ent had
put one foot in the stirrup he began to kick and circle round,
compelling the poet to jump round on one foot until the laughing
servant seized the horse by the bridle and helped the inoffensive
rider to mount. But as he had long legs and the soldiers had
shortened the stirrups, he had to stoop on his horse as if it were a
camel.

Once more Ladislaus Csaki called after him not to forget his
injunctions, at which the poet unintentionally struck spurs to his
horse and galloped madly away over the stones. Coat, sword and
traveling bag flew about the unhappy rider. He held fast to the front
and back of the saddle and rode on amid the laughter of the villagers
of Torocko, who sat in groups in front of their houses.

First the Lieutenant took the road to Gross-Schlatten. Formerly when
he had a servant, the servant constituted his retinue. But now for
lack of a servant he was compelled to go from town to town in
solitude, following the directions of the village magnate. As he was
trotting through a defile he noticed in a thicket a group seated about
a fire. At first he thought it was a party of gypsies, until
approaching nearer he discovered to his great horror that they were
Tartars who were roasting an ox and sat around it in a circle. To turn
around was not advisable for the way led straight past the Tartars
sunning themselves, so Clement decided it was best to act as if he had
no fear, and trotted calmly past the staring group. He pretended to be
counting with greatest interest the fruit beside the road, and when he
was quite near took off his hat as if he noticed them for the first
time, murmured hurriedly, "Salem Aleikum," and rode on without looking
behind. So far, so good; but at this moment up jumped two Tartars and
shouted after the rider to stop. When Clement saw that the two were
running toward him without any weapons, he thought perhaps they had no
intention of murder and waited for them. But when the two dark-faced
creatures came near, they seized the rider between them, caught hold
of his legs and gave evidence of no less intentions than to strip him
of his fine boots.

"A curse upon your soul!" shouted the furious Clement, laid hold of
his rusty sword and tried to draw it and cut off one of their ears.
But the good blade had not been drawn from its scabbard for ten years
and was so rusted that, in spite of all his efforts, Clement could not
draw it out. Meantime the two Tartars pulled the struggling