before he could take in a general view of the disaster. At his side, so
near that under ordinary circumstances he could almost have touched him,
lay Georg Znaeym, alive and struggling, but obviously as helplessly
pinioned down as himself. All round them lay a thick-strewn wreckage of
splintered branches and broken twigs.

Relief at being alive and exasperation at his captive plight brought a
strange medley of pious thank-offerings and sharp curses to Ulrich's
lips. Georg, who was early blinded with the blood which trickled across
his eyes, stopped his struggling for a moment to listen, and then gave a
short, snarling laugh.

"So you're not killed, as you ought to be, but you're caught, anyway," he
cried; "caught fast. Ho, what a jest, Ulrich von Gradwitz snared in his
stolen forest. There's real justice for you!"

And he laughed again, mockingly and savagely.

"I'm caught in my own forest-land," retorted Ulrich. "When my men come
to release us you will wish, perhaps, that you were in a better plight
than caught poaching on a neighbour's land, shame on you."

Georg was silent for a moment; then he answered quietly:

"Are you sure that your men will find much to release? I have men, too,
in the forest to-night, close behind me, and _they_ will be here first
and do the releasing. When they drag me out from under these damned
branches it won't need much clumsiness on their part to roll this mass of
trunk right over on the top of you. Your men will find you dead under a
fallen beech tree. For form's sake I shall send my condolences to your