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.