"Withdraw—oh, nonsense! You are too valuable a hostage. I shall keep you, my gentleman, and only give you up at a good figure,", the American continued.
"What! Is that the way you comprehend the law of nations? That's curious," the Count said, still sarcastic.
"There is no law of nations with bandits."
"Thanks for your compliment, master. And what would you do to keep me, if I did not think proper?"
"Like this," the American said, laying his hand roughly on his shoulder.
"What!" the Count said. "I really believe, Heaven forgive me! that you dared to lay a hand on me!"
And ere the emigrant had time to prevent it, he seized him round the waist, lifted him from the ground, and hurled him over the barricade. The giant fell all bruised in the middle of his camp. Instead of withdrawing, as any other might have done in his place, the young man crossed his arms, and waited, smoking peacefully. The emigrant, stunned by his rough fall, rose, shaking himself like a wet dog, and feeling his ribs, to assure himself that there was nothing broken. The ladies uttered a cry of terror on seeing him re-enter the camp in such a peculiar way, while his son and servants looked toward him, ready to fire at the first signal.
"Lower your guns," he said to them; and leaping once more over the barricade, he walked towards the Count. The latter awaited him with perfect calmness.
"Ah! there you are," he said, "Well, how did you like that?"
"Come, come," the American replied, holding out his hand; "I was in the wrong; I am a brute beast; forgive me."