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Updated: April 30, 2025
"He went on up country." Ruth headed Brom Bones up the trail again without a word. "But stay!" the old man yelled after her, when she had gone twenty yards. "He came back again." Ruth pulled around so sharply that she nearly threw Brom Bones to his knees. "Didn't ask me that," the old man chortled, as she came back, "but if I didn't tell you I reckon you'd run that colt to death up the hills."
The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.
Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind the other did the same.
There was something extremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough riders.
There's no danger down here yet, and won't be for some time." Brom Bones made short work of the hill, for he was fresh and all day long he had been held in tight when he had wanted to run away. He did not know what that thing was from which he had all day been wanting to run. But he knew that if he had been his own master he would have run very far, hunting water.
The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones' ghostly competitor had disappeared. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe."
The other way, it would not have cared, either. Ruth eased Brom Bones up a little on the long slope of the hill, and turning looked back at her home. The farmer had long since gone away with his family. The place was not his. The flames were already leaping up from the grass to the windows and the roof was taking fire from the cinders and burning branches in the air.
But her own champion was now preparing to enter the lists. The mirth of Brom, which had been again excited, though in a much smaller degree than before, by the failure of the second adventurer, vanished the instant Natty took his stand.
Chittenden's one fault was his tendency to "force" a receptive boy, and to develop his intellect too quickly. At the age of ten I got puzzled over Marlborough's campaigns. "'Brom, my boy, remember 'Brom," said Mr. Chittenden.
"Well who are they? name them." Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?" There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too." "Where's Brom Dutcher?"
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