The fall of Brutus urged the Iron Count to greater fury. His horse had
been shot from under him. He was on his feet, a gaunt demon, his back to
the enemy, calling to his men to follow him as he moved toward the
stubborn row of green and red. Bullets hissed about his ears, but he
gave no heed to them. More than one man in the opposing force watched
him as if fascinated. He seemed to be absolutely bullet-proof. There
were times when he stumbled and almost fell over the bodies of his own
men lying in the path.

By this time his entire force was inside the grounds. Colonel Quinnox
was quick to see the spreading movement on the extreme right and left.
Marlanx's captains were trained warriors. They were bent on flanking the
enemy. The commander of the Guard gave the command to fall back slowly
toward the Castle.

Firing at every step, they crossed the parade ground and then made a
quick dash for the shelter of the long balconies. They held this
position for nearly an hour, resisting each succeeding charge of the now
devilish foe. Time and again the foremost of the attacking party reached
the terrace, only to wither under the deadly fire from behind the
balustrades. Marlanx, down in the parade ground, was fairly pushing his
men into the jaws of death. There was no question as to the courage of
the men he commanded. These were not the ruffians from all over the
world. They were the reckless, devil-may-care mountaineers and robbers
from the hills of Graustark itself.

Truxton King's chance to pay his debt to Vos Engo came after one of the
fiercest, most determined charges. The young Count, who had transferred
his charges from the old tower to the strong north wing of the Castle,
had been fighting desperately in the front rank for some time. His
weakness seemed to have disappeared entirely. As the foe fell back in
the face of the desperate resistance, Vos Engo sprang down the steps
and rushed after them, calling others to join him in the attempt to
complete the rout. Near the edge of the terrace he stopped. His leg gave
way under him and he fell to the ground. Truxton saw him fall.

He leaped over the low balustrade, dropping his hot rifle, and dashed
across the terrace to his rival's assistance. A hundred men shot at him.
Vos Engo was trying to get to his feet, his hand upon his thigh; he was
groaning with pain.

"It's my turn," shouted the American. "I'll square it up if I can. Then
we're even!"

He seized the wounded ma