“One for thee, tinker,” he gasped, his breath nigh spent. “I’ll let a little more of thy mongrel blood ere I quit.” “An thou dost,” cried Wulf, stung to a fury he seldom felt, “save a drop for thyself. A little that’s honest would not come amiss i’ the black stream in thy veins.” And he guarded again as Conradt came on. This the latter did with a rush, at which Wulf sprang aside, and ere his foe could whirl he came at him askance, catching his sword-hand just across the back of the wrist with the tip of his stick, so that for an instant Conradt’s arm dropped, and the point of his blade touched the floor. ’Twas a trick in which Wulf felt little pride, though fair enough, and he did not follow up the advantage, knowing he had his enemy beaten for the time. The hunchback stood glaring at Wulf, but ere he could move to attack again a voice cried: “Well done, tinker. An ye had a blade our cockerel had crowed smaller, and I had missed a rare bit of sport.” On this both boys turned, for they knew that voice; and Herr Werner came forward, not laughing now, as mostly he was, but with a sterner look on his youthful face than even Conradt had ever seen. “Now, then, how is this?” he demanded of Wulf. “What is this brawl about?” The boy met Werner’s eyes frankly. “He had best tell,” he said, nodding toward Conradt. “Suppose, then, thou dost”; and Herr Werner looked at the hunchback, who, his eyes going down before the knight’s, lied, as was his wont. “He came at me with the flail, and,” he added, unable to withhold bragging, “I clipped it for him.” “And what hadst done to make him come at thee?” “I did but look at the horses, and stood to play with old Siegfried, here. ’Tis become so that my uncle the baron himself may yet look to be called to account by this tinker’s upstart.” The stern lines about Herr Werner’s mouth grew deeper. “Heed thou this, Conradt,” he said, with great earnestness. “Yonder was I, by the pillar, and saw this whole matter. What didst plan ill to the stallion for?” “The truth is, not to have him hereabout,” muttered Conradt, his face dark with fear and anger. “These be my uncle’s stables, and this great beast hath had tooth or hoof toll from every one about the place.” “True, i’ the main,” Herr Werner said scornfully. “Is this why the baron hath made thee master of the horse? Shall I tell him with what zeal thou followest thy duties?” Conradt’s face was fair distorted now; fear of his uncle’s wrath was the one thing that kept the wickedness of his evil nature in any sort of check, and well he knew how bitter would be his taste of that wrath should this thing come to the baron’s ears. So, too, knew Herr Werner, and, in less manner, Wulf; for his keen wit had taught him much during his six weeks’ service at the castle. “What shall I say to the baron of this?” demanded Herr Werner again, as he towered above them. “I care not,” muttered Conradt, falsely; but Wulf said: