The muzzle of the highwayman's pistol was at his head--the trigger at full cock. The flashing eyes that sparkled behind the mask showed the unfortunate traveller that here was no man to be trifled with. He dropped his useless weapon, and with considerable trepidation drew, one by one, from their places of security the valuables mentioned by the highwayman, who, when he had received them all, drew half a crown from the purse, and, flinging it into the chaise, said, casting off his Quaker speech, "There is enough to pay your turnpikes. And, harkee!" he added, in a more peremptory tone, "for the future, don't brag quite so much." Turning his horse's head, he disappeared, leaving the chaise and its occupant to continue their journey. The latter speedily recognized that the Quaker was none other than Hawkes himself. [Sidenote: _AN ALE-HOUSE FIGHT_] But this was the last exploit of Captain Hawkes. On the evening of the same day a man in a heavy topcoat and riding-boots, splashed, and with every appearance of having come off a long journey, entered the "Rising Sun," at a village about twenty miles away. In one compartment of the tap-room, on either side of a painted table, sat two ploughmen, in smock-frocks, their shock heads resting on their arms, which were spread out on the table near an empty quart pot. They were both snoring loudly. The new-comer, having been served with a glass of gin and water, and a long clay pipe, took no notice of the sleepers. In a few minutes one of the rustics awoke, and, glancing vacantly about him, scratching his carroty head, seized the empty pot. He put it down, and, giving his companion a push that nearly sent him off his seat, exclaimed, "Ye greedy chap! blest if ye ain't been and drunk up all the beer while I were a-sleeping." "Then ye shouldn't have been a-sleeping, ye fool," retorted the other, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll gi' ye a dowse o' the chaps if ye grin at me," shouted the man, angrily. "Haw, haw!" jeered the grinner, across the table. "'Twould take a better man nor you to do it. And," he added, "if ye don't want a hiding, ye'd better not try." Up jumped the two chawbacons simultaneously, and rushed at one another furiously. They rolled on the sanded floor, kicking and cuffing, while the stranger sipped his gin and water and smoked placidly enough. Presently, however, one of the combatants opened a clasp-knife, and made as though he would stab the other. Seeing this, the quiet spectator rose and seized the man's wrist in a powerful grip. But, quick as thought, his own wrists were seized, and he was thrown to the floor, both men clinging tightly to him. When he at length managed to rise, both his wrists were handcuffed. "Neatly managed, that!" exclaimed one of the pretended rustics, throwing off his smock-frock and disclosing the red waistcoat of a Bow Street Runner. "You must acknowledge, Captain Hawkes, as how we've done you brown."