week past. An we get not in by that way, we get not in at all. A
keen eye, a true aim, and a bold man are all that we need, and
the business is done." Here again all looked upward at the gray
wall above them, rising up in the silent night air.

High aloft hung the wooden bartizan or watch-tower, clinging to
the face of the outer wall and looming black against the pale
sky above. Three great beams pierced the wall, and upon them the
wooden tower rested. The middle beam jutted out beyond the rest
to the distance of five or six feet, and the end of it was
carved into the rude semblance of a dragon's head.

"So, good," said the Baron at last; "then let us see if thy plan
holds, and if Hans Schmidt's aim is true enough to earn the
three marks that I have promised him. Where is the bag?"

One of those who stood near handed the Baron a leathern pouch,
the Baron opened it and drew out a ball of fine thread, another
of twine, a coil of stout rope, and a great bundle that looked,
until it was unrolled, like a coarse fish-net. It was a rope
ladder. While these were being made ready, Hans Schmidt, a
thick-set, low-browed, broad-shouldered archer, strung his stout
bow, and carefully choosing three arrows from those in his
quiver, he stuck them point downward in the earth. Unwinding the
ball of thread, he laid it loosely in large loops upon the
ground so that it might run easily without hitching, then he
tied the end of the thread tightly around one of his arrows. He
fitted the arrow to the bow and drew the feather to his ear.
Twang! rang the bowstring, and the feathered messenger flew
whistling upon its errand to the watch-tower. The very first