Lady Dulcinea, peerless in thy beauty, help me to avenge this insult
that has been put upon me'; and, lifting high his lance, he brought it
down with such a force on the head of the man that he fell to the ground
without a word, and the Don began his walk afresh.

He had not been pacing the yard above half an hour when another man, not
knowing what had befallen his friend, drove his beasts up to the trough,
and was stooping to move the Don's arms, so that the cattle could get at
the water, when a mighty blow fell on _his_ head, splitting it nearly
into pieces.

At this noise the people from the inn ran out, and seeing the two
muleteers stretched wounded on the ground picked up stones wherewith to
stone the knight. The Don, however, fronted them with such courage that
they did not dare to venture near him, and the landlord, making use of
their fears, called on them to leave him alone, for that he was a
madman, and the law would not touch him, even though he should kill them
all. Then, wishing to be done with the business and with his guest, he
made excuses for the rude fellows, who had only got what they deserved,
and said that, as there was no chapel to his castle, he could dub him
knight where he stood, for, the watch of arms having been completed, all
that was needful was a slap on the neck with a palm of the hand and the
touch of the sword on the shoulder.

[Illustration: DON QUIXOTE BELABOURS THE MULETEER]

So Don Quixada was turned into Don Quixote de la Mancha, and, mounting
Rozinante, he left the inn, and with a joyful heart started to seek his
first adventure.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWO ARMIES WHO TURNED OUT TO BE FLOCKS OF SHEEP

The first adventure of the new knight did not turn out at all to his
liking, nor answered his expectations, for in all the books of chivalry
which he had read, never had he heard of a good knight being sorely
wounded by a mere pack of common fellows, as happened to himself shortly
after leaving the inn; though indeed he comforted his soul by thinking
that, had not Rozinante stumbled over a stone and fallen, it would have
fared ill with his foes.

He lay upon the ground for some time, aching in every bone, and
repeating in a weak voice some lines out of his favourite romance of the
'Marquis of Mantua,' when a labourer from his own village came by and
went to see if the man stretched on his back across the road was dead or
only wounded.

'What ails you, master?' asked he;