so that it is really ransom money. But
my father is a poor man, so that it will take a long time before he
can accumulate so large a sum.

"You would really like to go home again, Rudolph?"

"Oh, very much, your majesty, if I only dared." Barney was silent
for some time, thinking. Possibly he could effect his own escape
with the connivance of Rudolph, and at the same time free the boy.
The paltry ransom he could pay out of his own pocket and send to
Yellow Franz later, so that the youth need not fear the brigand's
revenge. It was worth thinking about, at any rate.

"How long do you imagine they will keep me, Rudolph?" he asked after
a time.

"Yellow Franz has already sent Herman to Lustadt with a message for
Prince Peter, telling him that you are being held for ransom, and
demanding the payment of a huge sum for your release. Day after
tomorrow or the next day he should return with Prince Peter's reply.

"If it is favorable, arrangements will be made to turn you over to
Prince Peter's agents, who will have to come to some distant meeting
place with the money. A week, perhaps, it will take, maybe longer."

It was the second day before Herman returned from Lustadt. He rode
in just at dark, his pony lathered from hard going.

Barney and the boy saw him coming, and the youth ran forward with
the others to learn the news that he had brought; but Yellow Franz
and his messenger withdrew to a hut which the brigand chief reserved
for his own use, nor would he permit any beside the messenger to
accompany him to hear the report.

For half an hour Barney sat alone waiting for word from Yellow Franz
that arrangements had been consummated for his release, and then out
of the darkness came Rudolph, wide-eyed and trembling.

"Oh, my king?" he whispered. "What shall we do? Peter has refused
to ransom you alive, but he has offered a great sum for unquestioned
proof of your death. Already he has caused a proclamation to be
issued stating that you have been killed by bandits after escaping
from Blentz, and ordering a period of national mourning. In three
weeks he is to be crowned king of Lutha."

"When do they intend terminating my existence?" queried Barney.

There was a smile upon his lips, for even now he could scarce
believe that in the twentieth century there could be any such
medieval plotting against a king's life, and yet, on second thought,
had he not ample proof of the lengths to which Peter of Blentz was
willin