"Didn't I tell you he'd do it?" cried the hindermost of the two
strangers, coming up; while the other coolly seated himself upon the
prostrated victim. "These here Indian clubs always throw a man if he
ain't got muscle in his arms; and this here little Chivalry has got arms
like a couple of canes."

"Arise from me instantly, fellow. You're sitting upon my breast-pin,"
exclaimed MONTGOMERY to the person sitting upon him.

They suffered him to regain his feet, which he did with extreme hauteur,
and surveyed his bumped head and swollen countenance with undisguised
wonder.

"How dare you treat a Southerner in this way?" continued the young man,
his head aching inexpressibly. "I thought the war was over long ago. If
money is your object, seek out a citizen of some other section than
mine; for the South is out of funds just now, owing to the military
outrages of Northern scorpions."

"We're constables, Mr. PENDRAGON," was the reply, "and it is our duty to
take you back to the main road, where a couple of your friends are
waiting for you."

Staring from one to the other in speechless wonder at what this fresh
outrage upon the down-trodden South could mean, MONTGOMERY allowed them
to replace his Indian club in his hand, and conduct him back to the
public road; where, to his increased bewilderment, he found Gospeler
SIMPSON and the Ritualistic organist.