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.

"Did you see the little cemetery on the hill, across the valley? Put
me there. It is a wild, forgotten place. 'Tis only my body. Who
cares what becomes of that? As for the other, the soul, who can say?
I have never been a good man; still, I believe in God. I am tired,
tired and cold. What fancies a man has in death! A moment back I saw
my father. There was a wan, sweet-faced woman standing close beside
him; perhaps my mother. I never saw her before. Ah, me! these
chimeras we set our hearts upon, these worldly hopes! Well, Jack, it's
curtain and no encore. But I am not afraid to die. I have wronged no
man or w