The Short-story | Page 8

frequent and angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke
slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and
sometimes, taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant
vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of
perfect approbation.
From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his
termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of
the assemblage and call the members all to naught; nor was that august
personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of

this terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging her
husband in habits of idleness.
Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only alternative,
to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his wife, was to take
gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes
seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet
with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in
persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress leads thee a
dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never
want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully
in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I verily believe he
reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.
In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had
unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill
mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel shooting, and the
still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun.
Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green
knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a
precipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the
lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance
the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic
course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging
bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing
itself in the blue highlands.
On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild,
lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the
impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the
setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was
gradually advancing; the mountains began to throw their long blue
shadows over the valleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he
could reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of
encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.
As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing,
"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked round, but could see

nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He
thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend,
when he heard the same cry ring through the still evening air: "Rip Van
Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!"--at the same time Wolf bristled up his back,
and giving a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully
down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over
him; he looked anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange
figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of
something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human
being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some
one of the neighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to
yield it.
On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of the
stranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow, with
thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique
Dutch fashion--a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist--several pair of
breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of
buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his
shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip
to approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and
distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual
alacrity; and mutually relieving one another, they clambered up a
narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they
ascended, Rip every now and then heard long rolling peals, like distant
thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft,
between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path