"These clouds of pride and sin dispel, By thy all-piercing beam; Lighten my eyes with faith; my heart With holy hopes inflame." By the time he had finished the second stanza, the bridle-path that he was following brought him into a dense forest of beech and maple, and he saw walking toward him two stout men, none other than our old acquaintances, Bill McConkey and Jake Sniger. "Looky yer," said Bill, catching the preacher's horse by the bridle: "you git down!" "What for?" said Magruder. "We're goin' to lick you tell you promise to go back and never stick your head into the Hissawachee Bottom agin." "But I won't promise." "Then we'll put a finishment to ye." "You are two to one. Will you give me time to draw my coat?" "Wal, yes, I 'low we will." [Illustration: TWO TO ONE.] The preacher dismounted with quiet deliberation, tied his bridle to a beech limb, offering a mental prayer to the God of Samson, and then laid his coat across the saddle. "My friends," he said, "I don't want to whip you. I advise you now to let me alone. As an American citizen, I have a right to go where I please. My father was a revolutionary soldier, and I mean to fight for my rights." "Shet up your jaw!" said Jake, swearing, and approaching the preacher from one side, while Bill came up on the other. Magruder was one of those short, stocky men who have no end of muscular force and endurance. In his unregenerate days he had been celebrated for his victories in several rude encounters. Never seeking a fight even then, he had, nevertheless, when any ambitious champion came from afar for the purpose of testing his strength, felt himself bound to "give him what he came after." He had now greatly the advantage of the two bullies in his knowledge of the art of boxing.