International Short Stories: American — John Shaqi
International Short Stories: American
General
International Short Stories: American
Short stories, American
As he approached the stream his heart began to thump; he summoned up,
however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in
the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead
of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement,
and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased
with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily
with the contrary foot. It was all in vain; his steed started, it is
true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a
thicket of brambles and alder-bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed
both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who
dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the
bridge with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over
his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge
caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove,
on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black
and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom,
like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveler.
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror.
What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides,
what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was,
which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore,
a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents--"Who are you?"
He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated
voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgeled the sides of
the inflexible Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes, broke forth with
involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of
alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at
once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal,
yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained.
He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a
black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or
sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on
the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and
waywardness.
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