The Headless Horseman: A Strange Tale of Texas

“Trath has thare – plinty besoides. An av all sorts, an colours too. First an foremost there was wan comin’ this way, though he didn’t git all the way to the cyabin. But I daren’t tell you about him, for it moight frighten ye, miss.”

“Tell me. I have no fear.”

“Be dad! and I can’t make it out meself quite intirely. It was a man upon horseback widout a hid.”

“Without a head!”

“Divil a bit av that same on his body.”

The statement caused Phelim to be suspected of having lost his.

“An’ what’s more, miss, he was for all the world like Masther Maurice himself. Wid his horse undher him, an his Mexikin blanket about his showlders, an everything just as the young masther looks, when he’s mounted, Sowl! wasn’t I scared, whin I sit my eyes on him.”

“But where did you see this, Mr O’Neal?”

“Up thare on the top av the bluff. I was out lookin’ for the masther to come back from the Sittlement, as he’d promised he wud that mornin’, an who showld I see but hisself, as I supposed it to be. An’ thin he comes ridin’ up, widout his hid, an’ stops a bit, an thin goes off at a tarin’ gallop, wid Tara gowlin’ at his horse’s heels, away acrass the big plain, till I saw no more av him. Thin I made back for the cyabin heeur, an shut meself up, and wint to slape; and just in the middle av me dhrames, whin I was dhramin’ of – but trath, miss, yez’ll be toired standin’ on yer feet all this time. Won’t yez take aff yer purty little ridin’ hat, an sit down on the thrunk thare? – it’s asier than the stool. Do plaze take a sate; for if I’m to tell yez all – ”

“Never mind me – go on. Please tell me who else has been here besides this strange cavalier; who must have been some one playing a trick upon you, I suppose.”

“A thrick, miss! Trath that’s just what owld Zeb sayed.”

“He has been here, then?”

“Yis – yis – but not till long afther the others.”

“The others?”

“Yis, miss. Zeb only arroived yestherday marnin’. The others paid their visit the night afore, an at a very unsayzonable hour too, wakin’ me out av the middle av my slape.”

“But who? – what others?”

“Why the Indyens, to be shure.”

“There have been Indians, then?”

“Trath was there – a whole tribe av thim. Well, as I’ve been tillin’ yez, miss, jest as I wus in a soun’ slape, I heerd talkin’ in the cyabin heern, right over my hid, an the shufflin’ av paper, as if somebody was dalin’ a pack av cards, an – Mother av Moses! fwhat’s that?”

“What?”

“Didn’t yez heear somethin’? Wheesht! Thare it is agane! Trath, it’s the trampin’ av horses! They’re jist outside.”

Phelim rushed towards the door.

“Be Sant Pathrick! the place is surrounded wid men on horseback. Thare’s a thousand av them! an more comin’ behind! Be japers! them’s the chaps owld Zeb – Now for a frish spell av squeelin! O Lard! I’ll be too late!”

Seizing the cactus-branch – that for convenience he had brought inside the hut – he dashed out through the doorway.

“Mon Dieu!” cried the Creole, “’tis they! My father, and I here! How shall I explain it? Holy Virgin, save me from shame!”

Instinctively she sprang towards the door, closing it, as she did so. But a moment’s reflection showed her how idle was the act. They who were outside would make light of such obstruction. Already she recognised the voices of the Regulators!

The opening in the skin wall came under her eye. Should she make a retreat through that, undignified as it might be?

It was no longer possible. The sound of hoofs also in the rear! There were horsemen behind the hut!

Besides, her own steed was in front – that ocellated creature not to be mistaken. By this time they must have identified it!

But there was another thought that restrained her from attempting to retreat – one more generous.

He was in danger – from which even the unconsciousness of it might not shield him! Who but she could protect him?

“Let my good name go!” thought she. “Father – friends – all – all but him, if God so wills it! Shame, or no shame, to him will I be true!”

As these noble thoughts passed through her mind, she took her stand by the bedside of the invalid, like a second Dido, resolved to risk all – even death itself – for the hero of her heart.

Chapter Sixty Two.

Waiting for the Cue

Never, since its erection, was there such a trampling of hoofs around the hut of the horse-catcher – not even when its corral was filled with fresh-taken mustangs.

Phelim, rushing out from the door, is saluted by a score of voices that summon him to stop.

One is heard louder than the rest, and in tones of command that proclaim the speaker to be chief of the party.

“Pull up, damn you! It’s no use – your trying to escape. Another step, and ye’ll go tumbling in your tracks. Pull up, I say!”

The command takes effect upon the Connemara man, who has been making direct for Zeb Stump’s mare, tethered on the other side of the opening. He stops upon the instant.

“Shure, gintlemen, I don’t want to escyape,” asseverates he, shivering at the sight of a score of angry faces, and the same number of gun-barrels bearing upon his person; “I had no such intinshuns. I was only goin’ to – ”

“Run off, if ye’d got the chance. Ye’d made a good beginning. Here, Dick Tracey! half-a-dozen turns of your trail-rope round him. Lend a hand, Shelton! Damned queer-looking curse he is! Surely, gentlemen, this can’t be the man we’re in search of?”

“No, no! it isn’t. Only his man John.”

“Ho! hilloa, you round there at the back! Keep your eyes skinned. We havn’t got him yet. Don’t let as much as a cat creep past you. Now, sirree! who’s inside?”

“Who’s insoide? The cyabin div yez mane?”

“Damn ye! answer the question that’s put to ye!” says Tracey, giving his prisoner a touch of the trail-rope. “Who’s inside the shanty?”

“O Lard! Needs must whin the divvel dhrives. Wil, then, thare’s the masther for wan – ”

“Ho! what’s this?” inquires Woodley Poindexter, at this moment, riding up, and seeing the spotted mare. “Why – it – it’s Looey’s mustang!”

“It is, uncle,” answers Cassius Calhoun, who has ridden up along with him.

“I wonder who’s brought the beast here?”