Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman. Майн Рид

      A blood-bay[5] steed, such as might have been ridden by an Arab sheik. On his back a rider – a young man of not more than five-and-twenty – of noble form and features, dressed in the picturesque costume of a Mexican rancher[6]. Thus looked the horseman, upon whom the planter and his people were gazing.

      Through the curtains of the travelling carriage he was regarded with glances that spoke of a singular sentiment. For the first time in her life, Louise Poindexter looked upon that – hitherto known only to her imagination—a man of heroic mould.[7] Proud might he have been, could he have guessed the interest which his presence was exciting in the breast of the young Creole.[8]

      “By my faith!” he declared, facing round to the owner of the waggons, “I can discover no landmarks for you to steer by. For all that, I can find the way myself. You will have to cross the Leona five miles below the Fort; and, as I have to go by the crossing myself, you can follow the tracks of my horse. But you may not be able to distinguish them”, said the horseman after a pause, “the more so, that in these dry ashes all horse-tracks are so nearly alike.”

      “What are we to do?” despairingly asked the planter.

      “I am sorry, Mr Poindexter, I cannot stay to conduct you, I am riding express, with a despatch for the Fort. If you should lose my trail, keep the sun on your right shoulders: so that your shadows may fall to the left, at an angle of about fifteen degrees to your line of march. Go straight forward for about five miles. You will then come in sight of the top of a tall tree – a cypress.[9] Head direct for this tree. It stands on the bank of the river; and close by is the crossing.”

      The young horseman, once more drawing up his reins, was about to ride off; when something caused him to linger. It was a pair of dark lustrous eyes – observed by him for the first time – glancing through the curtains of the travelling carriage.

      He perceived, moreover, that they were turned upon himself – fixed, as he fancied, in an expression that betokened interest – almost tenderness!

      He returned it with an involuntary glance of admiration, which he made but an awkward attempt to conceal.

      “You are very kind, sir,” said Poindexter; “but with the directions you have given us, I think we shall be able to manage. The sun will surely show us —”

      “No: now I look at the sky, it will not. There are clouds looming up on the north. In an hour, the sun may be obscured – at all events, before you can get within sight of the cypress. It will not do. Stay!” he continued, after a reflective pause, “I have a better plan still: follow the trail of my lazo!”

      While speaking, he had lifted the coiled rope and flung the loose end to the earth – the other being secured to a ring in the pommel. Then raising his hat in graceful salutation – more than half directed towards the travelling carriage – he gave the spur to his steed.

      The lazo, lengthening out, tightened over the hips of his horse; and, dragging a dozen yards behind, left a line upon the cinereous surface.

      1) Who is the owner of the train? Where is he from? Where is he going to?

      2) Who accompanies the planter?

      3) Why is it hard to find the way?

      4) Why did the overseer stop? Who becomes a new guide?

      5) Who had left those wheel-tracks that Cassius Calhoun decided to follow?

      6) Why did Calhoun’s confident look become clouded?

      7) Who helped the travellers find the way? How did he do it?

      8) Why didn’t the horseman stay with the travellers to conduct them?

      Chapter Two

      “An exceedingly curious fellow!” remarked the planter, as they stood gazing after the horseman. “I ought to have asked him his name?”

      “An exceedingly conceited fellow, I should say,” muttered Calhoun; who had not failed to notice the glance sent by the stranger in the direction of the carriole, nor that which had challenged it.

      “Come, cousin Cash,” protested young Poindexter; “you are unjust to the stranger. He appears to be educated – in fact, a gentleman.”

      During this brief conversation, the fair occupant of the carriole was seen to bend forward; and direct a look of evident interest, after the form of the horseman fast receding from her view.

      To this, perhaps, might have been traced the acrimony observable in the speech of Calhoun.

      “What is it, Loo?” he inquired, riding close up to the carriage, and speaking in a voice not loud enough to be heard by the others. “You appear impatient to go forward? Perhaps you’d like to ride off along with that fellow? It isn’t too late: I’ll lend you my horse.”

      The young girl threw herself back upon the seat – evidently displeased, both by the speech and the tone in which it was delivered. A clear ringing laugh was her only reply.

      “So, so! I thought there must be something – by the way you behaved yourself in his presence. You looked as if you would have relished a tete-a-tete with this despatch-bearer. No doubt the letter carrier, employed by the officers at the Fort!”

      “A letter carrier, you think? Oh, how I should like to get love letters by such a postman!”

      “You had better hasten on, and tell him so. My horse is at your service.”

      “Ha! ha! ha! What a simpleton you show yourself! Suppose, I did have a fancy to overtake this prairie postman! It couldn’t be done upon that dull steed of yours: not a bit of it! Oh, no! he’s not to be overtaken by me, however much I might like it; and perhaps I might