The Yankee's Fight With the Knights

Home again, at Camelot. A morning or two later I found the paper, damp from the press, by my plate at the breakfast table. I turned to the advertising columns, knowing I should find something of personal interest to me there. It was this:

Back home in Camelot. A morning or two later, I found the newspaper beside my plate at breakfast, still damp from the press. I turned to the ads, knowing I would find something there that concerned me personally. Here it was:

DE PAR LE ROI.

BY ORDER OF THE KING.

Clarence’s editorial reference to this affair was to this effect:

Clarence’s editorial said something like this about the affair:

Up to the day set, there was no talk in all Britain of anything but this combat. All other topics sank into insignificance and passed out of men’s thoughts and interest. It was not because a tournament was a great matter, it was not because Sir Sagramor had found the Holy Grail, for he had not, but had failed; it was not because the second (official) personage in the kingdom was one of the duellists; no, all these features were commonplace. Yet there was abundant reason for the extraordinary interest which this coming fight was creating. It was born of the fact that all the nation knew that this was not to be a duel between mere men, so to speak, but a duel between two mighty magicians; a duel not of muscle but of mind, not of human skill but of superhuman art and craft; a final struggle for supremacy between the two master enchanters of the age. It was realized that the most prodigious achievements of the most renowned knights could not be worthy of comparison with a spectacle like this; they could be but child’s play, contrasted with this mysterious and awful battle of the gods. Yes, all the world knew it was going to be in reality a duel between Merlin and me, a measuring of his magic powers against mine. It was known that Merlin had been busy whole days and nights together, imbuing Sir Sagramor’s arms and armor with supernal powers of offense and defense, and that he had procured for him from the spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would render the wearer invisible to his antagonist while still visible to other men. Against Sir Sagramor, so weaponed and protected, a thousand knights could accomplish nothing; against him no known enchantments could prevail. These facts were sure; regarding them there was no doubt, no reason for doubt. There was but one question: might there be still other enchantments, unknown to Merlin, which could render Sir Sagramor’s veil transparent to me, and make his enchanted mail vulnerable to my weapons? This was the one thing to be decided in the lists. Until then the world must remain in suspense.

Until the appointed day, all Britain talked of nothing but the combat. Every other topic became insignificant and faded from people’s thoughts and interests. It was not because a tournament was a great event. Nor was it because Sir Sagramor had found the Holy Grail. He had not found it, but had failed. Nor was it because one of the duelists was officially the second most important person in the kingdom. No, all these things were commonplace. Yet there was good reason for the extraordinary interest in the coming fight. The whole nation knew that this was not, so to speak, a duel between mere men. It was a duel between two mighty magicians. It was a contest not of muscle but of mind, not of human skill but of superhuman arts and craft. It was a final struggle for supremacy between the two master enchanters of the age. People understood that the most astounding achievements of the most famous knights could not compare with this spectacle. Those achievements would be mere child’s play beside this mysterious and terrifying battle of the gods. Yes, all the world knew the duel would really be between Merlin and me. His magic powers would be measured against mine. Everyone knew that Merlin had spent whole days and nights filling Sir Sagramor’s weapons and armor with supernatural powers of attack and defense. They also knew that Merlin had obtained a soft, fluffy veil for him from the spirits of the air. The veil would make its wearer invisible to his opponent while leaving him visible to everyone else. Armed and protected this way, Sir Sagramor could defeat a thousand knights. No known enchantments could prevail against him. These facts were certain. There was no doubt about them, and no reason to doubt them. Only one question remained: might there be other enchantments, unknown to Merlin, that could make Sir Sagramor’s veil transparent to me? Could they also make his enchanted armor vulnerable to my weapons? That was the one thing to be decided in the tournament arena. Until then, the world would have to remain in suspense.

So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake here, and the world was right, but it was not the one they had in their minds. No, a far vaster one was upon the cast of this die: the life of knight-errantry. I was a champion, it was true, but not the champion of the frivolous black arts, I was the champion of hard unsentimental common-sense and reason. I was entering the lists to either destroy knight-errantry or be its victim.

The world thought a great deal was at stake here, and it was right. But it was not what people had in mind. No, something far greater depended on the outcome: the life of knight-errantry. I was a champion, it was true, but not a champion of frivolous black arts. I was the champion of hard, unsentimental common sense and reason. I was entering the contest to either destroy knight-errantry or become its victim.

Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant spaces in them outside of the lists, at ten o’clock on the morning of the 16th. The mammoth grand-stand was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries, and packed with several acres of small-fry tributary kings, their suites, and the British aristocracy; with our own royal gang in the chief place, and each and every individual a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets—well, I never saw anything to begin with it but a fight between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora borealis. The huge camp of beflagged and gay-colored tents at one end of the lists, with a stiff-standing sentinel at every door and a shining shield hanging by him for challenge, was another fine sight. You see, every knight was there who had any ambition or any caste feeling; for my feeling toward their order was not much of a secret, and so here was their chance. If I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others would have the right to call me out as long as I might be willing to respond.

As vast as the showgrounds were, there was no empty space outside the tournament arena at ten o’clock on the morning of the 16th. The enormous grandstand was draped in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries. Several acres of it were packed with small-fry tributary kings, their entourages, and the British aristocracy. Our own royal gang occupied the place of honor. Every last person was a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets. Well, the only thing I ever saw that came close was a fight between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora borealis. The huge camp at one end of the arena was another fine sight. Its brightly colored tents flew flags, and a stiff-standing guard stood at every door. Beside each guard hung a shining shield for anyone wishing to issue a challenge. You see, every knight with any ambition or any pride in his rank was there. My feelings toward their order were hardly a secret, so here was their chance. If I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others would have the right to challenge me as long as I was willing to answer.

Down at our end there were but two tents; one for me, and another for my servants. At the appointed hour the king made a sign, and the heralds, in their tabards, appeared and made proclamation, naming the combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There was a pause, then a ringing bugle-blast, which was the signal for us to come forth. All the multitude caught their breath, and an eager curiosity flashed into every face.

At our end, there were only two tents: one for me and one for my servants. At the appointed time, the king gave a signal. The heralds appeared in their tabards and made an announcement, naming the combatants and explaining the cause of the quarrel. There was a pause, then a ringing blast from a bugle. That was our signal to come out. The whole crowd caught their breath, and eager curiosity flashed across every face.

Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramor, an imposing tower of iron, stately and rigid, his huge spear standing upright in its socket and grasped in his strong hand, his grand horse’s face and breast cased in steel, his body clothed in rich trappings that almost dragged the ground—oh, a most noble picture. A great shout went up, of welcome and admiration.

Great Sir Sagramor rode out of his tent, an imposing tower of iron, dignified and stiff. His huge spear stood upright in its socket, held in his strong hand. His magnificent horse wore steel armor over its face and chest. Rich coverings draped its body, almost dragging on the ground. Oh, what a noble sight! The crowd let out a great shout of welcome and admiration.

And then out I came. But I didn’t get any shout. There was a wondering and eloquent silence for a moment, then a great wave of laughter began to sweep along that human sea, but a warning bugle-blast cut its career short. I was in the simplest and comfortablest of gymnast costumes—flesh-colored tights from neck to heel, with blue silk puffings about my loins, and bareheaded. My horse was not above medium size, but he was alert, slender-limbed, muscled with watchsprings, and just a greyhound to go. He was a beauty, glossy as silk, and naked as he was when he was born, except for bridle and ranger-saddle.

Then I came out. But no one cheered. For a moment, there was a silence full of wonder. Then a great wave of laughter began to sweep through that sea of people. But a warning blast from a bugle cut it short. I wore the simplest, most comfortable gymnast’s costume: flesh-colored tights from neck to heel, with puffs of blue silk around my hips. I wore nothing on my head. My horse was no bigger than average, but he was alert and slender-legged, with muscles like watch springs. He could run like a greyhound. He was beautiful, glossy as silk, and as naked as the day he was born, except for a bridle and ranger saddle.

The iron tower and the gorgeous bedquilt came cumbrously but gracefully pirouetting down the lists, and we tripped lightly up to meet them. We halted; the tower saluted, I responded; then we wheeled and rode side by side to the grand-stand and faced our king and queen, to whom we made obeisance. The queen exclaimed:

The iron tower and the gorgeous bedquilt came spinning down the tournament field, awkwardly but gracefully. We rode lightly forward to meet them. We stopped. The tower saluted, and I saluted back. Then we turned and rode side by side to the grandstand, where we faced our king and queen and bowed. The queen exclaimed:

“Alack, Sir Boss, wilt fight naked, and without lance or sword or—”

“Oh no, Sir Boss, will you fight naked, without a lance or sword or...”

But the king checked her and made her understand, with a polite phrase or two, that this was none of her business. The bugles rang again; and we separated and rode to the ends of the lists, and took position. Now old Merlin stepped into view and cast a dainty web of gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor which turned him into Hamlet’s ghost; the king made a sign, the bugles blew, Sir Sagramor laid his great lance in rest, and the next moment here he came thundering down the course with his veil flying out behind, and I went whistling through the air like an arrow to meet him—cocking my ear the while, as if noting the invisible knight’s position and progress by hearing, not sight. A chorus of encouraging shouts burst out for him, and one brave voice flung out a heartening word for me—said:

But the king stopped her and politely made it clear that this was none of her business. The bugles sounded again. We separated, rode to opposite ends of the tournament field, and took our positions. Then old Merlin stepped forward and cast a delicate web of gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor, making him look like Hamlet’s ghost. The king gave a signal, and the bugles blew. Sir Sagramor lowered his great lance into position. The next moment, he came thundering down the course, his veil flying behind him. I went whistling through the air like an arrow to meet him. I cocked my ear as if I were tracking the invisible knight’s position and progress by hearing, not sight. A chorus of encouraging shouts went up for him. One brave voice called out a word of encouragement for me. It said:

“Go it, slim Jim!”

“Go for it, slim Jim!”

It was an even bet that Clarence had procured that favor for me—and furnished the language, too. When that formidable lance-point was within a yard and a half of my breast I twitched my horse aside without an effort, and the big knight swept by, scoring a blank. I got plenty of applause that time. We turned, braced up, and down we came again. Another blank for the knight, a roar of applause for me. This same thing was repeated once more; and it fetched such a whirlwind of applause that Sir Sagramor lost his temper, and at once changed his tactics and set himself the task of chasing me down. Why, he hadn’t any show in the world at that; it was a game of tag, with all the advantage on my side; I whirled out of his path with ease whenever I chose, and once I slapped him on the back as I went to the rear. Finally I took the chase into my own hands; and after that, turn, or twist, or do what he would, he was never able to get behind me again; he found himself always in front at the end of his maneuver. So he gave up that business and retired to his end of the lists. His temper was clear gone now, and he forgot himself and flung an insult at me which disposed of mine. I slipped my lasso from the horn of my saddle, and grasped the coil in my right hand. This time you should have seen him come!—it was a business trip, sure; by his gait there was blood in his eye. I was sitting my horse at ease, and swinging the great loop of my lasso in wide circles about my head; the moment he was under way, I started for him; when the space between us had narrowed to forty feet, I sent the snaky spirals of the rope a-cleaving through the air, then darted aside and faced about and brought my trained animal to a halt with all his feet braced under him for a surge. The next moment the rope sprang taut and yanked Sir Sagramor out of the saddle! Great Scott, but there was a sensation!

I’d bet even money that Clarence had arranged that favor for me and supplied the words, too. When that fearsome lance point was within a yard and a half of my chest, I easily pulled my horse aside. The big knight swept past and missed. I got plenty of applause that time. We turned, got ready, and charged again. The knight missed again, and I got a roar of applause. We did the same thing once more, and the applause was like a whirlwind. Sir Sagramor lost his temper. He changed his tactics at once and set out to chase me down. Why, he didn’t have a chance in the world at that. It was a game of tag, and I had all the advantage. I easily spun out of his path whenever I wanted. Once, I slapped him on the back as I went around behind him. Finally, I took over the chase. After that, no matter how he turned or twisted, he could never get behind me again. He always ended up in front of me. So he gave up and went back to his end of the lists. His temper was completely gone now. He lost control and threw an insult at me that made me lose mine. I slipped my lasso off the horn of my saddle and held the coil in my right hand. This time you should have seen him come! He meant business, sure enough. The way he charged, you could tell he had blood in his eye. I sat easily on my horse, swinging the great loop of my lasso in wide circles over my head. The moment he started, I charged toward him. When we were forty feet apart, I sent the snaking coils of rope flying through the air. Then I darted aside and turned around. I brought my trained horse to a halt, with all four feet braced for a hard pull. The next moment, the rope snapped tight and yanked Sir Sagramor out of the saddle! Great Scott, what a sensation that caused!

Unquestionably, the popular thing in this world is novelty. These people had never seen anything of that cowboy business before, and it carried them clear off their feet with delight. From all around and everywhere, the shout went up:

Without a doubt, novelty is what people love in this world. These people had never seen anything like that cowboy business before, and they were thrilled. From all around, a shout went up:

“Encore! encore!”

“Encore! Encore!”

I wondered where they got the word, but there was no time to cipher on philological matters, because the whole knight-errantry hive was just humming now, and my prospect for trade couldn’t have been better. The moment my lasso was released and Sir Sagramor had been assisted to his tent, I hauled in the slack, took my station and began to swing my loop around my head again. I was sure to have use for it as soon as they could elect a successor for Sir Sagramor, and that couldn’t take long where there were so many hungry candidates. Indeed, they elected one straight off—Sir Hervis de Revel.

I wondered where they got the word, but there was no time to think about its origins. The whole knight-errantry hive was buzzing now, and my prospects for trade couldn’t have been better. Once my lasso was free and Sir Sagramor had been helped to his tent, I pulled in the slack. I took my position and began swinging the loop over my head again. I was sure to need it as soon as they chose a successor to Sir Sagramor. And with so many eager candidates, that couldn’t take long. In fact, they chose one right away: Sir Hervis de Revel.

Bzz! Here he came, like a house afire; I dodged: he passed like a flash, with my horse-hair coils settling around his neck; a second or so later, fst! his saddle was empty.

Bzz! Here he came, charging like a house on fire. I dodged. He flashed past as my horsehair coils settled around his neck. A second or so later, fst! his saddle was empty.

I got another encore; and another, and another, and still another. When I had snaked five men out, things began to look serious to the ironclads, and they stopped and consulted together. As a result, they decided that it was time to waive etiquette and send their greatest and best against me. To the astonishment of that little world, I lassoed Sir Lamorak de Galis, and after him Sir Galahad. So you see there was simply nothing to be done now, but play their right bower—bring out the superbest of the superb, the mightiest of the mighty, the great Sir Launcelot himself!

I got another encore, and another, and another, and still another. After I had dragged out five men, things began to look serious to the ironclads. They stopped and talked it over. They decided it was time to set etiquette aside and send their greatest and best against me. To the astonishment of everyone there, I lassoed Sir Lamorak de Galis, and then Sir Galahad. So you see, they had only one move left: play their trump card. They had to bring out the best of the best, the mightiest of the mighty, the great Sir Launcelot himself!

A proud moment for me? I should think so. Yonder was Arthur, King of Britain; yonder was Guenever; yes, and whole tribes of little provincial kings and kinglets; and in the tented camp yonder, renowned knights from many lands; and likewise the selectest body known to chivalry, the Knights of the Table Round, the most illustrious in Christendom; and biggest fact of all, the very sun of their shining system was yonder couching his lance, the focal point of forty thousand adoring eyes; and all by myself, here was I laying for him. Across my mind flitted the dear image of a certain hello-girl of West Hartford, and I wished she could see me now. In that moment, down came the Invincible, with the rush of a whirlwind—the courtly world rose to its feet and bent forward—the fateful coils went circling through the air, and before you could wink I was towing Sir Launcelot across the field on his back, and kissing my hand to the storm of waving kerchiefs and the thunder-crash of applause that greeted me!

A proud moment for me? You bet. There was Arthur, King of Britain, and there was Guenever. There were whole tribes of little local kings and petty kings. In the camp of tents were famous knights from many lands. And there was the finest group in all of chivalry, the Knights of the Table Round, the most illustrious in Christendom. Most important of all, the very sun at the center of their shining system was lowering his lance into position. Forty thousand adoring eyes were fixed on him. And here I was, all by myself, waiting for him. The dear image of a certain telephone operator in West Hartford flashed through my mind. I wished she could see me now. At that moment, the Invincible came charging down like a whirlwind. The courtly crowd rose to its feet and leaned forward. The fateful coils circled through the air, and before you could blink, I was towing Sir Launcelot across the field on his back. I blew kisses to the storm of waving handkerchiefs and the thunderous applause that greeted me!

Said I to myself, as I coiled my lariat and hung it on my saddle-horn, and sat there drunk with glory, “The victory is perfect—no other will venture against me—knight-errantry is dead.” Now imagine my astonishment—and everybody else’s, too—to hear the peculiar bugle-call which announces that another competitor is about to enter the lists! There was a mystery here; I couldn’t account for this thing. Next, I noticed Merlin gliding away from me; and then I noticed that my lasso was gone! The old sleight-of-hand expert had stolen it, sure, and slipped it under his robe.

As I coiled my lariat and hung it on my saddle horn, I sat there drunk with glory. I said to myself, “The victory is complete. No one else will dare challenge me. Knight-errantry is dead.” So imagine my astonishment, and everyone else’s too, when we heard the distinctive bugle call announcing another competitor was about to enter the arena! It was a mystery. I couldn’t explain it. Then I noticed Merlin slipping away from me. Next I noticed that my lasso was gone! The old sleight-of-hand expert had stolen it, sure enough, and slipped it under his robe.

The bugle blew again. I looked, and down came Sagramor riding again, with his dust brushed off and his veil nicely re-arranged. I trotted up to meet him, and pretended to find him by the sound of his horse’s hoofs. He said:

The bugle sounded again. I looked and saw Sagramor riding toward me again, his dust brushed off and his veil neatly rearranged. I trotted out to meet him, pretending to find him by the sound of his horse’s hooves. He said:

“Thou’rt quick of ear, but it will not save thee from this!” and he touched the hilt of his great sword. “An ye are not able to see it, because of the influence of the veil, know that it is no cumbrous lance, but a sword—and I ween ye will not be able to avoid it.”

“You have a quick ear, but that won’t save you from this!” He touched the hilt of his great sword. “If you can’t see it because of the veil, know that it is a sword, not a cumbersome lance. And I don’t think you’ll be able to avoid it.”

His visor was up; there was death in his smile. I should never be able to dodge his sword, that was plain. Somebody was going to die this time. If he got the drop on me, I could name the corpse. We rode forward together, and saluted the royalties. This time the king was disturbed. He said:

His visor was up, and there was death in his smile. Clearly, I would never be able to dodge his sword. Somebody was going to die this time. If he got the first strike, I knew who the corpse would be. We rode forward together and saluted the royal party. This time the king was troubled. He said:

“Where is thy strange weapon?”

“Where is your strange weapon?”

“It is stolen, sire.”

“It was stolen, sire.”

“Hast another at hand?”

“Do you have another one handy?”

“No, sire, I brought only the one.”

“No, sir, I brought only one.”

Then Merlin mixed in:

Then Merlin spoke up:

“He brought but the one because there was but the one to bring. There exists none other but that one. It belongeth to the king of the Demons of the Sea. This man is a pretender, and ignorant, else he had known that that weapon can be used in but eight bouts only, and then it vanisheth away to its home under the sea.”

“He brought only one because there was only one to bring. No other exists. It belongs to the king of the Demons of the Sea. This man is a pretender and ignorant. Otherwise, he would have known that the weapon can be used in only eight bouts. After that, it vanishes and returns to its home under the sea.”

“Then is he weaponless,” said the king. “Sir Sagramore, ye will grant him leave to borrow.”

“Then he has no weapon,” said the king. “Sir Sagramore, you will allow him to borrow one.”

“And I will lend!” said Sir Launcelot, limping up. “He is as brave a knight of his hands as any that be on live, and he shall have mine.”

“And I will lend!” said Sir Launcelot, limping up. “He is as brave a fighting knight as any alive, and he shall have mine.”

He put his hand on his sword to draw it, but Sir Sagramor said:

He reached for his sword to draw it, but Sir Sagramor said:

“Stay, it may not be. He shall fight with his own weapons; it was his privilege to choose them and bring them. If he has erred, on his head be it.”

“Wait, that cannot be. He must fight with his own weapons. It was his right to choose and bring them. If he made a mistake, the consequences are his to bear.”

“Knight!” said the king. “Thou’rt overwrought with passion; it disorders thy mind. Wouldst kill a naked man?”

“Knight!” said the king. “You are overwhelmed by passion. It clouds your mind. Would you kill a naked man?”

“An he do it, he shall answer it to me,” said Sir Launcelot.

“If he does it, he will answer to me,” said Sir Launcelot.

“I will answer it to any he that desireth!” retorted Sir Sagramor hotly.

“I will answer for it to anyone who wants me to!” Sir Sagramor retorted angrily.

Merlin broke in, rubbing his hands and smiling his lowdownest smile of malicious gratification:

Merlin broke in, rubbing his hands and wearing his most despicably gleeful smile:

“’Tis well said, right well said! And ’tis enough of parleying, let my lord the king deliver the battle signal.”

“Well said, very well said! And that’s enough talk. Let the king give the signal for battle.”

The king had to yield. The bugle made proclamation, and we turned apart and rode to our stations. There we stood, a hundred yards apart, facing each other, rigid and motionless, like horsed statues. And so we remained, in a soundless hush, as much as a full minute, everybody gazing, nobody stirring. It seemed as if the king could not take heart to give the signal. But at last he lifted his hand, the clear note of the bugle followed, Sir Sagramor’s long blade described a flashing curve in the air, and it was superb to see him come. I sat still. On he came. I did not move. People got so excited that they shouted to me:

The king had to give in. The bugle sounded the announcement, and we rode apart to our positions. There we stood, a hundred yards apart, facing each other, stiff and motionless, like statues on horseback. We stayed that way for a full minute in complete silence. Everyone watched, and no one moved. It seemed the king could not bring himself to give the signal. But at last he raised his hand, and the bugle sounded a clear note. Sir Sagramor swung his long blade in a flashing arc through the air. It was magnificent to see him charge. I sat still. On he came. I did not move. People grew so excited that they shouted to me:

“Fly, fly! Save thyself! This is murther!”

“Run, run! Save yourself! This is murder!”

I never budged so much as an inch till that thundering apparition had got within fifteen paces of me; then I snatched a dragoon revolver out of my holster, there was a flash and a roar, and the revolver was back in the holster before anybody could tell what had happened.

I didn’t move an inch until that thundering figure was fifteen paces away. Then I snatched a dragoon revolver from my holster. There was a flash and a roar. The revolver was back in its holster before anyone could tell what had happened.

Here was a riderless horse plunging by, and yonder lay Sir Sagramor, stone dead.

A riderless horse rushed past, and over there lay Sir Sagramor, stone dead.

The people that ran to him were stricken dumb to find that the life was actually gone out of the man and no reason for it visible, no hurt upon his body, nothing like a wound. There was a hole through the breast of his chain-mail, but they attached no importance to a little thing like that; and as a bullet wound there produces but little blood, none came in sight because of the clothing and swaddlings under the armor. The body was dragged over to let the king and the swells look down upon it. They were stupefied with astonishment naturally. I was requested to come and explain the miracle. But I remained in my tracks, like a statue, and said:

The people who ran to him were speechless when they found he was actually dead. There was no visible reason for it, no injury to his body, nothing like a wound. There was a hole in the chest of his chain mail, but they thought little of such a small thing. A bullet wound there produces little blood, so none showed through the clothing and padding under his armor. The body was dragged over so the king and the nobles could look down at it. Naturally, they were stunned with amazement. They asked me to come and explain the miracle. But I stood where I was, like a statue, and said:

“If it is a command, I will come, but my lord the king knows that I am where the laws of combat require me to remain while any desire to come against me.”

“If you command me to come, I will. But my lord the king knows the rules of combat require me to stay here as long as anyone wants to fight me.”

I waited. Nobody challenged. Then I said:

I waited. Nobody objected. Then I said:

“If there are any who doubt that this field is well and fairly won, I do not wait for them to challenge me, I challenge them.”

“If anyone doubts that this field was won fairly, I won't wait for them to challenge me. I challenge them.”

“It is a gallant offer,” said the king, “and well beseems you. Whom will you name first?”

“That is a noble offer,” said the king, “and it suits you well. Whom will you name first?”

“I name none, I challenge all! Here I stand, and dare the chivalry of England to come against me—not by individuals, but in mass!”

“I name no one. I challenge everyone! Here I stand, daring all the knights of England to come against me together, not one at a time!”

“What!” shouted a score of knights.

“What!” shouted twenty knights.

“You have heard the challenge. Take it, or I proclaim you recreant knights and vanquished, every one!”

“You have heard the challenge. Accept it, or I will declare every one of you a coward and defeated!”

It was a “bluff” you know. At such a time it is sound judgment to put on a bold face and play your hand for a hundred times what it is worth; forty-nine times out of fifty nobody dares to “call,” and you rake in the chips. But just this once—well, things looked squally! In just no time, five hundred knights were scrambling into their saddles, and before you could wink a widely scattering drove were under way and clattering down upon me. I snatched both revolvers from the holsters and began to measure distances and calculate chances.

It was a “bluff,” you know. At a time like that, it makes sense to look bold and play your hand as if it were worth a hundred times more. Forty-nine times out of fifty, nobody dares to “call,” and you rake in the chips. But this once, well, things looked stormy! In no time, five hundred knights were scrambling into their saddles. Before you could blink, a widely scattered crowd of them was clattering toward me. I snatched both revolvers from their holsters and began judging distances and calculating my chances.

Bang! One saddle empty. Bang! another one. Bang—bang, and I bagged two. Well, it was nip and tuck with us, and I knew it. If I spent the eleventh shot without convincing these people, the twelfth man would kill me, sure. And so I never did feel so happy as I did when my ninth downed its man and I detected the wavering in the crowd which is premonitory of panic. An instant lost now could knock out my last chance. But I didn’t lose it. I raised both revolvers and pointed them—the halted host stood their ground just about one good square moment, then broke and fled.

Bang! One saddle was empty. Bang! Another one. Bang, bang, and I got two. Well, it was a close contest, and I knew it. If I fired the eleventh shot without convincing these people, the twelfth man would surely kill me. So I had never felt happier than when my ninth shot downed its man. I saw the crowd begin to waver, a sign that panic was coming. If I lost a moment now, I could lose my last chance. But I didn’t. I raised both revolvers and pointed them. The crowd had stopped, and they stood their ground for one full moment. Then they turned and fled.

The day was mine. Knight-errantry was a doomed institution. The march of civilization was begun. How did I feel? Ah, you never could imagine it.

The day was mine. The age of knights going on quests was doomed. Civilization had begun to move forward. How did I feel? Ah, you could never imagine it.

And Brer Merlin? His stock was flat again. Somehow, every time the magic of fol-de-rol tried conclusions with the magic of science, the magic of fol-de-rol got left.

And Brer Merlin? His reputation had sunk again. Somehow, whenever the magic of fol-de-rol faced the magic of science, fol-de-rol lost.