formidable a name, was an incongruity which struck others as well as
himself, even the colonel of militia exclaiming, as he pointed it out
with his finger, "It's old Nathan Slaughter, to the backbone! Thar he
comes, the brute, leading a horse in his hand, and carrying his pack on
his own back! But he's a marciful man, Old Nathan, and the horse thar,
old White Dobbin, war foundered and good for nothing ever since the boys
made a race with him against Sammy Parker's jackass."

As he approached yet higher, Roland perceived that his tall, gaunt figure
was arrayed in garments of leather from top to toe, even his cap, or hat
(for such it seemed, having several broad flaps suspended by strings, so
as to serve the purpose of a brim), being composed of fragments of tanned
skins rudely sewed together. His upper garment differed from a hunting
shirt only in wanting the fringes usually appended to it, and in being
fashioned without any regard to the body it encompassed, so that in
looseness and shapelessness, it looked more like a sack than a human
vestment; and, like his breeches and leggings, it bore the marks of the
most reverend antiquity, being covered with patches and stains of all
ages, sizes, and colours.

Thus far Bloody Nathan's appearance was not inconsistent with his name,
being uncommonly wild and savage; and to assist in maintaining his claims
to the title, he had a long rifle on his shoulder, and a knife in his
belt, both of which were in a state of dilapidation worthy of his other
equipments; the knife, from long use and age, being worn so thin that it
seemed scarce worthy the carrying, while the rifle boasted a stock so
rude, shapeless, and, as one would have judged from its magnitude and
weight, so unserviceable, that it was easy to believe it had been
constructed by the unskilful hands of Nathan himself. His visage, seeming
to belong to a man of at least forty-five or fifty years of age, was