"Now, then, back to the tavern, and not a word of this to anyone," said Barnwell.
"Sir, I am your slave," said Ulrich.
"Say not that. You are my servant, my companion and friend. We are both of us members of the same great order. You work in your way, I in mine. There are no slaves in our order, Ulrich."
"It must be so, sir, for you say it," he replied, turning the horses homeward.
This was conclusive.
The bags of gold made a heavy load, and bent the springs well down, but the horses and the wagon were strong, and these would have deceived almost anybody regarding the amount of weight they carried.
The roads being rough for some distance, they drove slowly and just before getting out into the open they met a hunter with a good string of game.
Remembering that he had gone out to shoot, and that they had no game, Barnwell stopped the peasant and bought his choicest birds, after which they drove to the tavern.
Barnwell handed the game to a servant, who afterwards held the horses while he and Ulrich carried the four bags of gold to his room.
Then the wagon was carefully housed, as usual, and the horses taken care of, after which Barnwell strolled leisurely into the bar-room, where the landlord and his wife were examining the game.