Horse whine! Rip jolts from dosing, slides his fowling piece across
his knee.
"Pirates!" A column of horse militia gave Rip a fright of alarm. These informal soldiers appeared to be colonial, but somehow...deviant.
"Pirates in the Kaatskill Mountains?" With logic made clear by Dutch liquor, Van Winkle "discovered" the evil plot of the Barbary raiders.
He cocked his gun, saw a new or forgotten beehive.
"I'll save the village!" Bang!
"Imbecile!" One yelled. "Idiot!" Shouted another. "Rascal!" "Fool!" One simply exclaimed "Ouch!"
Rip lazily laughed, reaching for his-
"Wolf?" What happened to his dog?
"Those rogue devils." Rip feverishly poured boom-powder from his colonial bullhorn, cursing the pirates with his wife's tongue.
Rising up, Rip threatened: "When I catch up I'll-"he falters- "on second thought, revenge isn't the way," said he, covering for his stiffness.
"I better be home. I been gone some time." Stroking his...foot-long beard! Rip stared statue-fixed at the diminished trail home.
"Clever pirates," he commented, now determined to make tracks (move quickly). His sense of direction had not completely left the low-tempo adventurer, and this man braved wild grapevines all the way into his village.
But how strange the town folk were! All were neglecting their wigs! A- and then look over there! The town women making a fuss over the stings of those pirates!
Rip's voice expressed this, turning heads across the horse-soiled street.
"And who are you to insult our cause, Sir?" Demanded the gang's commander, a man of Rip's appearance, save the beard.
"I am Rip Van Winkle. Everybody knows me," Rip replied, trying to nod at familiar faces, failing too often.
"Is that some Euro joke, Tory? I am Rip Van Winkle, fiend." Am I who I think I am? The elder Winkle thought. This man claims to be me, a-and I do seem to be someone else, b-but how could the me that I am ever become a shameless pirate?
"Thanks to you, the Redcoats will beat us to Washington." The man's eyes narrowed. His face came closer.
"You may have beaten us, Traitor, but you will hang for this, understand?" Rip found his voice.
"This can't happen, I am a faithful subject of the King-"
"You heard him. May his tombstone say the King owes him a full fax refund!"
"Pirates!" A column of horse militia gave Rip a fright of alarm. These informal soldiers appeared to be colonial, but somehow...deviant.
"Pirates in the Kaatskill Mountains?" With logic made clear by Dutch liquor, Van Winkle "discovered" the evil plot of the Barbary raiders.
He cocked his gun, saw a new or forgotten beehive.
"I'll save the village!" Bang!
"Imbecile!" One yelled. "Idiot!" Shouted another. "Rascal!" "Fool!" One simply exclaimed "Ouch!"
Rip lazily laughed, reaching for his-
"Wolf?" What happened to his dog?
"Those rogue devils." Rip feverishly poured boom-powder from his colonial bullhorn, cursing the pirates with his wife's tongue.
Rising up, Rip threatened: "When I catch up I'll-"he falters- "on second thought, revenge isn't the way," said he, covering for his stiffness.
"I better be home. I been gone some time." Stroking his...foot-long beard! Rip stared statue-fixed at the diminished trail home.
"Clever pirates," he commented, now determined to make tracks (move quickly). His sense of direction had not completely left the low-tempo adventurer, and this man braved wild grapevines all the way into his village.
But how strange the town folk were! All were neglecting their wigs! A- and then look over there! The town women making a fuss over the stings of those pirates!
Rip's voice expressed this, turning heads across the horse-soiled street.
"And who are you to insult our cause, Sir?" Demanded the gang's commander, a man of Rip's appearance, save the beard.
"I am Rip Van Winkle. Everybody knows me," Rip replied, trying to nod at familiar faces, failing too often.
"Is that some Euro joke, Tory? I am Rip Van Winkle, fiend." Am I who I think I am? The elder Winkle thought. This man claims to be me, a-and I do seem to be someone else, b-but how could the me that I am ever become a shameless pirate?
"Thanks to you, the Redcoats will beat us to Washington." The man's eyes narrowed. His face came closer.
"You may have beaten us, Traitor, but you will hang for this, understand?" Rip found his voice.
"This can't happen, I am a faithful subject of the King-"
"You heard him. May his tombstone say the King owes him a full fax refund!"