eward, and their spies shall be hanged as well;" and, rushing
at the merchant, he brandished an old sword at his head.

Our Anton shuddered; but man being in the most critical moments liable
to strange associations of idea, which play like meteors across the
anguish of his spirit, it chanced that the broad back of the landlord
suddenly reminded him of the back of a squat schoolfellow of his at
Ostrau, a good-natured baker's son, upon whom, in many a scuffle, he had
often practiced the boyish trick of tripping an adversary from behind.
Quick as lightning he sprang upon the landlord, and most skillfully
threw him. The falling sword swerved from its fatal aim, only striking
the arm of the merchant, cutting through the coat and into the flesh. As
the fat fellow lay struggling on his back like a beetle, Anton drew out
his trusty pistols, and cried, with the inspiration of despair, "Back,
you rascals, or I shoot him dead!"

This rapid diversion had more effect than could reasonably have been
hoped; the people that the landlord had collected around him, and who,
after all, were only working for his interest, fell back, while half a
dozen wagoners, with bars of iron and other implements of the kind,
crowded round the merchant, and now screamed as loudly as the other
party had done a short time before, declaring that no harm should happen
to the gentleman and his wagons. The merchant cried, "Drive these
strangers out!" and, taking up the sword that the landlord had dropped,
at the head of his adherents stormed the latter's abettors, and drove
them through the house. The most stiff-necked of them tried to intrench
themselves in the bar, but one after the other was cast out, roaring and
cursing the while. The door was then locked, and the merchant hastened
back to the court-yard, and found Anton still kneeling by the
incorrigible landlord to prevent him from rising. The rest of the
wagoners having timidly got out of the way, the merchant now summoned
them all, and ordered them to put the horses to, saying to Anton, "We
must leave this place. Better the street pavement than this den of
thieves."

"You bleed!" cried Anton, in great distress, his eye falling on the
merchant's arm.

"It must be a mere scratch; I can move the arm," was the prompt reply.
"Open the gate; out with the wagons. Forward, my men! Anton, one of the
wagoners will help you to bind the landlord."

"And where shall we go?" inquired Anton, in English. "Are we