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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 276 pages of information about The Mad King.

A moment before a tall young man with a reddish-brown beard had stood at the turn of the road listening intently to the sound of the hurrying hoof beats and the purring of the racing motor car approaching from the distance.  In his eyes lurked the look of the hunted.  For a moment he stood in evident indecision, but just before the runaway horse and the pursuing machine came into view he slipped over the edge of the road to slink into the underbrush far down toward the bottom of the ravine.

When Barney pushed the girl from the running board she fell heavily to the road, rolling over several times, but in an instant she scrambled to her feet, hardly the worse for the tumble other than a few scratches.

Quickly she ran to the edge of the embankment, a look of immense relief coming to her soft, brown eyes as she saw her rescuer scrambling up the precipitous side of the ravine toward her.

“You are not killed?” she cried in German.  “It is a miracle!”

“Not even bruised,” reassured Barney.  “But you?  You must have had a nasty fall.”

“I am not hurt at all,” she replied.  “But for you I should be lying dead, or terribly maimed down there at the bottom of that awful ravine at this very moment.  It’s awful.”  She drew her shoulders upward in a little shudder of horror.  “But how did you escape?  Even now I can scarce believe it possible.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know how I did escape,” said Barney, clambering over the rim of the road to her side.  “That I had nothing to do with it I am positive.  It was just luck.  I simply dropped out onto that bush down there.”

They were standing side by side, now peering down into the ravine where the car was visible, bottom side up against a tree, near the base of the declivity.  The horse’s head could be seen protruding from beneath the wreckage.

“I’d better go down and put him out of his misery,” said Barney, “if he is not already dead.”

“I think he is quite dead,” said the girl.  “I have not seen him move.”

Just then a little puff of smoke arose from the machine, followed by a tongue of yellow flame.  Barney had already started toward the horse.

“Please don’t go,” begged the girl.  “I am sure that he is quite dead, and it wouldn’t be safe for you down there now.  The gasoline tank may explode any minute.”

Barney stopped.

“Yes, he is dead all right,” he said, “but all my belongings are down there.  My guns, six-shooters and all my ammunition.  And,” he added ruefully, “I’ve heard so much about the brigands that infest these mountains.”

The girl laughed.

“Those stories are really exaggerated,” she said.  “I was born in Lutha, and except for a few months each year have always lived here, and though I ride much I have never seen a brigand.  You need not be afraid.”

Barney Custer looked up at her quickly, and then he grinned.  His only fear had been that he would not meet brigands, for Mr. Bernard Custer, Jr., was young and the spirit of Romance and Adventure breathed strong within him.

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