Вершник без голови

Chapter 1

           Theycantellthattheyarenolongeradvancinginadirectline;butcircuitouslyamongthecopses,andacrossthegladesthatstretchbetween.

           Allaregratifiedbyashoutfromtheconductor,announcingrecoveredconfidence.Inresponsethereisauniversalexplosionofwhipcord,withjoyousexclamations.

           Oncemoretheyarestretchingtheirteamsalongatravelledroad—whereahalf-scoreofwheeledvehiclesmusthavepassedbeforethem.Andnotlongbefore:thewheel-tracksareofrecentimpress—thehoof-printsoftheanimalsfreshasifmadewithinthehour.Atrainofwaggons,notunliketheirown,musthavepassedovertheburntprairie!

           Likethemselves,itcouldonlybegoingtowardstheLeona:perhapssomegovernmentconvoyonitswaytoFortInge?Inthatcasetheyhaveonlytokeepinthesametrack.TheFortisonthelineoftheirmarch—butashortdistancebeyondthepointwheretheirjourneyistoterminate.

           Nothingcouldbemoreopportune.Theguide,hithertoperplexed—thoughwithoutacknowledgingit—isatoncerelievedofallanxiety;andwithafreshexhibitionofconceit,orderstheroutetoberesumed.

           Foramileormorethewaggon-tracksarefollowed—notinadirectline,butbendingaboutamongtheskeletoncopses.ThecountenanceofCassiusCalhoun,forawhilewearingaconfidentlook,graduallybecomesclouded

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Roboto Lora
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