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There
was
nothing
to
be
seen
there
.
But
there
was
something
to
be
heard
.
As
Zeb
stood
listening
there
came
a
sound
from
the
upper
plain
,
that
seemed
to
have
been
produced
not
far
back
from
the
summit
of
the
cliff
.
It
resembled
the
clinking
of
a
horse
's
shoe
struck
against
a
loose
stone
.
So
conjectured
Zeb
,
as
with
open
ears
he
listened
to
catch
its
repetition
.
It
was
not
repeated
;
but
he
soon
saw
what
told
him
his
conjecture
was
correct
--
a
horse
,
stepping
out
from
behind
the
treetops
,
and
advancing
along
the
line
of
the
bluff
.
There
was
a
man
upon
his
back
--
both
horse
and
man
distinctly
seen
in
dark
silhouette
against
the
clear
sapphire
sky
.
The
figure
of
the
horse
was
perfect
,
as
in
the
outlines
of
a
skilfully
cast
medallion
.
That
of
the
man
could
be
traced
--
only
from
the
saddle
to
the
shoulders
.
Below
,
the
limbs
were
lost
in
the
shadow
of
the
animal
though
the
sparkle
of
spur
and
stirrup
told
that
they
were
there
.
Above
,
there
was
nothing
--
not
even
the
semblance
of
a
head
!
Zeb
Stump
rubbed
his
eyes
and
looked
;
and
rubbed
them
and
looked
again
.
It
did
not
change
the
character
of
the
apparition
.
If
he
had
rubbed
them
fourscore
times
,
he
would
have
seen
the
same
--
a
horseman
without
a
head
.
This
very
sight
he
saw
,
beyond
the
possibility
of
disbelieving
--
saw
the
horse
advancing
along
the
level
line
in
a
slow
but
steady
pace
--
without
footfall
--
without
sound
of
any
kind
--
as
if
gliding
rather
than
walking
--
like
the
shifting
scene
of
a
cosmorama
!
Not
for
a
mere
instant
had
he
the
opportunity
of
observing
the
spectral
apparition
;
but
a
period
long
enough
to
enable
him
to
note
every
detail
--
long
enough
to
satisfy
him
that
it
could
be
no
illusion
of
the
eye
,
or
in
any
way
a
deception
of
his
senses
.
