The two men followed to the place where the beast had spent the night. The reader will remember that a tremendous rain had fallen during the night. The horse had been shut up in a sort of corral of rails which, however, afforded little shelter.
To describe the puffed-up and vainglorious manner in which Ten Eyck approached the corral, would be in vain. He seemed to grow taller, and his head was thrown back to such a fearful extent that there seemed to be immediate danger of his falling over on his back. Those familiar with the ballad which some years since was the delight of the youngsters of this country and of Merry England, “Lord Bateman,” will remember the engraving representing that individual. Mynheer Ten Eyck, approaching the corral, was his exact representative. Mentally, he was crowing over his enemy at every step. They entered the corral by a bar which was set in holes in two posts, set upright, about eight feet apart. Ten Eyck put up the bar, lest the spirited beast should attempt to escape.
Where was he? There, shivering in one corner of the corral, was a strange animal, without tail or teeth, for he had dropped them both in the night; a hide streaked here and there with marks of the coloring-substance which Boston had used in the metamorphosis; with drooping head and dejected looks generally. Ten Eyck took in all at a glance. Sold! fearfully and irrecoverably by the Yankee, aided and abetted by Paul Swedlepipe!
“Where is your horse?” asked the captain. “Not this, I hope!”
“You have been cheated again,” cried Van Curter.
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!