“Ha!” cried Roland, “old Baron Hugo drank too deeply last night to be so early astir.”

He was speaking aloud now.

“Take warning from that, my lads, and never allow wine to interfere with business.  Follow me, but cautiously, one after the other in single file, and look to your footing.  ’Tis perilous steep between here and the gate;” and, indeed, so they found it, but all reached the level forecourt in safety, and so through the open portal.

“Close and bar those gates,” was the next command, instantly obeyed.

Down the stone steps of the Castle, puffing and grunting, came a gigantic, obese individual, his face bloated with excess, his eyes bleary with the lees of too much wine.  He was struggling into his doublet, assisted by a terrified old valet, and was swearing most deplorably.  Seeing the crowd at the gate, and half-blindly mistaking them for his own men, he roared: 

“What do you there, you hounds?  To the river, every man of you, and curse your leprous, indolent souls!  Why in the fiend’s name—­” But here he came to an abrupt stop on the lowest step, the sting of a sword’s point at his throat, and now, out of breath, his purple face became mottled.

“Good morning to you, Baron Hugo von Hohenfels.  These men whom you address so coarsely obey no orders but mine.”

“And who, imp of Satan, are you?” sputtered the old man.

“By profession a hangman.  From our fastnesses in the hills, seeing a barge float down the river, we thought it likely you would leave the Castle undefended, and so came in to execute the Prince of Robbers.”

The Baron was quaking like a huge jelly.  It was evident that, although noted for his cruelty, he was at heart a coward.

“You—­you—­you—­” he stammered, “are outlaws!  You are outlaws from the Hunsruck.”

“How clever of you, Baron, to recognize us at once.  Now you know what to expect.  Greusel, unwind the rope I gave you last night.  I will show you its purpose.”

Greusel did as he was requested without comment, but Ebearhard approached closely to his chief, and whispered: 

“Why resort to violence?  We have no quarrel with this elephant.  ’Tis his gold we want, and to hang him is a waste of time.”

“Hush, Ebearhard,” commanded Roland sternly.  “The greater includes the less.  I know this man, and am taking the quickest way to his treasure-house.”

Ebearhard fell back, but by this time the useful Greusel had made a loop of the rope, and threw it like a cravat around the Baron’s neck.

“No, no, no!” cried the frightened nobleman. “’Tis not my life you seek.  That is of no use to such as you; and, besides, I have never harmed the outlaws.”

“That is a lie,” said Roland.  “You sent an expedition against us just a year ago.”

“’Twas not I,” protested Hohenfels, “but the pirate of Falkenberg.  Still, no matter.  I’ll buy my life from you.  I am a wealthy man.”