“Baltasar,” he said, his face white and hard; “let us stop our acting.  Where is that stallion?”

“Whad ztallion?” asked the imperturbable gypsy, with an expression of child-like innocence.

“I will not even take time to tell you, but if you do not take me to him this instant there will be a dead gypsy in these woods,” said the quack fiercely.

“Ze zdranger jesz!” the gypsy answered blandly, showing his teeth and spreading out the palms of his hands.

The quack reached into his bosom, drew forth a pistol, pointed it at the right eye of the gypsy, and said:  “Look into the mouth of that and tell me whether you see a bullet lying in its throat!”

“I zink zat ze senor an’ heez piztol are boz lying in zeir zroats,” he answered with easy irony.

“Good!  But I am not here to match wits with you.  I want that horse, and lie or no lie, I will have it.  Take me to it, or I swear I will blow out your brains as sure as they are made of bacon and baby flesh!”

The gypsy vouchsafed no reply, but turned on his heel and led the way into the forest.

After a walk of a hundred yards or more they came to a booth of boughs, through the loose sides of which could be seen a black stallion.

“Lead him out,” said the doctor imperatively; and the gypsy obeyed.

The magnificent animal came forth snorting, pawing the ground and tossing his head in the air.

The eye of the quack kindled, and after regarding the noble creature for a moment in silent admiration he turned to the gypsy and said, “Baltasar, do not misunderstand me, I am neither an officer of the law nor in any other way a minister of justice.  I have as few scruples as you as to how I get a horse; but we differ from each other in this, that if you were in my place you would take the horse without giving an equivalent.  Now I am a man of mercy, and if you will ask a fair price you shall have it.  But mark me!  Do not overreach yourself and kill the goose that is about to lay the golden egg.”

“Wat muz be, muz be,” the gypsy answered, shrugging his shoulders as if in the presence of an inexorable fate, and added:  “Ze brice iz zwo hunner and viftee dollars, wiz ze mare drown een.”

Putting his pistol back into his pocket with an air of triumph, the doctor said:  “There seems to be persuasive power in cold lead.  Stretch forth your palm and I will cross it for you.”

The gypsy did so, and into that tiger-like paw he counted the golden coin; at the musical clink of each piece the eye of the gypsy brightened, and when he closed his hand upon them and thrust them into his pocket his hair-lip curled with a cynical smile.

The stranger took the bridle and saddle from his mare, placed them on the stallion and mounted.

As they moved forward through the silent forest the gypsy sang softly to himself: 

     “The Romany chal to his horse did cry
       As he placed the bit in his jaw,
     Kosko gry, Romany gry,
       Muk, man, kuster, tute knaw.”