spurred their steeds at once to ride him down. They had not reckoned the
length and good-will of their antagonist's weapon. Scarce were they in
motion, when round it whizzed, grazing the nostrils of their horses with
a precision that argued practice in the feat, and unhorsing two, Rothhals
among the number. He dropped heavily on his head, and showed signs of
being as incapable of combat as the Thier. A cheer burst from the crowd,
but fell short.

The foremost of their number was struck flat to the earth by a fellow of
the troop.

Calling on St. George, his patron saint, the stranger began
systematically to make a clear ring in his path forward. Several of the
horsemen essayed a cut at his arm with their long double-handed swords,
but the horses could not be brought a second time to the edge of the
magic circle; and the blood of these warriors being thoroughly up, they
now came at him on foot. In their rage they would have made short work
with the three, in spite of the magistracy of Cologne, had they not been
arrested by cries of 'Werner! Werner!'

At the South-west end of the square, looking Rhinewards, rode the
marauder Baron, in full armour, helm and hauberk, with a single retainer
in his rear. He had apparently caught sight of the brawl, and, either
because he distinguished his own men, or was seeking his natural element,
hastened up for his share in it, which was usually that of the king of
beasts. His first call was for Schwartz Thier. The men made way, and he
beheld his man in no condition to make military responses. He shouted for
Henker Rothhals, and again the men opened their ranks mutely, exhibiting
the two stretched out in diverse directions, with their feet slanting to
a common point. The Baron glared; then caught off his mailed glove, and