he rained a shower of kicks
and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his
companion the slip--but the specter started full jump with him. Away,
then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks
flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the
air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head, in
the eagerness of his flight.

They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but
Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it,
made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong downhill to the left. This
road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter
of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just
beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskillful rider an
apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he had got half-way
through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it
slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to
hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by
clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to the
earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a
moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed across his
mind--for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty
fears: the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskillful rider that
he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on
one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge
of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he verily feared would
cleave him asunder.

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church
bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the
bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls
of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the
place where Brom Bones's ghostly competitor had disappeared. "If I can
but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he
heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even
fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the
ribs, and old Gunpowder sprung upon the bridge; he thundered over the
resounding planks; he gained the opposite side, and now Ichabod cast a
look behind to see if his pur