Всадник без головы

Chapter 42

           Nowmorethanamilefromthepointoftheirfirstsegregation,theywereallofthemstillthere—theirnumbersevenaugmentedbyfreshdetachmentsthathadbecomewarnedoftheexpectedprey.Thoughawarethatthequarrystilllivedandmoved,theysawthatitwasstricken.Instinct—perhapsratherexperience—toldthemitmustsoonsuccumb.

           Theirshadowscrossedandrecrossedthetrackuponwhichheadvanced—fillinghimwithominousfearsfortheend.

           Therewasnonoise:forthesebirdsaresilentintheirflight—evenwhenexcitedbytheprospectofarepast.Thehotsunhadstilledthevoicesofthecricketsandtree-toads.Eventhehideous"hornedfrog"reclinedlistlessalongtheearth,shelteringitstuberculatedbodyunderthestones.

           Theonlysoundstodisturbthesolitudeofthechapparalwerethosemadebythesuffererhimself—theswishingofhisgarments,astheybrushedagainstthehirsuteplantsthatbesetthepath;andoccasionallyhiscries,sentforthinthefainthopeoftheirbeingheard.

           Bythistime,bloodwasminglingwiththesweatuponhisskin.Thespinesofthecactus,andtheclawlikethornsoftheagave,hadbeendoingtheirwork;andscarceaninchoftheepidermisuponhisface,hands,andlimbs,thatwasnotrentwithalaceration.

           Hewasneartothepointofdespondence—inrealtruth,hehadreachedit:forafteraspellofshoutinghehadflunghimselfprostratealongtheearth,despairinglyindifferentaboutproceedingfarther.

           Inalllikelihooditwastheattitudethatsavedhim

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