Вершник без голови

Chapter 82

           PoorMissPeintdexter!Ihopeshe’llbeabletosteercluro’havin’sechacut-throatashimtobeherlordanmaster.

           "What’supanyhow?Thardon’t’peartobeanythin’arterhim?An’hestillkeepson!Whar’sheboun’fornow?Imustfolleransee.

           "Tohumagin!"exclaimedthehunter,aftergoingontotheedgeofthechapparal,andobservedCalhounstillgoingatagallop,withheadturnedhomeward."Humagin,forsartin!

           "Now,olegurl!"hecontinued,havingremainedsilenttillthegreyhorsewasnearlyoutofsight,"Youanmegoest’otherway.Wemustfindoutwhatthetshotwurfiredfor."

           ***

           Intenminutesafter,Zebhadalightedfromhismare,andliftedupfromthegroundanobject,thestoutestheartmighthavefelthorrorintakingholdofdisgust,even,intouching!

           Notsotheoldhunter.Inthatobjecthebeheldthelineamentsofafacewellknowntohimdespitetheshrivellingoftheskin,andthebloodstreaksthatsofearfullyfalsifieditsexpressionstilldeartohim,despitedeathandamercilessmutilation.

           Hehadlovedthatface,whenitbelongedtoaboy;henowcherishedit,belongingnottoanybody!

           ClaspingtherimofthehatthatfittedtightlytothetemplesZebendeavouredtotakeitoff.Hedidnotsucceed.Theheadwasswollensoasalmosttoburstthebullionbandtwistedaroundit!

           Holdingitinitsnaturalposition,Zebstoodforatimegazingtenderlyontheface

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