"I would not pay them one piece of gold," cried Yolanda, defiantly.
"Give me an arquebuse. I will help you fight."

The brave little heroine astonished me.

"Would you prefer that Max or your good uncle and perhaps some of our
poor mule-leaders should be killed by these pigstickers," I asked, "or
would you compound with them in some reasonable way? Shall we
fight them?"

"No, no," she answered, "wise bravery is better. I suppose I shall learn
the lesson some day."

While the troop of horsemen were under the crest of the hill, Yolanda
ran across the open to a place of concealment beside Twonette. Hardly
was she hidden when the dust-cloud rose from the brink of the hill, and
five men, well though roughly armed, galloped up to us and drew their
horses back upon their haunches.

"What have we here?" demanded the captain, a huge German. Their grimy
armor and bearded faces besmeared with black marked them as Black
Riders. I was overjoyed to see that they numbered but five.

"What is that to you?" I asked, putting on a bold front, though I feared
our mule-leaders would make but a sorry fight should we come to blows.

"That depends on what you have," responded our swart friend, coolly.
"Whatever you have, so much it is to us."

"What will you take in gold, my good man, and let us go our way in peace