Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

You see them now?”

“I do – though I can’t say what they are. They look like – like – I really don’t know what.”

Against the northern horizon had suddenly lifted a number of dark columns – half a score of them – unlike anything ever seen before. They were constantly changing size, shape, and place.

In the proximity of phenomena never observed before – unknown to every individual of the party – it was but natural these should be inspired with alarm.

A general halt had been made on first observing the strange objects: the negroes on foot, as well as the teamsters, giving utterance to shouts of terror.

The animals – mules as well as horses, had come instinctively to a stand. The danger, whatever it might be, was drawing nearer!

Consternation became depicted on the countenances of the travellers. The eyes of all were turned towards the lowering sky, and the band of black columns that appeared coming on to crush them!

At this crisis a shout, reaching their ears from the opposite side, was a source of relief – despite the unmistakable accent of alarm in which it was uttered.

Turning, they beheld a horseman in full gallop – riding direct towards them.

The horse was black as coal: the rider of like hue, even to the skin of his face. For all that he was recognised: as the stranger, upon the trail of whose lazo they had been travelling.

“Onward!” he cried, as soon as within speaking distance. “On – on! as fast as you can drive!”

“What is it?” demanded the planter, in bewildered alarm.

“Is there a danger?”

“There is. I did not anticipate it, as I passed you. It was only after reaching the river, I saw the sure signs of it.”

“Of what, sir?”

“The norther.”[11 - norther – сильный северный ветер]

“I never heard of its being dangerous,” interposed Calhoun, “except to vessels at sea. It’s precious cold, I know; but—”

“You’ll find it worse than cold, sir,” interrupted the young horseman, “if you’re not quick in getting out of its way.

Mr Poindexter,” he continued, turning to the planter, and speaking with impatient emphasis, “I tell you, that you and your party are in peril. A norther is not always to be dreaded. Those black pillars are nothing – only the precursors of the storm. Look beyond! Don’t you see a black cloud spreading over the sky? That’s what you have to dread.