The Headless Horseman: A Strange Tale of Texas

It could not be a man? He did not believe it to be one; and this thought might have reassured him, but for the behaviour of the horse. It was that wild unearthly neigh, that was now chilling his blood, and causing his limbs to shake, as if under an ague.

He would have retreated; but, for a time, he felt absolutely unable to rise to his feet; and he remained kneeling, in a sort of stupefied terror – watching the weird form till it receded out of sight far off over the moonlit plain. Not till then did he recover sufficient courage, to enable him to glide back down the gorge, and on towards the jacalé.

And not till he was under its roof, did he feel sufficiently himself, to reflect with any calmness on the odd encounter that had occurred to him.

It was some time before his mind became disabused of the idea that he had been dealing with the devil. Reflection, however, convinced him of the improbability of this; though it gave him no clue as to what the thing really was.

“Shurly,” muttered he, his conjectural form of speech showing that he was still undecided, “Shurly arter all it can’t be a thing o’ the tother world – else I kedn’t a heern the cothug o’ my bullet? Sartin the lead struck agin somethin’ solid; an I reck’n thur’s nothin’ solid in the karkidge o’ a ghost?”

“Wagh!” he concluded, apparently resigning the attempt to obtain a solution of the strange physical phenomenon. “Let the durned thing slide! One o’ two things it air boun’ to be: eyther a bunnel o’ rags, or ole Harry from hell?”

As he re-entered the hut, the blue light of morning stole in along with him.

It was time to awaken Phelim, that he might take his turn by the bedside of the invalid.

The Connemara man, now thoroughly restored to sobriety, and under the impression of having been a little derelict in his duty, was ready to undertake the task.

The old hunter, before consigning his charge to the care of his unskilled successor, made a fresh dressing of the scratches – availing himself of the knowledge that a long experience had given him in the pharmacopoeia of the forest.

The nopal was near; and its juice inspissated into the fresh wounds would not fail to effect their speedy cure.

Zeb knew that in twenty-four hours after its application, they would be in process of healing; and in three days, entirely cicatrised.

With this confidence – common to every denizen of the cactus-covered land of Mexico – he felt defiant as to doctors; and if a score of them could have been procured upon the instant, he would not have summoned one. He was convinced that Maurice Gerald was in no danger – at least not from his wounds.

There was a danger; but that was of a different kind.

“An’ now, Mister Pheelum,” said he, on making a finish of his surgical operations; “we hev dud all thet kin be dud for the outard man, an it air full time to look arter the innard. Ye say thur ain’t nuthin to eet?”

“Not so much as a purtaty, Misther Stump. An’ what’s worse thare’s nothin’ to dhrink – not a dhrap lift in the whole cyabin.”

“Durn ye, that’s yur fault,” cried Stump, turning upon the Irishman with a savage scowl that showed equal regret at the announcement. “Eft hadn’t a been for you, thur war licker enough to a lasted till the young fellur got roun’ agin. What’s to be dud now?”

“Sowl, Misther Stump! yez be wrongin’ me althegither intirely. That same yez are. I hadn’t a taste exciptin what came out av the little flask. It wus thim Indyins that imptied the dimmyjan. Trath was it.”

“Wagh! ye cudn’t a got drunk on what wur contained i’ the flask. I know yur durned guts too well for thet. Ye must a had a good pull at the tother, too.”

“Be all the saints – ”

“Durn yur stinkin’ saints! D’you s’pose any man o’ sense believes in sech varmint as them?

“Wal; ’tain’t no use talkin’ any more beout it. Ye’ve sucked up the corn juice, an thur’s an end o’t. Thur ain’t no more to be hed ’ithin twenty mile, an we must go ’ithout.”

“Be Jaysus, but it’s bad!”

“Shet up yur head, durn ye, an hear what I’ve got to say. We’ll hev to go ’ithout drinkin’; but thet air no reezun for sturvin’ ourselves for want o’ somethin’ to eet. The young fellur, I don’t misdoubt, air by this time half starved hisself. Thur’s not much on his stummuk, I reck’n, though thur may be on his mind. As for meself, I’m jest hungry enough to eat coyoat; an I ain’t very sure I’d turn away from turkey buzzart; which, as I reck’n, wud be a wusser victual than coyoat. But we ain’t obleeged to eet turkey buzzart, whar thur’s a chance o’ gettin’ turkey; an thet ain’t so dewbious along the Alamo. You stay hyur, an take care o’ the young fellur, whiles I try up the crik, an see if I kin kum acrosst a gobbler.”

“I’ll do that, Misther Stump, an no mistake. Be me trath – ”

“Keep yur palaver to yurself, till I’ve finished talkin’ to ye.”

“Sowl! I won’t say a word.”

“Then don’t, but lissen! Thur’s somethin ’bout which I don’t wait ye to make any mistake. It air this. Ef there shed anybody stray this way dyurin my absince, ye’ll let me know. You musn’t lose a minnit o’ time, but let me know.”

“Shure I will – sowl, yis.”

“Wal, I’ll depend on ye.”

“Trath, yez may; – but how Misther Stump? How am I to lit yez know, if you’re beyant hearin’ av me voice? How thin?”

“Wal, I reck’n, I shan’t need to go so fur as thet. Thur ought to be gobblers cloast by – at this time o’ the mornin’.

“An yit there moutent,” continued Zeb, after reflecting a while. “Ye ain’t got sech a thing as a gun in the shanty? A pistol ’ud do.”

“Nayther wan nor the tother. The masther tuk both away wid him, when he went last time to the sittlements. He must have lift them thare.”

“It air awk’ard. I mout not heer yur shout.”

Zeb, who had by this time passed through the doorway, again stopped to reflect.

“Heigh!” he exclaimed, after a pause of six seconds. “I’ve got it. I’ve treed the eydee. Ye see my ole maar, tethered out thur on the grass?”

“Shure I do, Misther Stump. Av coorse I do.”

“Wal, ye see thet ere prickly cacktis plant growin’ cloast to the edge o’ the openin’?”

“Faith, yis.”

“Wal, that’s sensible o’ ye. Now lissen to what I say. Ye must keep a look out at the door; an ef anybody kums up whiles I’m gone, run straight custrut for the cacktis, cut off one o’ its branches – the thorniest ye kin see – an stick it unner the maar’s tail.”

“Mother av Moses! For what div yez want me to do that?”

“Wal, I reck’n I’d better explain,” said Zeb, reflectingly; “otherwise ye’ll be makin’ a mess o’ it.”

“Ye see, Pheelum, ef anybody interlopes durin’ my absince I hed better be hyur. I ain’t a goin’ fur off. But howsomediver near, I moutn’t hear yur screech; thurfore the maar’s ’ll do better. You clap the cacktis under her tail, cloast up to the fundament; and ef she don’t squeal loud enuf to be heern by me, then ye may konklude that this coon air eyther rubbed out, or hev both his lugs plugged wi picket pins. So, Pheelum; do you adzactly as I’ve tolt ye.”

“I’ll do it, be Japers!”

“Be sure now. Yur master’s life may depend upon it.”

After delivering this last caution, the hunter shouldered his long rifle, and walked away from the hut.

“He’s a cute owld chap that same,” said Phelim as soon as Zeb was out of hearing. “I wonder what he manes by the master bein’ in danger from any wan comin’ to the cyabin. He sed, that his life moight depend upon it? Yis – he sed that.”

“He towlt me to kape a luk out. I suppose he maned me to begin at wance. I must go to the inthrance thin.”

So saying, he stepped outside the door; and proceeded to make an ocular inspection of the paths by which the jacalé might be approached.