e 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