Chapter 44

           Withhisflame-colouredcurlsbristlingupward—almostraisingthehatfromhishead—theGalwegiancontinuedhisretreat—pausingnot—scarcelookingback,tillhehadre-enteredthejacalé,closedtheskindoorbehindhim,andbarricadeditwithseverallargepackagesthatlaynear.

           Eventhenhedidnotfeelsecure.Whatprotectioncouldtherebeinashutdoor,barredandboltedbesides,againstthatwhichwasnotearthly?

           Andsurelywhathehadseenwasnotoftheearth—notofthisworld!Whoonearthhadeverwitnessedsuchaspectacle—amanmounteduponhorseback,andcarryinghisheadinhishand?Whohadeverheardofaphenomenonsounnatural?Certainlynot"PhaylimOnale."

           Hishorrorstillcontinuing,herushedtoandfroacrossthefloorofthehut;nowdroppingdownuponthestool,anonrisingup,andglidingtothedoor;butwithoutdaringeithertoopenit,orlookoutthroughthechinks.

           Atintervalshetorethehairoutofhishead,strikinghisclenchedhandagainsthistemples,androughlyrubbinghiseyes—asiftomakesurethathewasnotasleep,buthadreallyseentheshapethatwashorrifyinghim.

           Onethingalonegavehimamoietyofcomfort;thoughitwasoftheslightest.Whileretreatingdowntheravine,beforehisheadhadsunkbelowtheleveloftheplain,hehadgivenaglancebackward.Hehadderivedsomegratificationfromthatglance;asitshowedtheheadlessriderafaroffontheprairie,andwithbackturnedtowardtheAlamo,goingonatagallop.

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