The sworn umpires placed the youths in line
again. Most of them, however, seeing the uselessness of competing with
these two horsemen, fell out of the line and mingled among the
spectators, so that scarce six others remained on the ground with the
two rival heroes. All the more interesting, therefore, the contest; for
there will be nothing to distract the attention of the onlookers.

Before engaging in the contest for the third time, the stranger-youth
dismounted from his horse, and cutting a supple willow sapling from a
tree in the cemetery, stripped it of its leaves, and thrusting it into
his whip-handle, mounted his horse again. Hitherto he had not once
struck his steed.

But now, when the noble animal heard the sharp hiss of the thin willow
wand, it began to rear. Standing on its hind legs, it fell to savagely
worrying its bit, and careering round and round. The spectators began to
fear for the youth, not that he would fall from his horse--that was out
of the question--but that he would be too late for the contest, for the
second report had now sounded, and the others were all awaiting the
signal with loosely held reins, while his horse was curveting and pawing
the ground.

When the third report resounded, the stranger suddenly gave his horse a
cut with the willow switch, and let the reins hang loosely.

The smitten steed scudded off like a tempest. Wildly, madly, it skimmed
the ground beneath its feet, as only a horse can fly when,
panic-stricken, it ravishes its perishing rider along with it. None, no
none, could get anywhere near it; even Martin was left many yards behind
in mid-course. The crowd gaped in amazement at the fury of the steed and
the foolhardiness of the rider, especially when, in the midst of his mad
career, the long chaplet of flowers fell from the youth's head, and was
trampled to pieces beneath the hoofs of the other horses panting after
him. He himself did not notice the loss of his chaplet till he reached
the goal, where he had to exert all his strength to rein up his maddened
steed. He had reached the goal; but he had lost his crown.

"Look! he has lost his crown: he cannot therefore be the Whitsun King!"
cried many voices.

But who was to be the king, then? The crown was irrecoverably trampled
to pieces in the dust.

"That is not fair!" exclaimed the majority. Many proposed a fresh race.

"I am ready for anything you like," said the strange youth.

"Stop, little brother!" replied M