shaft did the work.

"Good," said Hans Schmidt, the archer, in his heavy voice, "the
three marks are mine, Lord Baron."

The arrow had fallen over and across the jutting beam between
the carved dragon's head and the bartizan, carrying with it the
thread, which now hung from above, glimmering white in the
moonlight like a cobweb.

The rest was an easy task enough. First the twine was drawn up
to and over the beam by the thread, then the rope was drawn up
by the twine, and last of all the rope ladder by the rope. There
it hung like a thin, slender black line against the silent gray
walls.

"And now," said the Baron, "who will go first and win fifty
marks for his own, and climb the rope ladder to the tower
yonder?" Those around hesitated. "Is there none brave enough to
venture?" said the Baron, after a pause of silence.

A stout, young fellow, of about eighteen years of age, stepped
forward and flung his flat leathern cap upon the ground. "I will
go, my Lord Baron," said he.

"Good," said the Baron, "the fifty marks are thine. And now
listen, if thou findest no one in the watch-tower, whistle thus;
if the watchman be at his post, see that thou makest all safe
before thou givest the signal. When all is ready the others will
follow thee. And now go and good luck go with thee."