Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

”

“And why, major?”

“My dear Sloman, Louise Poindexter is a lady, and Maurice Gerald—”

“May be a gentleman—”

“A trader in horses!” scornfully exclaimed Crossman; “the major is right – the thing’s impossible.”

“He’s an Irishman, major, this mustanger; and if he is what I have some reason to suspect—”

“Whatever he is,” interrupted the major, looking at the door, “he’s there to answer for himself.”

Silently advancing across the sanded floor, the mustanger had taken his stand at an unoccupied space in front of the counter.

“A glass of whisky and water, if you please?” was the modest request with which he saluted the landlord.

The officers were about to interrogate the mustanger – as the major had suggested – when the entrance of still another individual caused them to suspend their design.

The new-comer was Cassius Calhoun. In his presence it would scarce have been delicacy to investigate the subject any further.

It could be seen that the ex-officer of volunteers was under the influence of drink.

“Come, gentlemen!” cried he, addressing himself to the major’s party, at the same time stepping up to the counter; “Drinks all round. What say you?”

“Agreed – agreed!” replied several voices.

“You, major?”

“With pleasure, Captain Calhoun.”

The whole front of the long counter became occupied – with scarce an inch to spare.

Apparently by accident – though it may have been design on the part of Calhoun – he was the outermost man on the extreme right of those who had responded to his invitation.

This brought him in juxtaposition[24 - juxtaposition – непосредственное соседство] with Maurice Gerald, who alone was quietly drinking his whisky and water, and smoking a cigar he had just lighted.

The two were back to back – neither having taken any notice of the other.

“A toast!” cried Calhoun, taking his glass from the counter.

On delivering the toast, he staggered back a pace; which brought his body in contact with that of the mustanger – at the moment standing with the glass raised to his lips. The collision caused the spilling of a portion of the whisky and water; which fell over the mustanger’s breast.

No one believed it was an accident – even for a moment.