Ten Eyck glared from side to side for an object upon which to wreak his vengeance. In that unlucky moment Paul, who had heard in some way that Joseph intended to buy the horse, and had followed to see the fun, peeped over the rails. The woebegone face of his enemy met his eye. It was too much. He burst into a stentorian laugh. Ten Eyck turned, wrath blazing from his eyes, and rushed at his foe. Nothing loth, Paul tumbled into the inclosure and met him half-way. At any other time, Ten Eyck would have known better than to peril his fame in open battle. But, the last drop had been put into the pot of his wrath, and it boiled over. They met, like Ajax and Hector, in the center of the list, and great deeds were achieved, whereof Good Hope rung for many a day. As we have said, Paul was short and choleric, and ready for a fray. The strokes of the combatants fell thick and fast. Ten Eyck had armed himself, in hot haste, with the fallen tail of the cause of the quarrel. Paul had caught up a more hurtful weapon, a short cudgel, which he had found outside the corral. At him, Paul! At him, Ten Eyck! Now Hector! Now Ajax! It was the Battle of the Giants. The horse-tail swept the air with a whistling sound and lighted with stinging force upon the face of Paul. The cudgel cracked upon the crown of Ten Eyck, and twice brought him to his knee. The two lookers-on would not interfere, for they knew the quarrel had been fomenting for many years, and they hoped this would decide it. Holding their sides with laughter, the two soldiers watched while the unequal fight went on—unequal because the weapon of Ten Eyck, beyond maddening Paul to new exertions, did no harm. At last, a well-directed blow brought the tall man to the ground. As Paul rushed forward, ready, like ancient warriors, to fight for the body of his conquered foe, the captain held him back: “Enough of this. Away to your duty, Paul. Leave him to us.” Paul obeyed, and Ten Eyck rose from the ground, a dejected man—a sadly different one from him who had entered the corral. He was humbled in the dust. Not only had he been overreached by his hated foe in the bargain, but he was beaten in open battle. From this day, he dared not meet Paul Swedlepipe. The star of Ten Eyck had set forever! They left the spot, as the captain did not desire to invest in horse-flesh of that kind. It was in vain that they attempted to console Ten Eyck. His self-respect was gone; he had been betrayed, beaten, sold! “Cheer up, man, cheer up,” said the captain, slapping him upon the shoulder. “Paul didn’t do it. He never had the head for it at all. It was all the work of that scoundrel, Boston Bainbridge.” “The lightning blast him!” roared Ten Eyck. “If I catch that fellow,” said Van Curter, “I will keep my promise to him. I will strap him up to a swaying limb and give him forty stripes save one.”