Where “seven” should have come in, had the count been continued, was heard the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by the sibillation of a spinning bullet; then the dull “thud” as the deadly missile buried itself in some solid body.
The only effect produced by the shot, appeared to be the frightening of the horse. The rider still kept his seat in the saddle!
It was not even certain the horse was scared. The clear neigh that responded to the detonation of the rifle, had something in it that sounded derisive!
For all that, the animal went off at a tearing gallop; leaving Zeb Stump a prey to the profoundest surprise he had ever experienced.
After discharging his rifle, he remained upon his knees, for a period of several seconds.
If his nerves were unsteady before the shot, they had become doubly so now. He was not only surprised at the result, but terrified. He was certain that his bullet had passed through the man’s heart—or where it should be—as sure as if his muzzle had been held close to the ribs.
It could not be a man? He did not believe it to be one; and this thought might have reassured him, but for the behaviour of the horse. It was that wild unearthly neigh, that was now chilling his blood, and causing his limbs to shake, as if under an ague.
He would have retreated; but, for a time, he felt absolutely unable to rise to his feet; and he remained kneeling, in a sort of stupefied terror—watching the weird form till it receded out of sight far off over the moonlit plain. Not till then did he recover sufficient courage, to enable him to glide back down the gorge, and on towards the jacalé.
And not till he was under its roof, did he feel sufficiently himself, to reflect with any calmness on the odd encounter that had occurred to him.
It was some time before his mind became disabused of the idea that he had been dealing with the devil. Reflection, however, convinced him of the improbability of this; though it gave him no clue as to what the thing really was.