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Nothing to say, yet
Nothing to say, yet
As he approached the stream, Ichabod's horse veered off course, causing him to crash into a fence. Despite his efforts, the horse continued to act up and eventually stopped near a bridge. In the darkness, Ichabod saw a mysterious figure by the bridge, which terrified him. He tried to ask who it was, but received no response. As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump. He summoned up, however, all his resolutions, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge. But instead of starting forward, the preserved old animal made a lateral movement and ran broadside against the fence. Ichbod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side and kicked lustily with the contrary foot. It was all in vain. His steed started, it is true, but is only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the straddling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge with a suddenness that nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment, a splashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichbod. In the dark shadow of a groove, on the margin of a brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. It steered not, but seemed gathered upon in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. The hair of an affrightened pedagogue rose upon his head with fear. But what was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late, and besides, what chance was there of escaping, ghost or goblin? Such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind, summoning up, therefore, a show of courage he demanded in stammering assents. Who are you? He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still, more agitated voice.