And not a little was his alarm increased on perceiving that the white horse ridden by his persecutor had but three legs, with which, however, it went through all its paces in the best style. Black Cloak began to be exceedingly ill at ease on his usurped saddle, in the conviction that the real Rubezahl was about to make him pay dearly for having dared to usurp his name.
After a little time the cavalier, suddenly backing his horse, brought himself alongside Black Cloak. “Whither away so fast, friend?”—“Whither?” replied the other, with a wretched attempt to seem as though he was not at all afraid; “where dost think? After my nose.”—“Oh! indeed!” returned the horseman: “let’s see, then, where thy nose is, comrade.” So saying, he stopped the horses, seized Black Cloak round the waist, and dashed him to the ground with such force that all his limbs quivered again; for this spectre, it now appeared, had flesh and bones. The horseman then alighted, and tearing open the black cloak and the great ruff, there issued from out them a stout, curly-headed young man.
The knave, finding himself detected, dreading a second time to feel the weight of the cavalier’s arm, and convinced that he had now the real Rubezahl to deal with, surrendered at discretion, and entreated pitifully to have his life spared. “High and potent Lord of the Mountain!” cried he, “have mercy on a poor unfortunate fellow whom Fate has been cruelly
