The White Riders had disappeared as mysteriously as they came. Only one person was known to have seen them after they had left the church--it was several days before the Rev. Jeremiah could be induced to relate his experience--and that person was Mr. Sanders. What he claimed to have witnessed was even more alarming than the brief episode that occurred at the Rev. Jeremiah's church. Mr. Sanders was called on to repeat the story many times during the next few weeks, but it was observed by a few of the more thoughtful that he described what he had seen with greater freedom and vividness when there was a negro within hearing. His narrative was something like this: "Gus Tidwell sent arter me to go look at his sick hoss, an' I went an' doctored him the best I know'd how, an' then started home ag'in. I had but one thought on my mind; Gus had offered to pay me for my trouble sech as it was, an' I was tryin' for to figger out in my mind what in the name of goodness had come over Gus. I come mighty nigh whirlin' roun' in my tracks, an' walkin' all the way back jest to see ef he didn't need a little physic. He was cold sober at the time, an' all of a sudden, when he seed that I had fetched his hoss through a mighty bad case of the mollygrubs, he says to me, 'Mr. Sanders,' says he, 'you've saved me a mighty fine hoss, an' I want to pay you for it. You've had mighty hard work; what is it all wuth?' 'Gus,' says I, 'jest gi' me a drink of cold water for to keep me from faintin', an' we'll say no more about it.' "Well, I didn't turn back, though I was much of a mind to. I mosied along wondering what had come over Gus. I had got as fur on my way home as the big 'simmon tree--you-all know whar that is--when all of a sudden, I felt the wind a-risin'. It puffed in my face, an' felt warm, sorter like when the wind blows down the chimbley in the winter time. Then I heard a purrin' sound, an' I looked up, an' right at me was a gang of white hosses an' riders. They was right on me before I seed 'em, an' I couldn't 'a' got out'n the'r way ef I'd 'a' had the wings of a hummin'-bird. So I jest ketched my breath, an' bowed my head, an' tried to say, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' I couldn't think of the rest, an' it wouldn't 'a' done no good nohow. I cast my eye aroun', findin' that I wasn't trompled, an' the whole caboodle was gone. I didn't feel nothin' but the wind they raised, as they went over me an' up into the elements. Did you ever pass along by a pastur' at night, an' hear a cow fetch a long sigh? Well, that's jest the kind of fuss they made as they passed out'n sight."