egs far apart--a keg-shaped kind of a man, with a
head flattened on his shoulders like a stove-lid, who said 'Ach Gott'
every five minutes, and spluttered when he talked.

"I went in first, leaving the two on the porch until I should send for
them. I didn't know how things were going to turn out and had become a
little anxious. I had run up from Munich for a few weeks' outdoor work
and wanted to stay out, not behind iron bars for abetting crime.

"'Your Supreme Highness,' I began, 'I have heard of your great prowess
as a sportsman, and so I wanted to pay my respects. I, too, am a
shootist--an American shootist.' Here I launched out on our big game (I
had been six months in the Rockies before I came abroad, and knew what
I was talking about). He was wide awake by this time and was listening.
Dropping into the chair which he had drawn up for me, I told him of
our elk--'As big as horses, your Honor'; of our mountain lions--savage
beasts that could climb trees and fall upon the defenseless; of our
catamounts, deer, wolves, bears, foxes--all these we killed without
molestation from anybody; I told him how all American sportsmen were
like the Nimrods of old. How galling, then, for a true shootist to be
misunderstood, decried, denounced, and arrested for so insignificant a
beastie as a rabbit! This indignity my very dear friend, Herr Wilhelm
Fuedels-Shimmer, had suffered--a most estimable young man--careless,
perhaps, in his interpretation of the law, but who would not be--that
is, what sportsman would not be? I had in Wilhelm's defense not only
backed up his story, but I had gone so far as to hazard the opinion to
the officer of that law, that it was not on some uncertain Tuesday
or Friday or Saturday, but on that very Wednesday, that his Supreme
Highness had been wont to follow with his four accomplished dogs the
tracks of the nimble cotton-tail. Would his Highness, therefore, be good
enough to concentrate his giant brain on his past life and fish from out
his memory the exact day on which he last hunted? While that was going
on I would excuse myself long enough to bring in the alleged criminal.

"Fiddles stepped in with the easy grace of a courtier accustomed to
meeting a Mayor every day of his life, and, after a confirmatory wink
from me, boldly asserted that he had followed behind his Honor--had
really assisted in driving the game his way. His Honor might not
remember his face, but he surely must remember that his Honora