-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Томас Рид
-
- Всадник без головы
-
- Стр. 601/662
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
It
is
suddenly
checked
,
and
by
a
thought
.
He
has
not
yet
fully
accomplished
his
purpose
.
What
is
this
purpose
?
It
is
a
secret
known
only
to
himself
;
and
the
stealthy
glance
cast
around
tells
,
that
he
has
no
wish
to
share
it
with
another
.
After
scanning
the
selvedge
of
the
thicket
,
and
listening
a
second
or
two
,
he
resumes
action
.
A
singular
action
it
might
appear
,
to
one
ignorant
of
its
object
.
He
draws
his
knife
from
its
sheath
;
clutches
a
corner
of
the
serapé
;
raises
it
above
the
breast
of
the
Headless
rider
;
and
then
bends
towards
him
,
as
if
intending
to
plunge
the
blade
into
his
heart
!
The
arm
is
uplifted
.
The
blow
is
not
likely
to
be
warded
off
.
For
all
that
it
is
not
struck
.
It
is
stayed
by
a
shout
sent
forth
from
the
chapparal
--
by
the
edge
of
which
a
man
has
just
made
his
appearance
.
The
man
is
Zeb
Stump
.
"
Stop
that
game
!
"
cries
the
hunter
,
riding
out
from
the
underwood
and
advancing
rapidly
through
the
low
bushes
;
"
stop
it
,
durn
ye
!
"
"
What
game
?
"
rejoins
the
ex-officer
with
a
dismayed
look
,
at
the
same
time
stealthily
returning
his
knife
to
its
sheath
.
"
What
the
devil
are
you
talking
about
?
This
brute
's
got
caught
by
the
bridle
.
I
was
afraid
he
might
get
away
again
.
I
was
going
to
cut
his
damned
throat
--
so
as
to
make
sure
of
him
.
"
