well as the honourable Company of Foresters,
accuse you of being in league with the enemy of mankind, and of
procuring from him charmed bullets."

The poacher laughed. "It is false," he cried, "They are jealous because
I am such a good shot. Provide me with a gun and with powder and shot
blessed by a priest, and I will undertake to place through the vane of
this tower nine shots which shall form the figure 9."

"Such an opportunity shall be afforded you," said one of the officials,
who had not as yet spoken. "It would be an injustice not to give you
such a chance, especially as, if you are successful, you will remove the
most odious portion of the charge against you."

The news of the poacher's challenge spread quickly through Frankfort,
and even the foresters who had given evidence against him were so
impressed that they forced their way into the council and insisted that,
should he be successful, a free pardon should be granted to him. To this
the council agreed, and an intimation of the decision was conveyed to
the poacher. But he was assured that if one bullet missed its mark he
would certainly die. To this he agreed, and the succeeding day was fixed
for the trial of skill. At an early hour the square in which the tower
was situated was thronged by an immense crowd. The walls of the city, of
which the tower was a part, were thronged by members of the Foresters'
Guild. Soon the prisoner was led forth, and was publicly admonished by a
monk not to tempt God if his skill had its origin in diabolic agencies.
But to all such exhortations the poacher replied: "Fear not, I will
write my answer upon yonder tower."

The master of the Foresters' Guild loaded the gun and handed it to him.
Amidst a deep silence he aimed at the vane and fired. The shot found its
mark. Once more he fired. Again the vane swung round, and another hole
appeared therein. The crowd vented its feelings by loud huzzahs. Nine
times did he fire, and nine times did the bullet hit its mark. And
as the last bullet sang through the weather-cock the figure 9 showed
clearly therein, and the poacher, sinking to his knees, bared his head
and gave thanks for his life to God. All there, also, bared their heads
and accompanied him in his thanksgiving.

That night, loaded with gifts, he quitted Frankfort, nevermore to
return. But the vane on the tower remains there to this day as a witness
of his prowess with the long rifle.

The Knave of Bergen

The city of