“That shall be decided at once,” was the retort of the Prince.

“She will marry the gentleman back at the inn.”

“A fine husband he will make, truly!” replied the Prince.  “He not only deserts her but forsakes her champion.  But, that is neither here nor there.  We shall not go through any polite formalities,” his eyes snapping viciously.

The two combatants took their places in the centre of the road.  The pistol arm of each hung at the side of the body.

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” asked the Count, the barest tremor in his voice.

“Yes,” said the Prince.

Hillars simply nodded.

“When I have counted three you will be at liberty to fire.  One!”

The arms raised slowly till the pistols were on the level of the eyes.

“Two!”

The innkeeper saw Hillars move his lips.  That was the only sign.

“Three!”

The pistols exploded simultaneously.  The right arm of the Prince swung back violently, the smoking pistol flying from his hand.  Suddenly one of the horses gave a snort of pain and terror, and bolted down the road.  No attention was given to the horse.  The others were watching Hillars.  He stood perfectly motionless.  All at once the pistol fell from his hand; then both hands flew instinctively to his breast.  There was an expression of surprise on his face.  His eyes closed, his knees bent forward, and he sank into the road a huddled heap.  The Prince shrugged, a sigh of relief fell from the Count’s half-parted lips, while the innkeeper ran toward the fallen man.

“Are you hurt, Prince?” asked the Count.

“The damned fool has blown off my elbow!” was the answer.  “Bind it up with your handkerchief, and help me on with my coat.  There is nothing more to do; if he is not dead he soon will be, so it’s all the same.”

When the Prince’s arm was sufficiently bandaged so as to stop the flow of blood, the Count assisted him to mount, jumped on his own horse, and the two cantered off, leaving the innkeeper, Hillars’ head propped up on his knee, staring after them with a dull rage in his faded blue eyes.  The remaining horse was grazing a short distance away.  Now and then he lifted his head and gazed inquiringly at the two figures in the road.

“Is it bad, Herr?” the innkeeper asked.

“Very.  Get back to the inn.  I don’t want to peter out here.”  Then he fainted.

It required some time and all the innkeeper’s strength to put Hillars on the horse.  When this was accomplished he turned the horse’s head toward the inn.  And that was all.

“Dan?” said I.

The lids of his eyes rolled wearily back.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Bury me.”

It was very sad.  “Where?” I asked.