Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along
past the farm-houses at midnight with whoop and halloo, like a
troop of Don Cossacks, and the old dames, startled out of their
sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had
clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and
his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe,
admiration, and good-will, and when any madcap prank or rustic
brawl occurred in the vicinity always shook their heads and
warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.
This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming
Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and, though
his amorous toyings were something like the gentle caresses and
endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not
altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were
signals for rival candidates to retire who felt no inclination to
cross a line in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was
scene tied to Van Tassel's paling on a Sunday night, a sure sign
that his master was courting--or, as it is termed,
"sparking"--within, all other suitors passed by in despair and
carried the war into other quarters.
Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to
contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would
have shrunk from the competition and a wiser (*)man would have
despaired.
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