Gregory looked around as the ball whistled by his head. "Just see the booby!" he shouted tauntingly; "couldn't hit the side of a barn! Now let's have the other." The soldier fired his second pistol, with no better success. "Now then, try your sword!" challenged Gregory Boksa, half turning in his saddle, and bidding the other defiance. And yet he himself was entirely defenceless except for his ox-whip. The dragoon was in deadly earnest. Drawing his sword, he charged upon the ox-driver at full tilt. The latter swung his whip and aimed a cut as if at his pursuer's left cheek. The dragoon parried on the left with his sword and received a stinging blow on his right cheek. Then Gregory Boksa aimed his whip as if at the soldier's right ear, and when the dragoon parried on that side he got another sharp cut, this time on his left cheek. A cursed weapon to deal with, that aimed in one direction and hit in another! The dragoon swore in German and Hungarian together. A third time the ox-herd made his whip-lash whistle through the air, and this time the sharp wire on the end flew straight at the nostrils of the soldier's horse. The animal, stung on this very tender spot, reared and pirouetted, and finally, with a leap to one side, threw its rider. Gregory Boksa, paying no further heed to the dragoon, galloped after his runaway herd, and guided it in the right direction. It was dark, and a thick mist lay over the fields. He was free to go whithersoever he chose. The two Baradlay brothers, meanwhile, were busy restoring order in their camp, and it was toward morning when Ödön sought his couch. Richard laid his head on the table before him; he could sleep very well so. Suddenly, as the day was beginning to dawn, a trampling of many hoofs and the cracking of a whip awoke the sleepers. Richard ran to the window and beheld Gregory just dismounting from his horse, and surrounded by his herd of oxen. The sweat ran from the animals' panting sides, and their quivering nostrils breathed forth clouds of steam. They saw no more visions; they were tame, submissive, obedient subjects. Richard and Ödön hastened out. Gregory Boksa drew himself up and gave the military salute. "Gregory Boksa, you are a man of the right sort!" exclaimed Richard, clapping him on the shoulder. "So the herd is all here, is it?" "The whole fifty head, sir." "Aha! Now all respect to you. Paul, hand him the flask and let him drink to his very good health." "Pardon me," said Gregory, waving aside the offered flask with a serious air; "first, I have certain matters to attend to." Then, turning to Richard, "Yesterday I swore that the fifty lashes should be paid for, and now I have come to settle the score. There is the payment,--fifty for fifty. Now, Captain, have the goodness to give me a receipt, stating that the fifty strokes with the strap are 'null and void.'" "What do you want of such a receipt, Boksa?" asked Richard.