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There
was
nothing
strange
in
his
inability
to
recognise
it
.
The
mother
,
who
had
oft
looked
fondly
on
that
once
fair
countenance
,
would
not
have
recognised
it
now
.
Zeb
Stump
only
did
so
by
deduction
.
The
horse
,
the
saddle
,
the
holsters
,
the
striped
blanket
,
the
sky-blue
coat
and
trousers
--
even
the
hat
upon
the
head
--
were
all
known
to
him
.
So
,
too
,
was
the
figure
that
stood
almost
upright
in
the
stirrups
.
The
head
and
face
must
belong
to
the
same
--
notwithstanding
their
unaccountable
displacement
.
Zeb
saw
it
by
no
uncertain
glance
.
He
was
permitted
a
full
,
fair
view
of
the
ghastly
spectacle
.
The
steed
,
though
going
at
a
gallop
,
passed
within
ten
paces
of
him
.
He
made
no
attempt
to
interrupt
the
retreating
rider
--
either
by
word
or
gesture
.
Only
,
as
the
form
became
unmasked
before
his
eyes
,
and
its
real
meaning
flashed
across
his
mind
,
he
muttered
,
in
a
slow
,
sad
tone
:
"
Gee-hos-o-phat
!
It
air
true
,
then
!
Poor
young
fellur
--
dead
--
dead
!
"
Still
continuing
his
fleet
career
,
the
Headless
Horseman
galloped
on
over
the
prairie
--
Zeb
Stump
following
only
with
his
eyes
;
and
not
until
he
had
passed
out
of
sight
,
behind
some
straggling
groves
of
mezquite
,
did
the
backwoodsman
abandon
his
kneeling
position
.
Then
only
for
a
second
or
two
did
he
stand
erect
--
taking
council
with
himself
as
to
what
course
he
should
pursue
.
The
episode
--
strange
as
unexpected
--
had
caused
some
disarrangement
in
his
ideas
,
and
seemed
to
call
for
a
change
in
his
plans
.
Should
he
continue
along
the
trail
he
was
already
deciphering
;
or
forsake
it
for
that
of
the
steed
that
had
just
swept
by
?
