General Petko gasped and returned the ultimatum to his pocket.

“Sire!” he cried, his face lighting with incredulity. “You mean—”

“I mean,” said the American, “that if Serbia will loan Lutha an army

corps until the Austrians have evacuated Luthanian territory, Lutha

will loan Serbia an army corps until such time as peace is declared

between Serbia and Austria. Other than this neither government will

incur any obligations to the other.

“We may not need your help, but it will do us no harm to have them well

on the way toward Lustadt as quickly as possible. Count Zellerndorf

will be here in a few minutes. We shall, through him, give Austria

twenty-four hours to withdraw all her troops beyond our frontiers. The

army of Lutha is mobilized before Lustadt. It is not a large army, but

with the help of Serbia it should be able to drive the Austrians from

the country, provided they do not leave of their own accord.”

General Petko smiled. So did the American and the chancellor. Each knew

that Austria would not withdraw her army from Lutha.

“With your majesty’s permission I will withdraw,” said the Serbian,

“and transmit Lutha’s proposition to my government; but I may say that

your majesty need have no apprehension but that a Serbian army corps

will be crossing into Lutha before noon today.”

“And now, Prince Ludwig,” said the American after the Serbian had bowed

himself out of the apartment, “I suggest that you take immediate steps

to entrench a strong force north of Lustadt along the road to Blentz.”

Von der Tann smiled as he replied. “It is already done, sire,” he said.

“But I passed in along the road this morning,” said Barney, “and saw

nothing of such preparations.”

“The trenches and the soldiers were there, nevertheless, sire,” replied

the old man, “only a little gap was left on either side of the highway

that those who came and went might not suspect our plans and carry word

of them to the Austrians. A few hours will complete the link across the

road.”

“Good! Let it be completed at once. Here is Count Zellerndorf now,” as

the minister was announced.

Von der Tann bowed himself out as the Austrian entered the king’s

presence. For the first time in two years the chancellor felt that the

destiny of Lutha was safe in the hands of her king. What had caused the

metamorphosis in Leopold he could not guess. He did not seem to be the

same man that had whined and growled at their last audience a week

before.

The Austrian minister entered the king’s presence with an expression of

ill-concealed surprise upon his face. Two days before he had left

Leopold safely ensconced at Blentz, where he was to have remained

indefinitely. He glanced hurriedly about the room in search of Prince

Peter or another of the conspirators who should have been with the

king. He saw no one. The king was speaking. The Austrian’s eyes went

wider, not only at the words, but at the tone of voice.

“Count Zellerndorf,” said the American, “you were doubtless aware of

the embarrassment under which the king of Lutha was compelled at Blentz

to witness the entry of a foreign army within his domain. But we are

not now at Blentz. We have summoned you that you may receive from us,

and transmit to your emperor, the expression of our surprise and dismay

at the unwarranted violation of Luthanian neutrality.”

“But, your majesty—” interrupted the Austrian.

“But nothing, your excellency,” snapped the American. “The moment for

diplomacy is passed; the time for action has come. You will oblige us

by transmitting to your government at once a request that every

Austrian soldier now in Lutha be withdrawn by noon tomorrow.”

Zellerndorf looked his astonishment.

“Are you mad, sire?” he cried. “It will mean war!”

“It is what Austria has been looking for,” snapped the American, “and

what people look for they usually get, especially if they chance to be

looking for trouble. When can you expect a reply from Vienna?”

“By noon, your majesty,” replied the Austrian, “but are you

irretrievably bound to your present policy? Remember the power of

Austria, sire. Think of your throne. Think—”

“We have thought of everything,” interrupted Barney. “A throne means

less to us than you may imagine, count; but the honor of Lutha means a

great deal.”

XI.

THE BATTLE

At five o’clock that afternoon the sidewalks bordering Margaretha

Street were crowded with promenaders. The little tables before the

cafes were filled. Nearly everyone spoke of the great war and of the

peril which menaced Lutha. Upon many a lip was open disgust at the

supine attitude of Leopold of Lutha in the face of an Austrian invasion

of his country. Discontent was open. It was ripening to something worse

for Leopold than an Austrian invasion.

Presently a sergeant of the Royal Horse Guards cantered down the street

from the palace. He stopped here and there, and, dismounting, tacked

placards in conspicuous places. At the notice, and in each instance

cheers and shouting followed the sergeant as he rode on to the next

stop.

Now, at each point men and women were gathered, eagerly awaiting an

explanation of the jubilation farther up the street. Those whom the

sergeant passed called to him for an explanation, and not receiving it,

followed in a quickly growing mob that filled Margaretha Street from

wall to wall. When he dismounted he had almost to fight his way to the

post or door upon which he was to tack the next placard. The crowd

surged about him in its anxiety to read what the placard bore, and

then, between the cheering and yelling, those in the front passed back

to the crowd the tidings that filled them with so great rejoicing.

“Leopold has declared war on Austria!” “The king calls for volunteers!”

“Long live the king!”

The battle of Lustadt has passed into history. Outside of the little

kingdom of Lutha it received but passing notice by the world at large,

whose attention was riveted upon the great conflicts along the banks of

the Meuse, the Marne, and the Aisne. But in Lutha! Ah, it will be told

and retold, handed down from mouth to mouth and from generation to

generation to the end of time.

How the cavalry that the king sent north toward Blentz met the

advancing Austrian army. How, fighting, they fell back upon the

infantry which lay, a thin line that stretched east and west across the

north of Lustadt, in its first line of trenches. A pitifully weak line

it was, numerically, in comparison with the forces of the invaders; but

it stood its ground heroically, and from the heights to the north of

the city the fire from the forts helped to hold the enemy in check for

many hours.

And then the enemy succeeded in bringing up their heavy artillery to

the ridge that lies three miles north of the forts. Shells were

bursting in the trenches, the forts, and the city. To the south a

stream of terror-stricken refugees was pouring out of Lustadt along the

King’s Road. Rich and poor, animated by a common impulse, filled the

narrow street that led to the city’s southern gate. Carts drawn by

dogs, laden donkeys, French limousines, victorias, wheelbarrows—every

conceivable wheeled vehicle and beast of burden—were jammed in a

seemingly inextricable tangle in the mad rush for safety.

Rumor passed back and forth through the fleeing thousands. Now came

word that Fort No. 2 had been silenced by the Austrian guns.

Immediately followed news that the Luthanian line was falling back upon

the city. Fear turned to panic. Men fought to outdistance their

neighbors.

A shell burst upon a roof-top in an adjoining square.

Women fainted and were trampled. Hoarse shouts of anger mingled with

screams of terror, and then into the midst of it from Margaretha Street

rode a man on horseback. Behind him were a score of officers. A

trumpeter raised his instrument to his lips, and above the din of the

fleeing multitude rose the sharp, triple call that announces the coming

of the king. The mob halted and turned.

Looking down upon them from his saddle was Leopold of Lutha. His palm

was raised for silence and there was a smile upon his lips. Quite

suddenly, and as by a miracle, fear left them. They made a line for him

and his staff to ride through. One of the officers turned in his saddle

to address a civilian friend in an automobile.

“His majesty is riding to the firing line,” he said and he raised his

voice that many might hear. Quickly the word passed from mouth to

mouth, and as Barney Custer, of Beatrice, passed along Margaretha

Street he was followed by a mad din of cheering that drowned the

booming of the distant cannon and the bursting of the shells above the

city.

The balance of the day the pseudo-king rode back and forth along his

lines. Three of his staff were killed and two horses were shot from

beneath him, but from the moment that he appeared the Luthanian line

ceased to waver or fall back. The advanced trenches that they had

abandoned to the Austrians they took again at the point of the bayonet.

Charge after charge they repulsed, and all the time there hovered above

the enemy Lutha’s sole aeroplane, watching, watching, ever watching for

the coming of the allies. Somewhere to the northeast the Serbians were

advancing toward Lustadt. Would they come in time?

It was five o’clock in the morning of the second day, and though the

Luthanian line still held, Barney Custer knew that it could not hold

for long. The Austrian artillery fire, which had been rather wild the

preceding day, had now become of deadly accuracy. Each bursting shell

filled some part of the trenches with dead and wounded, and though

their places were taken by fresh men from the reserve, there would soon

be no reserve left to call upon.

At his left, in the rear, the American had massed the bulk of his

reserves, and at the foot of the heights north of the city and just

below the forts the major portion of the cavalry was drawn up in the

shelter of a little ravine. Barney’s eyes were fixed upon the soaring

aeroplane.

In his hand was his watch. He would wait another fifteen minutes, and

if by then the signal had not come that the Serbians were approaching,

he would strike the blow that he had decided upon. From time to time he

glanced at his watch.

The fifteen minutes had almost elapsed when there fluttered from the

tiny monoplane a paper parachute. It dropped for several hundred feet

before it spread to the air pressure and floated more gently toward the

earth and a moment later there burst from its basket a puff of white

smoke. Two more parachutes followed the first and two more puffs of

smoke. Then the machine darted rapidly off toward the northeast.

Barney turned to Prince von der Tann with a smile. “They are none too

soon,” he said.

The old prince bowed in acquiescence. He had been very happy for two

days. Lutha might be defeated now, but she could never be subdued. She

had a king at last—a real king. Gott! How he had changed. It reminded

Prince von der Tann of the day he had ridden beside the impostor two

years before in the battle with the forces of Peter of Blentz. Many

times he had caught himself scrutinizing the face of the monarch,

searching for some proof that after all he was not Leopold.

“Direct the commanders of forts three and four to concentrate their

fire on the enemy’s guns directly north of Fort No. 3,” Barney directed

an aide. “Simultaneously let the cavalry and Colonel Kazov’s infantry

make a determined assault on the Austrian trenches.”

Then he turned his horse toward the left of his line, where, a little

to the rear, lay the fresh troops that he had been holding in readiness

against this very moment. As he galloped across the plain, his staff at

his heels, shrapnel burst about them. Von der Tann spurred to his side.

“Sire,” he cried, “it is unnecessary that you take such grave risks.

Your staff is ready and willing to perform such service that you may be

preserved to your people and your throne.”

“I believe the men fight better when they think their king is watching

them,” said the American simply.

“I know it, sire,” replied Von der Tann, “but even so, Lutha could ill

afford to lose you now. I thank God, your majesty, that I have lived to

see this day—to see the last of the Rubinroths upholding the glorious

traditions of the Rubinroth blood.”

Barney led the reserves slowly through the wood to the rear of the

extreme left of his line. The attack upon the Austrian right center

appeared to be meeting with much greater success than the American

dared to hope for. Already, through his glasses, he could see

indications that the enemy was concentrating a larger force at this

point to repulse the vicious assaults of the Luthanians. To do this

they must be drawing from their reserves back of other portions of

their line.

It was what Barney had desired. The three bombs from the aeroplane had

told him that the Serbians had been sighted three miles away. Already

they were engaging the Austrians. He could hear the rattle of rifles

and quick-firers and the roar of cannon far to the northeast. And now

he gave the word to the commander of the reserve.

At a rapid trot the men moved forward behind the extreme left end of

the Luthanian left wing. They were almost upon the Austrians before

they emerged from the shelter of the wood, and then with hoarse shouts

and leveled bayonets they charged the enemy’s position. The fight there

was the bloodiest of the two long days. Back and forth the tide of

battle surged. In the thick of it rode the false king encouraging his

men to greater effort. Slowly at last they bore the Austrians from

their trenches. Back and back they bore them until retreat became a

rout. The Austrian right was crumpled back upon its center!

Here the enemy made a determined stand; but just before dark a great

shouting arose from the heights to their left, where the bulk of their

artillery was stationed. Both the Luthanian and Austrian troops engaged

in the plain saw Austrian infantry and artillery running down the

slopes in disorderly rout. Upon their heads came a cheering line of

soldiers firing as they ran, and above them waved the battleflag of

Serbia.

A mighty shout rose from the Luthanian ranks—an answering groan from

the throats of the Austrians. Hemmed in between the two lines of

allies, the Austrians were helpless. Their artillery was captured,

retreat cut off. There was but a single alternative to massacre—the

white flag.

A few regiments between Lustadt and Blentz, but nearer the latter town,

escaped back into Austria, the balance Barney arranged with the Serbian

minister to have taken back to Serbia as prisoners of war. The

Luthanian army corps that the American had promised the Serbs was to be

utilized along the Austrian frontier to prevent the passage of Austrian

troops into Serbia through Lutha.

The return to Lustadt after the battle was made through cheering troops

and along streets choked with joy-mad citizenry. The name of the

soldier-king was upon every tongue. Men went wild with enthusiasm as

the tall figure rode slowly through the crowd toward the palace.

Von der Tann, grim and martial, found his lids damp with the moisture

of a great happiness. Even now with all the proofs of reality about

him, it seemed impossible that this scene could be aught but the

ephemeral vapors of a dream—that Leopold of Lutha, the coward, the

craven, could have become in a single day the heroic figure that had

loomed so large upon the battlefield of Lustadt—the simple, modest

gentleman who received the plaudits of his subjects with bowed head and

humble mien.

As Barney Custer rode up Margaretha Street toward the royal palace of

the kings of Lutha, a dust-covered horseman in the uniform of an

officer of the Horse Guards entered Lustadt from the south. It was the

young aide of Prince von der Tann’s staff, who had been sent to Blentz

nearly a week earlier with a message for the king, and who had been

captured and held by the Austrians.

During the battle before Lustadt all the Austrian troops had been

withdrawn from Blentz and hurried to the front. It was then that the

aide had been transferred to the castle, from which he had escaped

early that morning. To reach Lustadt he had been compelled to circle

the Austrian position, coming to Lustadt from the south.

Once within the city he rode straight to the palace, flung himself from

his jaded mount, and entered the left wing of the building—the wing in

which the private apartments of the chancellor were located.

Here he inquired for the Princess Emma, learning with evident relief

that she was there. A moment later, white with dust, his face streamed

with sweat, he was ushered into her presence.

“Your highness,” he blurted, “the king’s commands have been

disregarded—the American is to be shot tomorrow. I have just escaped

from Blentz. Peter is furious. He realizes that whether the Austrians

win or lose, his standing with the king is gone forever.

“In a fit of rage he has ordered that Mr. Custer be sacrificed to his

desire for revenge, in the hope that it will insure for him the favor

of the Austrians. Something must be done at once if he is to be saved.”

For a moment the girl swayed as though about to fall. The young officer

stepped quickly to support her, but before he reached her side she had

regained complete mastery of herself. From the street without there

rose the blare of trumpets and the cheering of the populace.

Through senses numb with the cold of anguish the meaning of the tumult

slowly filtered to her brain—the king had come. He was returning from

the battlefield, covered with honors and flushed with glory—the man who

was to be her husband; but there was no rejoicing in the heart of the

Princess Emma.

Instead, there was a dull ache and impotent rebellion at the injustice

of the thing—that Leopold should be reaping these great rewards, while

he who had made it possible for him to be a king at all was to die on

the morrow because of what he had done to place the Rubinroth upon his

throne.

“Perhaps Lieutenant Butzow might find a way,” suggested the officer.

“He or your father; they are both fond of Mr. Custer.”

“Yes,” said the girl dully, “see Lieutenant Butzow—he would do the

most.”

The officer bowed and hastened from the apartment in search of Butzow.

The girl approached the window and stood there for a long time, looking

out at the surging multitude that pressed around the palace gates,

filling Margaretha Street with a solid mass of happy faces.

They cheered the king, the chancellor, the army; but most often they

cheered the king. From a despised monarch Leopold had risen in a single

bound to the position of a national idol.

Repeatedly he was called to the balcony over the grand entrance that

the people might feast their eyes on him. The princess wondered how

long it was before she herself would be forced to offer her

congratulations and, perchance, suffer his caresses. She shivered and

cringed at the thought, and then there came a knock upon the door, and

in answer to her permission it opened, and the king stood upon the

threshold alone.

At a glance the man took in the pain and sorrow mirrored upon the

girl’s face. He stepped quickly across the room toward her.

“What is it?” he asked. “What is the matter?”

For a moment he had forgotten the part that he had been playing—forgot

that the Princess Emma was ignorant of his identity. He had come to her

to share with her the happiness of the hour—the glory of the victorious

arms of Lutha. For a time he had almost forgotten that he was not the

king, and now he was forgetting that he was not Barney Custer to the

girl who stood before him with misery and hopelessness writ so large

upon her countenance.

For a brief instant the girl did not reply. She was weighing the

problematical value of an attempt to enlist the king in the cause of

the American. Leopold had shown a spark of magnanimity when he had

written a pardon for Mr. Custer; might he not rise again above his

petty jealousy and save the American’s life? It was a forlorn hope to

the woman who knew the true Leopold so well; but it was a hope.

“What is the matter?” the king repeated.

“I have just received word that Prince Peter has ignored your commands,

sire,” replied the girl, “and that Mr. Custer is to be shot tomorrow.”

Barney’s eyes went wide with incredulity. Here was a pretty pass,

indeed! The princess came close to him and seized his arm.

“You promised, sire,” she said, “that he would not be harmed—you gave

your royal word. You can save him. You have an army at your command. Do

not forget that he once saved you.”

The note of appeal in her voice and the sorrow in her eyes gave Barney

Custer a twinge of compunction. The necessity for longer concealing his

identity in so far as the salvation of Lutha was concerned seemed past;

but the American had intended to carry the deception to the end.

He had given the matter much thought, but he could find no grounds for

belief that Emma von der Tann would be any happier in the knowledge

that her future husband had had nothing to do with the victory of his

army. If she was doomed to a life at his side, why not permit her the

grain of comfort that she might derive from the memory of her husband’s

achievements upon the battlefield of Lustadt? Why rob her of that

little?

But now, face to face with her, and with the evidence of her suffering

so plain before him, Barney’s intentions wavered. Like most fighting

men, he was tender in his dealings with women. And now the last straw

came in the form of a single tiny tear that trickled down the girl’s

cheek. He seized the hand that lay upon his arm.

“Your highness,” he said, “do not grieve for the American. He is not

worth it. He has deceived you. He is not at Blentz.”

The girl drew her hand from his and straightened to her full height.

“What do you mean, sire?” she exclaimed. “Mr. Custer would not deceive

me even if he had an opportunity—which he has not had. But if he is not

at Blentz, where is he?”

Barney bowed his head and looked at the floor.

“He is here, your highness, asking your forgiveness,” he said.

There was a puzzled expression upon the girl’s face as she looked at

the man before her. She did not understand. Why should she? Barney drew

a diamond ring from his little finger and held it out to her.

“You gave it to me to cut a hole in the window of the garage where I

stole the automobile,” he said. “I forgot to return it. Now do you know

who I am?”

Emma von der Tann’s eyes showed her incredulity; then, act by act, she

recalled all that this man had said and done since they had escaped

from Blentz that had been so unlike the king she knew.

“When did you assume the king’s identity?” she asked.

Barney told her all that had transpired in the king’s apartments at

Blentz before she had been conducted to the king’s presence.

“And Leopold is there now?” she asked.

“He is there,” replied Barney, “and he is to be shot in the morning.”

“Gott!” exclaimed the girl. “What are we to do?”

“There is but one thing to do,” replied the American, “and that is for

Butzow and me to ride to Blentz as fast as horses will carry us and

rescue the king.”

“And then?” asked the girl, a shadow crossing her face.

“And then Barney Custer will have to beat it for the boundary,” he

replied with a sorry smile.

She came quite close to him, laying her hands upon his shoulders.

“I cannot give you up now,” she said simply. “I have tried to be loyal

to Leopold and the promise that my father made his king when I was only

a little girl; but since I thought that you were to be shot, I have

wished a thousand times that I had gone with you to America two years

ago. Take me with you now, Barney. We can send Lieutenant Butzow to

rescue the king, and before he has returned we can be safe across the

Serbian frontier.”

The American shook his head.

“I got the king into this mess and I must get him out,” he said. “He

may deserve to be shot, but it is up to me to prevent it, if I can. And

there is your father to consider. If Butzow rides to Blentz and rescues

the king, it may be difficult to get him back to Lustadt without the

truth of his identity and mine becoming known. With me there, the

change can be effected easily, and not even Butzow need know what has

happened.

“If the people should guess that it was not Leopold who won the battle

of Lustadt there might be the devil to pay, and your father would go

down along with the throne. No, I must stay until Leopold is safe in

Lustadt. But there is a hope for us. I may be able to wrest from

Leopold his sanction of our marriage. I shall not hesitate to use

threats to get it, and I rather imagine that he will be in such a

terror-stricken condition that he will assent to any terms for his

release from Blentz. If he gives me such a paper, Emma, will you marry

me?”

Perhaps there never had been a stranger proposal than this; but to

neither did it seem strange. For two years each had known the love of

the other. The girl’s betrothal to the king had prevented an avowal of

their love while Barney posed in his own identity. Now they merely

accepted the conditions that had existed for two years as though a

matter of fact which had been often discussed between them.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” said the princess. “Why in the world would

I want you to take me to America otherwise?”

As Barney Custer took her in his arms he was happier than he had ever

before been in all his life, and so, too, was the Princess Emma von der

Tann.

XII.

LEOPOLD WAITS FOR DAWN

After the American had shoved him through the secret doorway into the

tower room of the castle of Blentz, Leopold had stood for several

minutes waiting for the next command from his captor. Presently,

hearing no sound other than that of his own breathing, the king

ventured to speak. He asked the American what he purposed doing with

him next.

There was no reply. For another minute the king listened intently; then

he raised his hands and removed the bandage from his eyes. He looked

about him. The room was vacant except for himself. He recognized it as

the one in which he had spent ten years of his life as a prisoner. He

shuddered. What had become of the American? He approached the door and

listened. Beyond the panels he could hear the two soldiers on guard

there conversing. He called to them.

“What do you want?” shouted one of the men through the closed door.

“I want Prince Peter!” yelled the king. “Send him at once!”

The soldiers laughed.

“He wants Prince Peter,” they mocked. “Wouldn’t you rather have us send

the king to you?” they asked.

“I am the king!” yelled Leopold. “I am the king! Open the door, pigs,

or it will go hard with you! I shall have you both shot in the morning

if you do not open the door and fetch Prince Peter.”

“Ah!” exclaimed one of the soldiers. “Then there will be three of us

shot together.”

Leopold went white. He had not connected the sentence of the American

with himself; but now, quite vividly, he realized what it might mean to

him if he failed before dawn to convince someone that he was not the

American. Peter would not be awake at so early an hour, and if he had

no better success with others than he was having with these soldiers,

it was possible that he might be led out and shot before his identity

was discovered. The thing was preposterous. The king’s knees became

suddenly quite weak. They shook, and his legs gave beneath his weight

so that he had to lean against the back of a chair to keep from

falling.

Once more he turned to the soldiers. This time he pleaded with them,

begging them to carry word to Prince Peter that a terrible mistake had

been made, and that it was the king and not the American who was

confined in the death chamber. But the soldiers only laughed at him,

and finally threatened to come in and beat him if he again interrupted

their conversation.

It was a white and shaken prisoner that the officer of the guard found

when he entered the room at dawn. The man before him, his face streaked

with tears of terror and self-pity, fell upon his knees before him,

beseeching him to carry word to Peter of Blentz, that he was the king.

The officer drew away with a gesture of disgust.

“I might well believe from your actions that you are Leopold,” he said;

“for, by Heaven, you do not act as I have always imagined the American

would act in the face of danger. He has a reputation for bravery that

would suffer could his admirers see him now.”

“But I am not the American,” pleaded the king. “I tell you that the

American came to my apartments last night, overpowered me, forced me to

change clothing with him, and then led me back here.”

A sudden inspiration came to the king with the memory of all that had

transpired during that humiliating encounter with the American.

“I signed a pardon for him!” he cried. “He forced me to do so. If you

think I am the American, you cannot kill me now, for there is a pardon

signed by the king, and an order for the American’s immediate release.

Where is it? Do not tell me that Prince Peter did not receive it.”

“He received it,” replied the officer, “and I am here to acquaint you

with the fact, but Prince Peter said nothing about your release. All he

told me was that you were not to be shot this morning,” and the man

emphasized the last two words.

Leopold of Lutha spent two awful days a prisoner at Blentz, not knowing

at what moment Prince Peter might see fit to carry out the verdict of

the Austrian court martial. He could convince no one that he was the

king. Peter would not even grant him an audience. Upon the evening of

the third day, word came that the Austrians had been defeated before

Lustadt, and those that were not prisoners were retreating through

Blentz toward the Austrian frontier.

The news filtered to Leopold’s prison room through the servant who

brought him his scant and rough fare. The king was utterly disheartened

before this word reached him. For the moment he seemed to see a ray of

hope, for, since the impostor had been victorious, he would be in a

position to force Peter of Blentz to give up the true king.

There was the chance that the American, flushed with success and power,

might elect to hold the crown he had seized. Who would guess the

transfer that had been effected, or, guessing, would dare voice his

suspicions in the face of the power and popularity that Leopold knew

such a victory as the impostor had won must have given him in the

hearts and minds of the people of Lutha? Still, there was a bare

possibility that the American would be as good as his word, and return

the crown as he had promised. Though he hated to admit it, the king had

every reason to believe that the impostor was a man of honor, whose

bare word was as good as another’s bond.

He was commencing, under this line of reasoning, to achieve a certain

hopeful content when the door to his prison opened and Peter of Blentz,

black and scowling, entered. At his elbow was Captain Ernst Maenck.

“Leopold has defeated the Austrians,” announced the former. “Until you

returned to Lutha he considered the Austrians his best friends. I do

not know how you could have reached or influenced him. It is to learn

how you accomplished it that I am here. The fact that he signed your

pardon indicates that his attitude toward you changed suddenly—almost

within an hour. There is something at the bottom of it all, and that

something I must know.”

“I am Leopold!” cried the king. “Don’t you recognize me, Prince Peter?

Look at me! Maenck must know me. It was I who wrote and signed the

American’s pardon—at the point of the American’s revolver. He forced me

to exchange clothing with him, and then he brought me here to this room

and left me.”

The two men looked at the speaker and smiled.

“You bank too strongly, my friend,” said Peter of Blentz, “upon your

resemblance to the king of Lutha. I will admit that it is strong, but

not so strong as to convince me of the truth of so improbable a story.

How in the world could the American have brought you through the

castle, from one end to the other, unseen? There was a guard before the

king’s door and another before this. No, Herr Custer, you will have to

concoct a more plausible tale.

“No,” and Peter of Blentz scowled savagely, as though to impress upon

his listener the importance of his next utterance, “there were more

than you and the king involved in his sudden departure from Blentz and

in his hasty change of policy toward Austria. To be quite candid, it

seems to me that it may be necessary to my future welfare—vitally

necessary, I may say—to know precisely how all this occurred, and just

what influence you have over Leopold of Lutha. Who was it that acted as

the go-between in the king’s negotiations with you, or rather, yours

with the king? And what argument did you bring to bear to force Leopold

to the action he took?”

“I have told you all that I know about the matter,” whined the king.

“The American appeared suddenly in my apartment. When he brought me

here he first blindfolded me. I have no idea by what route we traveled

through the castle, and unless your guards outside this door were

bribed they can tell you more about how we got in here than I

can—provided we entered through that doorway,” and the king pointed to

the door which had just opened to admit his two visitors.

“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Maenck. “There is but one door to this room—if

the king came in here at all, he came through that door.”

“Enough!” cried Peter of Blentz. “I shall not be trifled with longer. I

shall give you until tomorrow morning to make a full explanation of the

truth and to form some plan whereby you may utilize once more whatever

influence you had over Leopold to the end that he grant to myself and

my associates his royal assurance that our lives and property will be

safe in Lutha.”

“But I tell you it is impossible,” wailed the king.

“I think not,” sneered Prince Peter, “especially when I tell you that

if you do not accede to my wishes the order of the Austrian military

court that sentenced you to death at Burgova will be carried out in the

morning.”

With his final words the two men turned and left the room. Behind them,

upon the floor, inarticulate with terror, knelt Leopold of Lutha, his

hands outstretched in supplication.

The long night wore its weary way to dawn at last. The sleepless man,

alternately tossing upon his bed and pacing the floor, looked fearfully

from time to time at the window through which the lightening of the sky

would proclaim the coming day and his last hour on earth. His windows

faced the west. At the foot of the hill beneath the castle nestled the

village of Blentz, once more enveloped in peaceful silence since the

Austrians were gone.

An unmistakable lessening of the darkness in the east had just

announced the proximity of day, when the king heard a clatter of

horses’ hoofs upon the road before the castle. The sound ceased at the

gates and a loud voice broke out upon the stillness of the dying night

demanding entrance “in the name of the king.”

New hope burst aflame in the breast of the condemned man. The impostor

had not forsaken him. Leopold ran to the window, leaning far out. He

heard the voices of the sentries in the barbican as they conversed with

the newcomers. Then silence came, broken only by the rapid footsteps of

a soldier hastening from the gate to the castle. His hobnail shoes

pounding upon the cobbles of the courtyard echoed among the angles of

the lofty walls. When he had entered the castle the silence became

oppressive. For five minutes there was no sound other than the pawing

of the horses outside the barbican and the subdued conversation of

their riders.

Presently the soldier emerged from the castle. With him was an officer.

The two went to the barbican. Again there was a parley between the

horsemen and the guard. Leopold could hear the officer demanding terms.

He would lower the drawbridge and admit them upon conditions.

One of these the king overheard—it concerned an assurance of full

pardon for Peter of Blentz and the garrison; and again Leopold heard

the officer addressing someone as “your majesty.”

Ah, the impostor was there in person. Ach, Gott! How Leopold of Lutha

hated him, and yet, in the hands of this American lay not only his

throne but his very life as well.

Evidently the negotiations proved unsuccessful for after a time the

party wheeled their horses from the gate and rode back toward Blentz.

As the sound of the iron-shod hoofs diminished in the distance, with

them diminished the hopes of the king.

When they ceased entirely his hopes were at an end, to be supplanted by

renewed terror at the turning of the knob of his prison door as it

swung open to admit Maenck and a squad of soldiers.

“Come!” ordered the captain. “The king has refused to intercede in your

behalf. When he returns with his army he will find your body at the

foot of the west wall in the courtyard.”

With an ear-piercing shriek that rang through the grim old castle,

Leopold of Lutha flung his arms above his head and lunged forward upon

his face. Roughly the soldiers seized the unconscious man and dragged

him from the room.

Along the corridor they hauled him and down the winding stairs within

the north tower to the narrow slit of a door that opened upon the

courtyard. To the foot of the west wall they brought him, tossing him

brutally to the stone flagging. Here one of the soldiers brought a

flagon of water and dashed it in the face of the king. The cold douche

returned Leopold to a consciousness of the nearness of his impending

fate.

He saw the little squad of soldiers before him. He saw the cold, gray

wall behind, and, above, the cold, gray sky of early dawn. The dismal

men leaning upon their shadowy guns seemed unearthly specters in the

weird light of the hour that is neither God’s day nor devil’s night.

With difficulty two of them dragged Leopold to his feet.

Then the dismal men formed in line before him at the opposite side of

the courtyard. Maenck stood to the left of them. He was giving

commands. They fell upon the doomed man’s ears with all the cruelty of

physical blows. Tears coursed down his white cheeks. With incoherent

mumblings he begged for his life. Leopold, King of Lutha, trembling in

the face of death!

XIII.

THE TWO KINGS

Twenty troopers had ridden with Lieutenant Butzow and the false king

from Lustadt to Blentz. During the long, hard ride there had been

little or no conversation between the American and his friend, for

Butzow was still unsuspicious of the true identity of the man who posed

as the ruler of Lutha. The lieutenant was all anxiety to reach Blentz

and rescue the American he thought imprisoned there and in danger of

being shot.

At the gate they were refused admittance unless the king would accept

conditions. Barney refused—there was another way to gain entrance to

Blentz that not even the master of Blentz knew. Butzow urged him to

accede to anything to save the life of the American. He recalled all

that the latter had done in the service of Lutha and Leopold. Barney

leaned close to the other’s ear.

“If they have not already shot him,” he whispered, “we shall save the

prisoner yet. Let them think that we give up and are returning to

Lustadt. Then follow me.”

Slowly the little cavalcade rode down from the castle of Blentz toward

the village. Just out of sight of the grim pile where the road wound

down into a ravine Barney turned his horse’s head up the narrow defile.

In single file Butzow and the troopers followed until the rank

undergrowth precluded farther advance. Here the American directed that

they dismount, and, leaving the horses in charge of three troopers, set

out once more with the balance of the company on foot.

It was with difficulty that the men forced their way through the

bushes, but they had not gone far when their leader stopped before a

sheer wall of earth and stone, covered with densely growing shrubbery.

Here he groped in the dim light, feeling his way with his hands before

him, while at his heels came his followers. At last he separated a wall

of bushes and disappeared within the aperture his hands had made. One

by one his men followed, finding themselves in inky darkness, but upon

a smooth stone floor and with stone walls close upon either hand. Those

who lifted their hands above their heads discovered an arched stone

ceiling close above them.

Along this buried corridor the “king” led them, for though he had never

traversed it himself the Princess Emma had, and from her he had

received minute directions. Occasionally he struck a match, and

presently in the fitful glare of one of these he and those directly

behind him saw the foot of a ladder that disappeared in the Stygian

darkness above.

“Follow me up this, very quietly,” he said to those behind him. “Up to

the third landing.”

They did as he bid them. At the third landing Barney felt for the latch

he knew was there—he was on familiar ground now. Finding it he pushed

open the door it held in place, and through a tiny crack surveyed the

room beyond. It was vacant. The American threw the door wide and

stepped within. Directly behind him was Butzow, his eyes wide in

wonderment. After him filed the troopers until seventeen of them stood

behind their lieutenant and the “king.”

Through the window overlooking the courtyard came a piteous wailing.

Barney ran to the casement and looked out. Butzow was at his side.

“_Himmel!_” ejaculated the Luthanian. “They are about to shoot him.

Quick, your majesty,” and without waiting to see if he were followed

the lieutenant raced for the door of the apartment. Close behind him

came the American and the seventeen.

It took but a moment to reach the stairway down which the rescuers

tumbled pell-mell.

Maenck was giving his commands to the firing squad with fiendish

deliberation and delay. He seemed to enjoy dragging out the agony that

the condemned man suffered. But it was this very cruelty that caused

Maenck’s undoing and saved the life of Leopold of Lutha. Just before he

gave the word to fire Maenck paused and laughed aloud at the pitiable

figure trembling and whining against the stone wall before him, and

during that pause a commotion arose at the tower doorway behind the

firing squad.

Maenck turned to discover the cause of the interruption, and as he

turned he saw the figure of the king leaping toward him with leveled

revolver. At the king’s back a company of troopers of the Royal Horse

Guard was pouring into the courtyard.

Maenck snatched his own revolver from his hip and fired point-blank at

the “king.” The firing squad had turned at the sound of assault from

the rear. Some of them discharged their pieces at the advancing

troopers. Butzow gave a command and seventeen carbines poured their

deadly hail into the ranks of the Blentz retainers. At Maenck’s shot

the “king” staggered and fell to the pavement.

Maenck leaped across his prostrate form, yelling to his men “Shoot the

American.” Then he was lost to Barney’s sight in the hand-to-hand

scrimmage that was taking place. The American tried to regain his feet,

but the shock of the wound in his breast had apparently paralyzed him

for the moment. A Blentz soldier was running toward the prisoner

standing open-mouthed against the wall. The fellow’s rifle was raised

to his hip—his intention was only too obvious.

Barney drew himself painfully and slowly to one elbow. The man was

rapidly nearing the true Leopold. In another moment he would shoot. The

American raised his revolver and, taking careful aim, fired. The

soldier shrieked, covered his face with his hands, spun around once,

and dropped at the king’s feet.

The troopers under Butzow were forcing the men of Blentz toward the far

end of the courtyard. Two of the Blentz faction were standing a little

apart, backing slowly away and at the same time deliberately firing at

the king. Barney seemed the only one who noticed them. Once again he

raised his revolver and fired. One of the men sat down suddenly, looked

vacantly about him, and then rolled over upon his side. The other fired

once more at the king and the same instant Barney fired at the soldier.

Soldier and king—would-be assassin and his victim—fell simultaneously.

Barney grimaced. The wound in his breast was painful. He had done his

best to save the king. It was no fault of his that he had failed. It

was a long way to Beatrice. He wondered if Emma von der Tann would be

on the station platform, awaiting him—then he swooned.

Butzow and his seventeen had it all their own way in the courtyard and

castle of Blentz. After the first resistance the soldiery of Peter fled

to the guardroom. Butzow followed them, and there they laid down their

arms. Then the lieutenant returned to the courtyard to look for the

king and Barney Custer. He found them both, and both were wounded. He

had them carried to the royal apartments in the north tower. When

Barney regained consciousness he found the scowling portrait of the

Blentz princess frowning down upon him. He lay upon a great bed where

the soldiers, thinking him king, had placed him. Opposite him, against

the farther wall, the real king lay upon a cot. Butzow was working over

him.

“Not so bad, after all, Barney,” the lieutenant was saying. “Only a

flesh wound in the calf of the leg.”

The king made no reply. He was afraid to declare his identity. First he

must learn the intentions of the impostor. He only closed his eyes

wearily. Presently he asked a question.

“Is he badly wounded?” and he indicated the figure upon the great bed.

Butzow turned and crossed to where the American lay. He saw that the

latter’s eyes were open and that he was conscious.

“How does your majesty feel?” he asked. There was more respect in his

tone than ever before. One of the Blentz soldiers had told him how the

“king,” after being wounded by Maenck, had raised himself upon his

elbow and saved the prisoner’s life by shooting three of his

assailants.

“I thought I was done for,” answered Barney Custer, “but I rather guess

the bullet struck only a glancing blow. It couldn’t have entered my

lungs, for I neither cough nor spit blood. To tell you the truth, I

feel surprisingly fit. How’s the prisoner?”

“Only a flesh wound in the calf of his left leg, sire,” replied Butzow.

“I am glad,” was Barney’s only comment. He didn’t want to be king of

Lutha; but he had foreseen that with the death of the king his

imposture might be forced upon him for life.

After Butzow and one of the troopers had washed and dressed the wounds

of both men Barney asked them to leave the room.

“I wish to sleep,” he said. “If I require you I will ring.”

Saluting, the two backed from the apartment. Just as they were passing

through the doorway the American called out to Butzow.

“You have Peter of Blentz and Maenck in custody?” he asked.

“I regret having to report to your majesty,” replied the officer, “that

both must have escaped. A thorough search of the entire castle has

failed to reveal them.”

Barney scowled. He had hoped to place these two conspirators once and

for all where they would never again threaten the peace of the throne

of Lutha—in hell. For a moment he lay in thought. Then he addressed the

officer again.

“Leave your force here,” he said, “to guard us. Ride, yourself, to

Lustadt and inform Prince von der Tann that it is the king’s desire

that every effort be made to capture these two men. Have them brought

to Lustadt immediately they are apprehended. Bring them dead or alive.”

Again Butzow saluted and prepared to leave the room.

“Wait,” said Barney. “Convey our greetings to the Princess von der

Tann, and inform her that my wound is of small importance, as is also

that of the—Mr. Custer. You may go, lieutenant.”

When they were alone Barney turned toward the king. The other lay upon

his side glaring at the American. When he caught the latter’s eyes upon

him he spoke.

“What do you intend doing with me?” he said. “Are you going to keep

your word and return my identity?”

“I have promised,” replied Barney, “and what I promise I always

perform.”

“Then exchange clothing with me at once,” cried the king, half rising

from his cot.

“Not so fast, my friend,” rejoined the American. “There are a few

trifling details to be arranged before we resume our proper

personalities.”

“Do you realize that you should be hanged for what you have done?”

snarled the king. “You assaulted me, stole my clothing, left me here to

be shot by Peter, and sat upon my throne in Lustadt while I lay a

prisoner condemned to death.”

“And do you realize,” replied Barney, “that by so doing I saved your

foolish little throne for you; that I drove the invaders from your

dominions; that I have unmasked your enemies, and that I have once

again proven to you that the Prince von der Tann is your best friend

and most loyal supporter?”

“You laid your plebeian hands upon me,” cried the king, raising his

voice. “You humiliated me, and you shall suffer for it.”

Barney Custer eyed the king for a long moment before he spoke again. It

was difficult to believe that the man was so devoid of gratitude, and

so blind as not to see that even the rough treatment that he had

received at the American’s hands was as nothing by comparison with the

service that the American had done him. Apparently Leopold had already

forgotten that three times Barney Custer had saved his life in the

courtyard below. From the man’s demeanor, now that his life was no

longer at stake, Barney caught an inkling of what his attitude might be

when once again he was returned to the despotic power of his kingship.

“It is futile to reason with you,” he said. “There is only one way to

handle such as you. At present I hold the power to coerce you, and I

shall continue to hold that power until I am safely out of your

two-by-four kingdom. If you do as I say you shall have your throne back

again. If you refuse, why by Heaven you shall never have it. I’ll stay

king of Lutha myself.”

“What are your terms?” asked the king.

“That Prince Peter of Blentz, Captain Ernst Maenck, and old Von Coblich

be tried, convicted, and hanged for high treason,” replied the

American.

“That is easy,” said the king. “I should do so anyway immediately I

resumed my throne. Now get up and give me my clothes. Take this cot and

I will take the bed. None will know of the exchange.”

“Again you are too fast,” answered Barney. “There is another

condition.”

“Well?”

“You must promise upon your royal honor that Ludwig, Prince von der

Tann, remain chancellor of Lutha during your life or his.”

“Very well,” assented the king. “I promise,” and again he half rose

from his cot.

“Hold on a minute,” admonished the American; “there is yet one more

condition of which I have not made mention.”

“What, another?” exclaimed Leopold testily. “How much do you want for

returning to me what you have stolen?”

“So far I have asked for nothing for myself,” replied Barney. “Now I am

coming to that part of the agreement. The Princess Emma von der Tann is

betrothed to you. She does not love you. She has honored me with her

affection, but she will not wed until she has been formally released

from her promise to wed Leopold of Lutha. The king must sign such a

release and also a sanction of her marriage to Barney Custer, of

Beatrice. Do you understand what I want?”

The king went livid. He came to his feet beside the cot. For the

moment, his wound was forgotten. He tottered toward the impostor.

“You scoundrel!” he screamed. “You scoundrel! You have stolen my

identity and my throne and now you wish to steal the woman who loves

me.”

“Don’t get excited, Leo,” warned the American, “and don’t talk so loud.

The Princess doesn’t love you, and you know it as well as I. She will

never marry you. If you want your dinky throne back you’ll have to do

as I desire; that is, sign the release and the sanction.

“Now let’s don’t have any heroics about it. You have the proposition.

Now I am going to sleep. In the meantime you may think it over. If the

papers are not ready when it comes time for us to leave, and from the

way I feel now I rather think I shall be ready to mount a horse by

morning, I shall ride back to Lustadt as king of Lutha, and I shall

marry her highness into the bargain, and you may go hang!

“How the devil you will earn a living with that king job taken away

from you I don’t know. You’re a long way from New York, and in the

present state of carnage in Europe I rather doubt that there are many

headwaiters jobs open this side of the American metropolis, and I can’t

for the moment think of anything else at which you would shine—with all

due respect to some excellent headwaiters I have known.”

For some time the king remained silent. He was thinking. He realized

that it lay in the power of the American to do precisely what he had

threatened to do. No one would doubt his identity. Even Peter of Blentz

had not recognized the real king despite Leopold’s repeated and

hysterical claims.

Lieutenant Butzow, the American’s best friend, had no more suspected

the exchange of identities. Von der Tann, too, must have been deceived.

Everyone had been deceived. There was no hope that the people, who

really saw so little of their king, would guess the deception that was

being played upon them. Leopold groaned. Barney opened his eyes and

turned toward him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I will sign the release and the sanction of her highness’ marriage to

you,” said the king.

“Good!” exclaimed the American. “You will then go at once to Brosnov as

originally planned. I will return to Lustadt and get her highness, and

we will immediately leave Lutha via Brosnov. There you and I will

effect a change of raiment, and you will ride back to Lustadt with the

small guard that accompanies her highness and me to the frontier.”

“Why do you not remain in Lustadt?” asked the king. “You could as well

be married there as elsewhere.”

“Because I don’t trust your majesty,” replied the American. “It must be

done precisely as I say or not at all. Are you agreeable?”

The king assented with a grumpy nod.

“Then get up and write as I dictate,” said Barney. Leopold of Lutha did

as he was bid. The result was two short, crisply worded documents. At

the bottom of each was the signature of Leopold of Lutha. Barney took

the two papers and carefully tucked them beneath his pillow.

“Now let’s sleep,” he said. “It is getting late and we both need the

rest. In the morning we have long rides ahead of us. Good night.”

The king did not respond. In a short time Barney was fast asleep. The

light still burned.

XIV.

“THE KING’S WILL IS LAW”

The Blentz princess frowned down upon the king and impostor impartially

from her great gilt frame. It must have been close to midnight that the

painting moved—just a fraction of an inch. Then it remained motionless

for a time. Again it moved. This time it revealed a narrow crack at its

edge. In the crack an eye shone.

One of the sleepers moved. He opened his eyes. Stealthily he raised

himself on his elbow and gazed at the other across the apartment. He

listened intently. The regular breathing of the sleeper proclaimed the

soundness of his slumber. Gingerly the man placed one foot upon the

floor. The eye glued to the crack at the edge of the great, gilt frame

of the Blentz princess remained fastened upon him. He let his other

foot slip to the floor beside the first. Carefully he raised himself

until he stood erect upon the floor. Then, on tiptoe he started across

the room.

The eye in the dark followed him. The man reached the side of the

sleeper. Bending over he listened intently to the other’s breathing.

Satisfied that slumber was profound he stepped quickly to a wardrobe in

which a soldier had hung the clothing of both the king and the

American. He took down the uniform of the former, casting from time to

time apprehensive glances toward the sleeper. The latter did not stir,

and the other passed to the little dressing-room adjoining.

A few minutes later he reentered the apartment fully clothed and

wearing the accouterments of Leopold of Lutha. In his hand was a drawn

sword. Silently and swiftly he crossed to the side of the sleeping man.

The eye at the crack beside the gilded frame pressed closer to the

aperture. The sword was raised above the body of the slumberer—its

point hovered above his heart. The face of the man who wielded it was

hard with firm resolve.

His muscles tensed to drive home the blade, but something held his

hand. His face paled. His shoulders contracted with a little shudder,

and he turned toward the door of the apartment, almost running across

the floor in his anxiety to escape. The eye in the dark maintained its

unblinking vigilance.

With his hand upon the knob a sudden thought stayed the fugitive’s

flight. He glanced quickly back at the sleeper—he had not moved. Then

the man who wore the uniform of the king of Lutha recrossed the

apartment to the bed, reached beneath one of the pillows and withdrew

two neatly folded official-looking documents. These he placed in the

breastpocket of his uniform. A moment later he was walking down the

spiral stairway to the main floor of the castle.

In the guardroom the troopers of the Royal Horse who were not on guard

were stretched in slumber. Only a corporal remained awake. As the man

entered the guardroom the corporal glanced up, and as his eyes fell

upon the newcomer, he sprang to his feet, saluting.

“Turn out the guard!” he cried. “Turn out the guard for his majesty,

the king!”

The sleeping soldiers, but half awake, scrambled to their feet, their

muscles reacting to the command that their brains but half perceived.

They snatched their guns from the racks and formed a line behind the

corporal. The king raised his fingers to the vizor of his helmet in

acknowledgment of their salute.

“Saddle up quietly, corporal,” he said. “We shall ride to Lustadt

tonight.”

The non-commissioned officer saluted. “And an extra horse for Herr

Custer?” he said.

The king shook his head. “The man died of his wound about an hour ago,”

he said. “While you are saddling up I shall arrange with some of the

Blentz servants for his burial—now hurry!”

The corporal marched his troopers from the guardroom toward the

stables. The man in the king’s clothes touched a bell which was

obviously a servant call. He waited impatiently a reply to his summons,

tapping his finger-tips against the sword-scabbard that was belted to

his side. At last a sleepy-eyed man responded—a man who had grown gray

in the service of Peter of Blentz. At sight of the king he opened his

eyes in astonishment, pulled his foretop, and bowed uneasily.

“Come closer,” whispered the king. The man did so, and the king spoke

in his ear earnestly, but in scarce audible tones. The eyes of the

listener narrowed to mere slits—of avarice and cunning, cruelly cold

and calculating. The speaker searched through the pockets of the king’s

clothes that covered him. At last he withdrew a roll of bills. The

amount must have been a large one, but he did not stop to count it. He

held the money under the eyes of the servant. The fellow’s claw-like

fingers reached for the tempting wealth. He nodded his head

affirmatively.

“You may trust me, sire,” he whispered.

The king slipped the money into the other’s palm. “And as much more,”

he said, “when I receive proof that my wishes have been fulfilled.”

“Thank you, sire,” said the servant.

The king looked steadily into the other’s face before he spoke again.

“And if you fail me,” he said, “may God have mercy on your soul.” Then

he wheeled and left the guardroom, walking out into the courtyard where

the soldiers were busy saddling their mounts.

A few minutes later the party clattered over the drawbridge and down

the road toward Blentz and Lustadt. From a window of the apartments of

Peter of Blentz a man watched them depart. When they passed across a

strip of moonlit road, and he had counted them, he smiled with relief.

A moment later he entered a panel beside the huge fireplace in the west

wall and disappeared. There he struck a match, found a candle and

lighted it. Walking a few steps he came to a figure sleeping upon a

pile of clothing. He stooped and shook the sleeper by the shoulder.

“Wake up!” he cried in a subdued voice. “Wake up, Prince Peter; I have

good news for you.”

The other opened his eyes, stretched, and at last sat up.

“What is it, Maenck?” he asked querulously.

“Great news, my prince,” replied the other.

“While you have been sleeping many things have transpired within the

walls of your castle. The king’s troopers have departed; but that is a

small matter compared with the other. Here, behind the portrait of your

great-grandmother, I have listened and watched all night. I opened the

secret door a fraction of an inch—just enough to permit me to look into

the apartment where the king and the American lay wounded. They had

been talking as I opened the door, but after that they ceased—the king

falling asleep at once—the American feigning slumber. For a long time I

watched, but nothing happened until near midnight. Then the American

arose and donned the king’s clothes.

“He approached Leopold with drawn sword, but when he would have thrust

it through the heart of the sleeping man his nerve failed him. Then he

stole some papers from the room and left. Just now he has ridden out

toward Lustadt with the men of the Royal Horse who captured the castle

yesterday.”

Before Maenck was half-way through his narrative, Peter of Blentz was

wide awake and all attention. His eyes glowed with suddenly aroused

interest.

“Somewhere in this, prince,” concluded Maenck, “there must lie the seed

of fortune for you and me.”

Peter nodded. “Yes,” he mused, “there must.”

For a time both men were buried in thought. Suddenly Maenck snapped his

fingers. “I have it!” he cried. He bent toward Prince Peter’s ear and

whispered his plan. When he was done the Blentz prince grasped his

hand.

“Just the thing, Maenck!” he cried. “Just the thing. Leopold will never

again listen to idle gossip directed against our loyalty. If I know

him—and who should know him better—he will heap honors upon you, my

Maenck; and as for me, he will at least forgive me and take me back

into his confidence. Lose no time now, my friend. We are free now to go

and come, since the king’s soldiers have been withdrawn.”

In the garden back of the castle an old man was busy digging a hole. It

was a long, narrow hole, and, when it was completed, nearly four feet

deep. It looked like a grave. When he had finished the old man hobbled

to a shed that leaned against the south wall. Here were boards, tools,

and a bench. It was the castle workshop. The old man selected a number

of rough pine boards. These he measured and sawed, fitted and nailed,

working all the balance of the night. By dawn, he had a long, narrow

box, just a trifle smaller than the hole he had dug in the garden. The

box resembled a crude coffin. When it was quite finished, including a

cover, he dragged it out into the garden and set it upon two boards

that spanned the hole, so that it rested precisely over the excavation.

All these precautions methodically made, he returned to the castle. In

a little storeroom he searched for and found an ax. With his thumb he

felt of the edge—for an ax it was marvelously sharp. The old fellow

grinned and shook his head, as one who appreciates in anticipation the

consummation of a good joke. Then he crept noiselessly through the

castle’s corridors and up the spiral stairway in the north tower. In

one hand was the sharp ax.

The moment Lieutenant Butzow had reached Lustadt he had gone directly

to Prince von der Tann; but the moment his message had been delivered

to the chancellor he sought out the chancellor’s daughter, to tell her

all that had occurred at Blentz.

“I saw but little of Mr. Custer,” he said. “He was very quiet. I think

all that he has been through has unnerved him. He was slightly wounded

in the left leg. The king was wounded in the breast. His majesty

conducted himself in a most valiant and generous manner. Wounded, he

lay upon his stomach in the courtyard of the castle and defended Mr.

Custer, who was, of course, unarmed. The king shot three of Prince

Peter’s soldiers who were attempting to assassinate Mr. Custer.”

Emma von der Tann smiled. It was evident that Lieutenant Butzow had not

discovered the deception that had been practiced upon him in common

with all Lutha—she being the only exception. It seemed incredible that

this good friend of the American had not seen in the heroism of the man

who wore the king’s clothes the attributes and ear-marks of Barney

Custer. She glowed with pride at the narration of his heroism, though

she suffered with him because of his wound.

It was not yet noon when the detachment of the Royal Horse arrived in

Lustadt from Blentz. At their head rode one whom all upon the streets

of the capital greeted enthusiastically as king. The party rode

directly to the royal palace, and the king retired immediately to his

apartments. A half hour later an officer of the king’s household

knocked upon the door of the Princess Emma von der Tann’s boudoir. In

accord with her summons he entered, saluted respectfully, and handed

her a note.

It was written upon the personal stationery of Leopold of Lutha. The

girl read and reread it. For some time she could not seem to grasp the

enormity of the thing that had overwhelmed her—the daring of the action

that the message explained. The note was short and to the point, and

was signed only with initials.

DEAREST EMMA:

The king died of his wounds just before midnight. I shall keep the

throne. There is no other way. None knows and none must ever know the

truth. Your father alone may suspect; but if we are married at once our

alliance will cement him and his faction to us. Send word by the bearer

that you agree with the wisdom of my plan, and that we may be wed at

once—this afternoon, in fact.

The people may wonder for a few days at the strange haste, but my

answer shall be that I am going to the front with my troops. The

son and many of the high officials of the Kaiser have already

established the precedent, marrying hurriedly upon the eve of their

departure for the front.

With every assurance of my undying love, believe me,

Yours,

B. C.

The girl walked slowly across the room to her writing table. The

officer stood in respectful silence awaiting the answer that the king

had told him to bring. The princess sat down before the carved bit of

furniture. Mechanically she drew a piece of note paper from a drawer.

Many times she dipped her pen in the ink before she could determine

what reply to send. Ages of ingrained royalistic principles were

shocked and shattered by the enormity of the thing the man she loved

had asked of her, and yet cold reason told her that it was the only

way.

Lutha would be lost should the truth be known—that the king was dead,

for there was no heir of closer blood connection with the royal house

than Prince Peter of Blentz, whose great-grandmother had been a

Rubinroth princess. Slowly, at last, she wrote as follows:

SIRE:

The king’s will is law.

EMMA.

That was all. Placing the note in an envelope she sealed it and handed

it to the officer, who bowed and left the room.

A half hour later officers of the Royal Horse were riding through the

streets of Lustadt. Some announced to the people upon the streets the

coming marriage of the king and princess. Others rode to the houses of

the nobility with the king’s command that they be present at the

ceremony in the old cathedral at four o’clock that afternoon.

Never had there been such bustling about the royal palace or in the

palaces of the nobles of Lutha. The buzz and hum of excited

conversation filled the whole town. That the choice of the king met the

approval of his subjects was more than evident. Upon every lip was

praise and love of the Princess Emma von der Tann. The future of Lutha

seemed assured with a king who could fight joined in marriage to a

daughter of the warrior line of Von der Tann.

The princess was busy up to the last minute. She had not seen her

future husband since his return from Blentz, for he, too, had been

busy. Twice he had sent word to her, but on both occasions had

regretted that he could not come personally because of the pressure of

state matters and the preparations for the ceremony that was to take

place in the cathedral in so short a time.

At last the hour arrived. The cathedral was filled to overflowing.

After the custom of Lutha, the bride had walked alone up the broad

center aisle to the foot of the chancel. Guardsmen lining the way on

either hand stood rigidly at salute until she stopped at the end of the

soft, rose-strewn carpet and turned to await the coming of the king.

Presently the doors at the opposite end of the cathedral opened. There

was a fanfare of trumpets, and up the center aisle toward the waiting

girl walked the royal groom. It seemed ages to the princess since she

had seen her lover. Her eyes devoured him as he approached her. She

noticed that he limped, and wondered; but for a moment the fact carried

no special suggestion to her brain.

The people had risen as the king entered. Again, the pieces of the

guardsmen had snapped to present; but silence, intense and utter,

reigned over the vast assembly. The only movement was the measured

stride of the king as he advanced to claim his bride.

At the head of each line of guardsmen, nearest the chancel and upon

either side of the bridal party, the ranks were formed of commissioned

officers. Butzow was among them. He, too, out of the corner of his eye

watched the advancing figure. Suddenly he noted the limp, and gave a

little involuntary gasp. He looked at the Princess Emma, and saw her

eyes suddenly widen with consternation.

Slowly at first, and then in a sudden tidal wave of memory, Butzow’s

story of the fight in the courtyard at Blentz came back to her.

“I saw but little of Mr. Custer,” he had said. “He was slightly wounded

in the left leg. The king was wounded in the breast.” But Lieutenant

Butzow had not known the true identity of either.

The real Leopold it was who had been wounded in the left leg, and the

man who was approaching her up the broad cathedral aisle was limping

noticeably—and favoring his left leg. The man to whom she was to be

married was not Barney Custer—he was Leopold of Lutha!

A hundred mad schemes rioted through her brain. The wedding must not go

on! But how was she to avert it? The king was within a few paces of her

now. There was a smile upon his lips, and in that smile she saw the

final confirmation of her fears. When Leopold of Lutha smiled his upper

lip curved just a trifle into a shadow of a sneer. It was a trivial

characteristic that Barney Custer did not share in common with the

king.

Half mad with terror, the girl seized upon the only subterfuge which

seemed at all likely to succeed. It would, at least, give her a slight

reprieve—a little time in which to think, and possibly find an avenue

from her predicament.

She staggered forward a step, clapped her two hands above her heart,

and reeled as though to fall. Butzow, who had been watching her

narrowly, sprang forward and caught her in his arms, where she lay limp

with closed eyes as though in a dead faint. The king ran forward. The

people craned their necks. A sudden burst of exclamations rose

throughout the cathedral, and then Lieutenant Butzow, shouldering his

way past the chancel, carried the Princess Emma to a little anteroom

off the east transept. Behind him walked the king, the bishop, and

Prince Ludwig.

XV.

MAENCK BLUNDERS

After a hurried breakfast Peter of Blentz and Captain Ernst Maenck left

the castle of Blentz. Prince Peter rode north toward the frontier,

Austria, and safety, Captain Maenck rode south toward Lustadt. Neither

knew that general orders had been issued to soldiery and gendarmerie of

Lutha to capture them dead or alive. So Prince Peter rode carelessly;

but Captain Maenck, because of the nature of his business and the

proximity of enemies about Lustadt, proceeded with circumspection.

Prince Peter was arrested at Tafelberg, and, though he stormed and

raged and threatened, he was immediately packed off under heavy guard

back toward Lustadt.

Captain Ernst Maenck was more fortunate. He reached the capital of

Lutha in safety, though he had to hide on several occasions from

detachments of troops moving toward the north. Once within the city he

rode rapidly to the house of a friend. Here he learned that which set

him into a fine state of excitement and profanity. The king and the

Princess Emma von der Tann were to be wed that very afternoon! It

lacked but half an hour to four o’clock.

Maenck grabbed his cap and dashed from the house before his astonished

friend could ask a single question. He hurried straight toward the

cathedral. The king had just arrived, and entered when Maenck came up,

breathless. The guard at the doorway did not recognize him. If they had

they would have arrested him. Instead they contented themselves with

refusing him admission, and when he insisted they threatened him with

arrest.

To be arrested now would be to ruin his fine plan, so he turned and

walked away. At the first cross street he turned up the side of the

cathedral. The grounds were walled up on this side, and he sought in

vain for entrance. At the rear he discovered a limousine standing in

the alley where its chauffeur had left it after depositing his

passengers at the front door of the cathedral. The top of the limousine

was but a foot or two below the top of the wall.

Maenck clambered to the hood of the machine, and from there to the top.

A moment later he dropped to the earth inside the cathedral grounds.

Before him were many windows. Most of them were too high for him to

reach, and the others that he tried at first were securely fastened.

Passing around the end of the building, he at last discovered one that

was open—it led into the east transept.

Maenck crawled through. He was within the building that held the man he

sought. He found himself in a small room—evidently a dressing-room.

There were two doors leading from it. He approached one and listened.

He heard the tones of subdued conversation beyond.

Very cautiously he opened the door a crack. He could not believe the

good fortune that was revealed before him. On a couch lay the Princess

Emma von der Tann. Beside her her father. At the door was Lieutenant

Butzow. The bishop and a doctor were talking at the head of the couch.

Pacing up and down the room, resplendent in the marriage robes of a

king of Lutha, was the man he sought.

Maenck drew his revolver. He broke the barrel, and saw that there was a

good cartridge in each chamber of the cylinder. He closed it quietly.

Then he threw open the door, stepped into the room, took deliberate

aim, and fired.

The old man with the ax moved cautiously along the corridor upon the

second floor of the Castle of Blentz until he came to a certain door.

Gently he turned the knob and pushed the door inward. Holding the ax

behind his back, he entered. In his pocket was a great roll of money,

and there was to be an equal amount waiting him at Lustadt when his

mission had been fulfilled.

Once within the room, he looked quickly about him. Upon a great bed lay

the figure of a man asleep. His face was turned toward the opposite

wall away from the side of the bed nearer the menacing figure of the

old servant. On tiptoe the man with the ax approached. The neck of his

victim lay uncovered before him. He swung the ax behind him. A single

blow, as mighty as his ancient muscles could deliver, would suffice.

Barney Custer opened his eyes. Directly opposite him upon the wall was

a dark-toned photogravure of a hunting scene. It tilted slightly

forward upon its wire support. As Barney’s eyes opened it chanced that

they were directed straight upon the shiny glass of the picture. The

light from the window struck the glass in such a way as to transform it

into a mirror. The American’s eyes were glued with horror upon the

reflection that he saw there—an old man swinging a huge ax down upon

his head.

It is an open question as to which of the two was the most surprised at

the cat-like swiftness of the movement that carried Barney Custer out

of that bed and landed him in temporary safety upon the opposite side.

With a snarl the old man ran around the foot of the bed to corner his

prey between the bed and the wall. He was swinging the ax as though to

hurl it. So close was he that Barney guessed it would be difficult for

him to miss his mark. The least he could expect would be a frightful

wound. To have attempted to escape would have necessitated turning his

back to his adversary, inviting instant death. To grapple with a man

thus armed appeared an equally hopeless alternative.

Shoulder-high beside him hung the photogravure that had already saved

his life once. Why not again? He snatched it from its hangings, lifted

it above his head in both hands, and hurled it at the head of the old

man. The glass shattered full upon the ancient’s crown, the man’s head

went through the picture, and the frame settled over his shoulders. At

the same instant Barney Custer leaped across the bed, seized a light

chair, and turned to face his foe upon more even terms.

The old man did not pause to remove the frame from about his neck.

Blood trickled down his forehead and cheeks from deep gashes that the

broken glass had made. Now he was in a berserker rage.

As he charged again he uttered a peculiar whistling noise from between

his set teeth. To the American it sounded like the hissing of a snake,

and as he would have met a snake he met the venomous attack of the old

man.

When the short battle was over the Blentz servitor lay unconscious upon

the floor, while above him leaned the American, uninjured, ripping long

strips from a sheet torn from the bed, twisting them into rope-like

strands and, with them, binding the wrists and ankles of his defeated

foe. Finally he stuffed a gag between the toothless gums.

Running to the wardrobe, he discovered that the king’s uniform was

gone. That, with the witness of the empty bed, told him the whole

story. The American smiled. “More nerve than I gave him credit for,” he

mused, as he walked back to his bed and reached under the pillow for

the two papers he had forced the king to sign. They, too, were gone.

Slowly Barney Custer realized his plight, as there filtered through his

mind a suggestion of the possibilities of the trick that had been

played upon him.

Why should Leopold wish these papers? Of course, he might merely have

taken them that he might destroy them; but something told Barney Custer

that such was not the case. And something, too, told him whither the

king had ridden and what he would do there when he arrived.

He ran back to the wardrobe. In it hung the peasant attire that he had

stolen from the line of the careless house frau, and later wished upon

his majesty the king. Barney grinned as he recalled the royal disgust

with which Leopold had fingered the soiled garments. He scarce blamed

him. Looking further toward the back of the wardrobe, the American

discovered other clothing.

He dragged it all out upon the floor. There was an old shooting jacket,

several pairs of trousers and breeches, and a hunting coat. In a drawer

at the bottom of the wardrobe he found many old shoes, puttees, and

boots.

From this miscellany he selected riding breeches, a pair of boots, and

the red hunting coat as the only articles that fitted his rather large

frame. Hastily he dressed, and, taking the ax the old man had brought

to the room as the only weapon available, he walked boldly into the

corridor, down the spiral stairway and into the guardroom.

Barney Custer was prepared to fight. He was desperate. He could have

slunk from the Castle of Blentz as he had entered it—through the secret

passageway to the ravine; but to attempt to reach Lustadt on foot was

not at all compatible with the urgent haste that he felt necessary. He

must have a horse, and a horse he would have if he had to fight his way

through a Blentz army.

But there were no armed retainers left at Blentz. The guardroom was

vacant; but there were arms there and ammunition. Barney commandeered a

sword and a revolver, then he walked into the courtyard and crossed to

the stables. The way took him by the garden. In it he saw a coffin-like

box resting upon planks above a grave-like excavation. Barney

investigated. The box was empty. Once again he grinned. “It is not

always wise,” he mused, “to count your corpses before they’re dead.

What a lot of work the old man might have spared himself if he’d only

caught his cadaver first—or at least tried to.”

Passing on by his own grave, he came to the stables. A groom was

currying a strong, clean-limbed hunter haltered in the doorway. The man

looked up as Barney approached him. A puzzled expression entered the

fellow’s eyes. He was a young man—a stupid-looking lout. It was evident

that he half recognized the face of the newcomer as one he had seen

before. Barney nodded to him.

“Never mind finishing,” he said. “I am in a hurry. You may saddle him

at once.” The voice was authoritative—it brooked no demur. The groom

touched his forehead, dropped the currycomb and brush, and turned back

into the stable to fetch saddle and bridle.

Five minutes later Barney was riding toward the gate. The portcullis

was raised—the drawbridge spanned the moat—no guard was there to bar

his way. The sunlight flooded the green valley, stretching lazily below

him in the soft warmth of a mellow autumn morning. Behind him he had

left the brooding shadows of the grim old fortress—the cold, cruel,

depressing stronghold of intrigue, treason, and sudden death.

He threw back his shoulders and filled his lungs with the sweet, pure

air of freedom. He was a new man. The wound in his breast was

forgotten. Lightly he touched his spurs to the hunter’s sides. Tossing

his head and curveting, the animal broke into a long, easy trot. Where

the road dipped into the ravine and down through the village to the

valley the rider drew his restless mount into a walk; but, once in the

valley, he let him out. Barney took the short road to Lustadt. It would

cut ten miles off the distance that the main wagonroad covered, and it

was a good road for a horseman. It should bring him to Lustadt by one

o’clock or a little after. The road wound through the hills to the east

of the main highway, and was scarcely more than a trail where it

crossed the Ru River upon a narrow bridge that spanned the deep

mountain gorge that walls the Ru for ten miles through the hills.

When Barney reached the river his hopes sank. The bridge was

gone—dynamited by the Austrians in their retreat. The nearest bridge

was at the crossing of the main highway over ten miles to the

southwest. There, too, the river might be forded even if the Austrians

had destroyed that bridge also; but here or elsewhere in the hills

there could be no fording—the banks of the Ru were perpendicular

cliffs.

The misfortune would add nearly twenty miles to his journey—he could

not now hope to reach Lustadt before late in the afternoon. Turning his

horse back along the trail he had come, he retraced his way until he

reached a narrow bridle path that led toward the southwest. The trail

was rough and indistinct, yet he pushed forward, even more rapidly than

safety might have suggested. The noble beast beneath him was all

loyalty and ambition.

“Take it easy, old boy,” whispered Barney into the slim, pointed ears

that moved ceaselessly backward and forward, “you’ll get your chance

when we strike the highway, never fear.”

And he did.

So unexpected had been Maenck’s entrance into the room in the east

transept, so sudden his attack, that it was all over before a hand

could be raised to stay him. At the report of his revolver the king

sank to the floor. At almost the same instant Lieutenant Butzow whipped

a revolver from beneath his tunic and fired at the assassin. Maenck

staggered forward and stumbled across the body of the king. Butzow was

upon him instantly, wresting the revolver from his fingers. Prince

Ludwig ran to the king’s side and, kneeling there, raised Leopold’s

head in his arms. The bishop and the doctor bent over the limp form.

The Princess Emma stood a little apart. She had leaped from the couch

where she had been lying. Her eyes were wide in horror. Her palms

pressed to her cheeks.

It was upon this scene that a hatless, dust-covered man in a red

hunting coat burst through the door that had admitted Maenck. The man

had seen and recognized the conspirator as he climbed to the top of the

limousine and dropped within the cathedral grounds, and he had followed

close upon his heels.

No one seemed to note his entrance. All ears were turned toward the

doctor, who was speaking.

“The king is dead,” he said.

Maenck raised himself upon an elbow. He spoke feebly.

“You fools,” he cried. “That man was not the king. I saw him steal the

king’s clothes at Blentz and I followed him here. He is the

American—the impostor.” Then his eyes, circling the faces about him to

note the results of his announcements, fell upon the face of the man in

the red hunting coat. Amazement and wonder were in his face. Slowly he

raised his finger and pointed.

“There is the king,” he said.

Every eye turned in the direction he indicated. Exclamations of

surprise and incredulity burst from every lip. The old chancellor

looked from the man in the red hunting coat to the still form of the

man upon the floor in the blood-spattered marriage garments of a king

of Lutha. He let the king’s head gently down upon the carpet, and then

he rose to his feet and faced the man in the red hunting coat.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Before Barney could speak Lieutenant Butzow spoke.

“He is the king, your highness,” he said. “I rode with him to Blentz to

free Mr. Custer. Both were wounded in the courtyard in the fight that

took place there. I helped to dress their wounds. The king was wounded

in the breast—Mr. Custer in the left leg.”

Prince von der Tann looked puzzled. Again he turned his eyes

questioningly toward the newcomer.

“Is this the truth?” he asked.

Barney looked toward the Princess Emma. In her eyes he could read the

relief that the sight of him alive had brought her. Since she had

recognized the king she had believed that Barney was dead. The

temptation was great—he dreaded losing her, and he feared he would lose

her when her father learned the truth of the deception that had been

practiced upon him. He might lose even more—men had lost their heads

for tampering with the affairs of kings.

“Well?” persisted the chancellor.

“Lieutenant Butzow is partially correct—he honestly believes that he is

entirely so,” replied the American. “He did ride with me from Lustadt

to Blentz to save the man who lies dead here at your feet. The

lieutenant thought that he was riding with his king, just as your

highness thought that he was riding with his king during the battle of

Lustadt. You were both wrong—you were riding with Mr. Bernard Custer,

of Beatrice. I am he. I have no apologies to make. What I did I would

do again. I did it for Lutha and for the woman I love. She knows and

the king knew that I intended restoring his identity to him with no one

the wiser for the interchange that had taken place. The king upset my

plans by stealing back his identity while I slept, with the result that

you see before you upon the floor. He has died as he had

lived—futilely.”

As he spoke the Princess Emma had crossed the room toward him. Now she

stood at his side, her hand in his. Tense silence reigned in the

apartment. The old chancellor stood with bowed head, buried in thought.

All eyes were upon him except those of the doctor, who had turned his

attention from the dead king to the wounded assassin. Butzow stood

looking at Barney Custer in open relief and admiration. He had been

trying to vindicate his friend in his own mind ever since he had

discovered, as he believed, that Barney had tricked Leopold after the

latter had saved his life at Blentz and ridden to Lustadt in the king’s

guise. Now that he knew the whole truth he realized how stupid he had

been not to guess that the man who had led the victorious Luthanian

army before Lustadt could not have been the cowardly Leopold.

Presently the chancellor broke the silence.

“You say that Leopold of Lutha lived futilely. You are right; but when

you say that he has died futilely, you are, I believe, wrong. Living,

he gave us a poor weakling. Dying, he leaves the throne to a brave man,

in whose veins flows the blood of the Rubinroths, hereditary rulers of

Lutha.

“You are the only rightful successor to the throne of Lutha,” he

argued, “other than Peter of Blentz. Your mother’s marriage to a

foreigner did not bar the succession of her offspring. Aside from the

fact that Peter of Blentz is out of the question, is the more important

fact that your line is closer to the throne than his. He knew it, and

this knowledge was the real basis of his hatred of you.”

As the old chancellor ceased speaking he drew his sword and raised it

on high above his head.

“The king is dead,” he said. “Long live the king!”

XVI.

KING OF LUTHA

Barney Custer, of Beatrice, had no desire to be king of Lutha. He lost

no time in saying so. All that he wanted of Lutha was the girl he had

found there, as his father before him had found the girl of his choice.

Von der Tann pleaded with him.

“Twice have I fought under you, sire,” he urged. “Twice, and only twice

since the old king died, have I felt that the future of Lutha was safe

in the hands of her ruler, and both these times it was you who sat upon

the throne. Do not desert us now. Let me live to see Lutha once more

happy, with a true Rubinroth upon the throne and my daughter at his

side.”

Butzow added his pleas to those of the old chancellor. The American

hesitated.

“Let us leave it to the representatives of the people and to the house

of nobles,” he suggested.

The chancellor of Lutha explained the situation to both houses. Their

reply was unanimous. He carried it to the American, who awaited the

decision of Lutha in the royal apartments of the palace. With him was

the Princess Emma von der Tann.

“The people of Lutha will have no other king, sire,” said the old man.

Barney turned toward the girl.

“There is no other way, my lord king,” she said with grave dignity.

“With her blood your mother bequeathed you a duty which you may not

shirk. It is not for you or for me to choose. God chose for you when

you were born.”

Barney Custer took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

“Let the King of Lutha,” he said, “be the first to salute Lutha’s

queen.”

And so Barney Custer, of Beatrice, was crowned King of Lutha, and Emma

became his queen. Maenck died of his wound on the floor of the little

room in the east transept of the cathedral of Lustadt beside the body

of the king he had slain. Prince Peter of Blentz was tried by the

highest court of Lutha on the charge of treason; he was found guilty

and hanged. Von Coblich committed suicide on the eve of his arrest.

Lieutenant Otto Butzow was ennobled and given the confiscated estates

of the Blentz prince. He became a general in the army of Lutha, and was

sent to the front in command of the army corps that guarded the

northern frontier of the little kingdom.