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.
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