It was a tough and dangerous struggle to the road above, but at last by dint of strenuous efforts on the part of the sturdy little beast the two finally scrambled over the edge of the road and stood once more upon level footing.
After breathing his mount for a few minutes Barney swung himself into the saddle again and set off toward Tafelberg. He met no one upon the road, nor within the outskirts of the village, and so he came to the door of the shop he sought without attracting attention.
Swinging to the ground he tied the pony to one of the supporting columns of the porch-roof and a moment later had stepped within the shop.
From a back room the shopkeeper presently emerged, and when he saw who it was that stood before him his eyes went wide in consternation.
“In the name of all the saints, your majesty,” cried the old fellow, “what has happened? How comes it that you are out of the hospital, and travel-stained as though from a long, hard ride? I cannot understand it, sire.”
“Hospital?” queried the young man. “What do you mean, my good fellow? I have been in no hospital.”
“You were there only last evening when I inquired after you of the doctor,” insisted the shopkeeper, “nor did any there yet suspect your true identity.”
“Last evening I was hiding far up in the mountains from Yellow Franz’s band of cutthroats,” replied Barney. “Tell me what manner of riddle you are propounding.”
Then a sudden light of understanding flashed through Barney’s mind.
“Man!” he exclaimed. “Tell me—you have found the true king? He is at a hospital in Tafelberg?”