than the common run of folk--had laid the ghost. That farm mistress happened to be out riding late one evening along Vilarstensbacken when--just as she expected--the ghost appeared in the road near the cairn, and made as if to bar her way. The woman was neither awed nor frightened and her horse was as calm and fearless as herself. She rode right up to the “spook,” and began to admonish it. “Why can’t you stay where you belong!” she said. “You know well enough that no better grave awaits you. So don’t imagine you will be allowed to lie in churchyard mould--you who were so corrupt when you died.” This was spoken with firm conviction, for she knew, of course, that he had been a hard man, and really considered him unworthy a decent burial. “You have no cause to rise out of your grave and demand vengeance,” she went on, “for you only got what you deserved.”