“Py shinks,” he exclaimed, “id looks heafy, don’d id? I didn’t haf nodding heavy like dot in id. Der _frau_ must haf put in a loaf oof pread ven I vasn’t looking. Vell, oof she dit, id’s my pread, anyvay. Dit you pring me some messaches from Frieda, Misder McGowan?” “No.” “Und you don’d vant to dell me someding?” “No.” “Den vy der tickens you shtop me like dot? Clear oudt oof der vay und I vill rite on.” The baron had had time, by now, to observe the peculiar actions of the men from the Three-ply. As he finished speaking he tried to spur his horse ahead. Jacobs, however, blocked the forward movement by grabbing the bit-rings of the baron’s horse. “You vill ged me madt in a minid,” said the baron. “Led go oof dot horse, or I vill gif you a piece oof my mind mit my fist. I don’d like dot ugly face oof yours, Chacops, und I vill put some marks all ofer id oof you don’t ged avay.” The baron hauled back his right arm. Another moment and he found Bernritter glaring at him over the muzzle of a revolver. “No rough-house work, Dutchy,” said Bernritter. The baron was taken aback. But only for as long as it takes to bat an eye. “Two can play at dot game!” he cried, and dropped his hand toward his belt. “Do you want me to shoot?” snarled Bernritter. “Easy, there, Schnitzenhauser,” spoke up McGowan; “I’ll have no shooting or rough work, but I want to see what you have in your saddle-bag.” After the way the three men had come at him, the baron would not have shown the inside of his saddle-bags for a farm. “I do vat I blease mit vat’s mine!” he shouted. “You attend to my pitzness altogedder too mooch to suidt me, und dot’s all aboudt id. I’m der pard oof Puffalo Pill, undt olt Nick Nomat, und dis iss a free gountry, und I’ll do vat I vant, und nodding more.” The baron, justly indignant, was only making matters worse for himself by refusing to reveal the contents of the bag. Suddenly something happened. The baron was the cause of it. His fist shot out--not at Jacobs, but at the wrist of Bernritter’s pistol-hand. The six-shooter was jarred from the super’s fingers into the dust of the trail. _Thwack!_ Before Bernritter had recovered from the daze caused by the baron’s first blow, the baron’s knuckles fell a second time--now on the super’s left ear. Bernritter was knocked off his horse as clean as though he had been dropped by a rifle-bullet. With the second blow, the baron jabbed the irons into his horse. The animal gave a mad leap forward, directly against Jacobs’ horse. The collision was tremendous. Jacobs’ horse went to the knees, and Jacobs himself turned a half-somersault out of his saddle, landing on his head and shoulders, heels in the air.