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Certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined: his horse was no longer seen tied to the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.
Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farm-houses at midnight with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks, and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!"
She mounted easily, but Brom Bones, seeming to know in the way of his kind that she was uneasy and uncomfortable, began at once to act badly. His intention seemed to be to walk into the open well on his hind feet. The girl caught a short hold on her lines and cut him sharply across the ear. He wheeled on two feet and bolted for the hill, clearing the woodshed by mere inches.
There was a quick gathering of ne'er-do-weels, of tavern-haunters and gaping 'prentices, about him, and though their faces were strange and their manners rude, he made bold to ask if they knew such and such of his friends. "Nick Vedder? He's dead and gone these eighteen years." "Brom Dutcher? He joined the army and was killed at Stony Point." "Van Brummel?
Don't be crabbed, my boy, said the other, who was very coolly fixing his flint. They say you have a hole in your left shoulder yourself, so I think Brom may give you a fire for half-price. It will take a keen one to hit that bird, I can tell you, my lad, even if I give you a chance, which is what I have no mind to do.
Stand out of the way there, boys! cried the wood-chopper, who was placing himself at the shooting-point stand out of the way, you little rascals, or I will shoot through you. Now, Brom, take leave of your turkey. Stop! cried the young hunter; I am a candidate for a chance.
The old man did not know the girl, but he knew the Lansing colt and he looked sharply at the steaming withers of Brom Bones before he would give any attention to her question. "What's the tarnation hurry, young lady?" he inquired exasperatingly. "Jeff Whiting? Yes, he was here yest'day. Why?" "Did he start home by this trail?" asked Ruth eagerly. "Or did he go on up country?"
For an hour, the long, high twilight was enough to assure her that the man was still following the trail. Then, just when the real darkness had fallen, she heard a pony whinny in the woods at her left. The man had turned off into the woods! She had almost passed him! She threw herself out upon Brom Bones' neck and caught him by the nose.
Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!"
She fairly flew down the street to Arsene LaComb's store. There was not a pony in the hills that Brom Bones could not overtake easily, but she must see by what trail the man left the Village. Brom Bones was very willing to make a race for home, and she let him have his head until she again caught sight of the man. She pulled up sharply and forced the colt down to a walk.
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