trage; but realizing that he was powerless he suppressed his rage,
and, as no other course lay open to him, was preparing to leave this
den of thieves again with his horses when the castellan, attracted by
the altercation, appeared and asked what was the matter.

"What's the matter?" echoed Kohlhaas. "Who gave Squire Tronka and his
people permission to use for work in the fields the black horses that
I left behind with him?" He added, "Do you call that humane?" and
trying to rouse the exhausted nags with a switch, he showed him that
they did not move. The castellan, after he had watched him for a while
with an expression of defiance, broke out, "Look at the ruffian! Ought
not the churl to thank God that the jades are still alive?" He asked
who would have been expected to take care of them when the groom had
run away, and whether it were not just that the horses should have
worked in the fields for their feed. He concluded by saying that
Kohlhaas had better not make a rumpus or he would call the dogs and
with them would manage to restore order in the courtyard.

The horse-dealer's heart thumped against his doublet. He felt a strong
desire to throw the good-for-nothing, pot-bellied scoundrel into the
mud and set his foot on his copper-colored face. But his sense of
justice, which was as delicate as a gold-balance, still wavered; he
was not yet quite sure before the bar of his own conscience whether
his adversary were really guilty of a crime. And so, swallowing the
abusive words and going over to the horses, he silently pondered the
circumstances while arranging their manes, and asked in a subdued
voice for what fault the groom had been turned out of the castle. The
castellan replied, "Because the rascal was insolent in the courtyard;
because he opposed a necessary change of stables and demanded that the
horses of two young noblemen, who came to the castle, should, for the
sake of his nags, be left out on the open high-road over night."

Kohlhaas would have given the value of the horses if he could have had
the groom at hand to compare his statement with that of this
thick-lipped castellan. He was still standing, straightening the
tangled manes of the black horses, and wondering what could be done in
the situation in which he found himself, when suddenly the scene
changed, and Squire Wenzel Tronka, returning from hare-hunting, dashed
into the courtyard, followed by a swarm of knights, grooms, and dogs.
The castellan, wh