In the Wilderness.
Once again spring-breezes blew across the land. The melting snows
flowed down in rushing mountain-torrents; timidly, half-suspiciously
the first Alpine plants peeped out, as though to ask the sunshine if it
were indeed in earnest, and they might venture forth a little further.
Here and there isolated patches of snow still lay like forgotten linen
sheets. In the evergreen pine and fir-woods, the birds lifted their
wings, held twittering consultations, and attuned their little throats
to the universal song of rejoicing.
From the Ferner mountains avalanches came thundering down into the
valleys, and beneath the terrible, moving masses, walls and rafters,
trees and bushes, crashed together. There was a thronging and
wrestling, a thundering and rustling--there were threats and
allurements, fears and hopes, in the heights and in the valleys, and
man also, ever-venturesome, ever-inquisitive man, arose from his long
winter's rest, stretched forth his feelers, and began to grope about
the mountains with his alpenstock for some foothold in the loose and
shifting snow.
Only Rofen yet lay in the shadow of its narrow, heaven-high walls,
hidden like a late sleeper beneath its white coverlet. Before the door
of the Rofen farm stood Leander, feeding Hansl with a big mouse that he
had caught for him. Hansl had been Leander's pet from the hour when it
came out that he belonged to Wally, and the bird was well cared for
among the Rofeners.
Benedict came towards the house with his mountain pole. He had been
reconnoitring the path to Murzoll, and had more than once hovered
between life and death. His glance was unsteady, his whole appearance
agitated and gloomy.
"Well?" asked Leander in anxious suspense.
"The road is passable at need. If I guide her, she can risk it."
"Nay, Benedict, don't thee do that, don't let her go up there--I pray
thee, don't."
"What she will--she will," said Benedict gloomily.
"Tell her the mountain's not safe, then she'll remain of herself."
"Where's the good of lying? She'll not change her mind however long she
stays here, and thou hast nothing to hope, I've told thee that often
enough. An unfledged stripling like thee is not for a maid like Wally!
Now keep thyself quiet." He went into the house, and the tears sprang
into Leander's eyes with anger and pain.
Wally came with the hayfork out of the stable towards Benedict.
"Wally," he said, "if it must be so, I'll lead thee up there, I've
found out the way; but it is still dangerous."
"Thank thee kindly, Benedict," said Wally, "tomorrow, then, we will
go." She hung up the hayfork, and went into the kitchen. Benedict
stamped with his foot, and set his alpenstock in the corner. For a
while he stood reflecting, then he could keep quiet no longer--he
followed her.
Wally had tucked up her gown and was preparing to wash the kitchen.
"Wally, leave all that, I want to talk with thee."
"I cannot, Benedict, I must scour the kitchen. If I go away to-morrow,
I must have the whole house clean. I'll leave no dirt or disorder
behind me."
"Thou's always worked more by us than thou hast eaten or drunken. Let
be now, the house is clean enough, and if thou goes away--all is one."
He chewed at a piece of wood, then spit out the bitten splinter. Wally
saw the terrible state of excitement he was in, and left off her work
that she might listen to him.
"Wally," he said, "consider once more whether thou'll not have one of
us. See now, thou'st no need to be so proud. There's such a cry against
thee, that it's through great love only, that one can take thee at
all."
Wally nodded her head in perfect agreement.
"Now see, we Rofeners, we are people who may knock at every door, and
there's not a girl but would be glad to get one of us. Thou hast the
choice between two of us brothers, and refusest such a piece of luck.
See, Wally, thou may some day repent of it."
"Benedict, thou means well, and I care for thee and Leander as one can
care for only one person, but not enough to marry you. And I'll marry
no one that I can't love as a husband, and that thou may know that I
mean it, I once saw one that I can never forget, and till I do forget
him, I'll take no other."
Benedict grew pale.
"See, I tell thee that thou may be at peace, and no longer torment
thyself with the thought of me. Only believe, Benedict, I know well
what thou hast done, thou and all of you for me. You saved me from
death, you protected me when my father'd have taken me away by force,
and it was really fine how thou defended me and thy rights. I'd be a
happy girl if I could love thee and forget that other. I'm right
thankful to thee, and if it could help thee, I'd give thee my life--but
tell thyself, what would thee do with a wife who loves some one else?
That were truly a bad return to a man like thee."
"Yes," said Benedict hoarsely, and wiped his forehead.
"And thou sees now, that I must go away, that things can't go on as
they are?"
"Yes," he said again, and left the kitchen.
Wally looked after him as, full of emotion, he strode away, the brave
and proud man who had offered her all, all that--as he himself had said
in his uncouth fashion--would have made the happiness of any other
girl. And she herself could not understand how it was that she could
not care more for this man, who had done so much for her, than for the
stranger who had never once given her a thought. And yet so it was!
There was not one who could be compared with Joseph for power and
excellence; she saw him always before her as when he had flung the
bloody bear's skin from his shoulder and related how he had wrestled
with the monster, whilst all stood around and admired him, the mighty,
the beautiful, the only one! And then how he had conquered her father,
the strong man who had always appeared to her hitherto so unconquerable
and terrible! And with what goodness and kindness he had spoken to him
afterwards, in spite of her father's hostility! No, there was not one
that could rise up and stand comparison with Joseph.
She went back to her work. "If only Joseph knew all that I am giving up
for his sake," she thought as she looked out, and saw how in front of
the window Benedict with a red face was talking to Leander, and how
Leander wept.
Old Stromminger had at first stormed against and cursed his unruly
child, and not even the good pastor of Heiligkreuz had succeeded in
pacifying him. When it was at length rumoured that Wally kept herself
hidden at Rofen, he sent people to fetch her away. But on their own
ground and territory it was easy for no one to move the "Kloetze of
Rofen," and they defended like knights the sacred rights and freedom of
the Rofeners. When Wally however perceived that a passion for her had
taken possession of the brothers, then she made a confidant of the
quiet and prudent Nicodemus, and he understood what was needful to be
done. He went to Stromminger, and his wise eloquence was so far
successful that the old man at last gave up the idea of imprisoning
Wally, and contented himself with banishing her for ever from his
sight. In the summer she should tend the flocks again upon Murzoll,
"because that is the only way in which one can make any use of her." In
the winter she might seek service wherever she liked--only she was not
to venture to come back to her home.
When Nicodemus returned with this answer, Wally insisted upon going
that moment to await the flocks upon the Ferner, and only Nicodemus'
firm decision prevailed upon her to wait at least till Benedict should
have examined whether the mountain road were passable.
So the hour came when Wally must once more fly before the winds of
spring on to the mountains, into the desert. It was hard to part with
the brothers, and with good Marianne. They had become dear to her,
these worthy people, who had come so readily to her help.
Benedict went up the mountain with her; he would not let himself be
deprived of that. "Thou'st been entrusted to us, we will at least hand
thee back again with a whole skin. Whatever may happen to thee then, we
can, alas! do nought to hinder."
It was a fearful road up which they had to make their way in the midst
of the wild confusion wrought by the spring, and Benedict, acknowledged
far and wide to be the best and surest of guides, said himself he had
never seen so bad a mountain-path. They spoke little, for they were
engaged in a constant, breathless struggle for life, and could look
neither to the right nor to the left. It was hard work. At length,
after fighting half the day with snow and ice and crevasses, they found
themselves on the summit. The old hut still stood there, somewhat more
ruinous than before, and a heavy weight of snow lay on the roof and all
around it.
"There thou means to house thyself--there! Sooner than become
an honoured wife and lead with us down yonder a respected and
home-sheltered life as a peasant of Rofen?"
"I can do no other, Benedict," said Wally gently, and looked with sad
eyes at the snow-covered inhospitable hut. "I believe the mountain
spirits have thrown a spell upon me, so that I must needs come back to
them, and never more feel myself at home in the valleys."
"One might almost believe it! There's something strange about thee.
Thou's quite different from other maids, so that one loves thee in
quite a different way--much, much more dearly, and yet as if thou
didn't belong to us, as if an evil spirit drove thee round."
He threw down the bundle of provisions that he had brought up with him
for Wally, and began removing the snow from the door of the hut that
she might be able to get into it.
"Benedict," said Wally softly, as though she could be overheard, "dost
thou believe in the phantom maidens?"
Benedict looked down meditatively and shrugged his shoulders. "What can
one say? I've never seen any myself--but there are people who'd hold to
it to their last breath."
"I'd never believed in them--but when I came up here last year, I
had a dream so lifelike, I could almost believe it was no dream, and
since then, whatever happens to me, I can't help thinking of the
phantom-maidens.
"What sort of a dream?"
"Thou must know that him whom I love is a chamois-hunter, and it was
because of him my father sent me up last year, and the first hour I was
here I dreamt that the phantom-maidens and Murzoll threatened me that
if I wouldn't leave off thinking of the lad, they'd fling me down into
the abyss!" And she related her whole dream in detail to Benedict. He
shook his head, and became quite melancholy. "Wally, in thy place, I
should be afraid."
She threw her head back. "Ah well. Thou goes on shooting the chamois,
in spite of the phantom-maidens. One has only got not to be afraid.
I've sprung over many a chasm since then, and I've felt well enough
that there was somewhat that wished to pull me down, but I held myself
firm, and kept the upper hand."
She raised her strong brown arm defiantly. "So long as I've got two
arms, I've no need to fear whatever it may be."
This did not please Benedict. In his solitary wanderings over the
terrible Similaun and the wild glacier peaks, he had acquired a taste
for subtle meditations and reflected more deeply on many things than
other people. "Take care, Wally! He who sets himself too high thrusts
his head up easily enough, but that's what those up yonder won't
endure, and they thrust him down again."
She was silent.
"It's too early for thee to be up here--" he began again, "no one could
stand it."
"Oh, it was worse still when I was up here last autumn," said Wally, as
she went into the hut.
"Who won't be advised, can't be helped. But if _he_ doesn't some time
recompense thee for all thou'rt going through for him, he deserves to
be dragged round by the collar."
"If he knew of it, for sure he'd recompense me," said Wally reddening
and looking down.
"He doesn't know of it?" asked Benedict astonished.
"No, he scarcely knows me."
"Now may God forgive thee that thou should so set thy heart on a
strange man, and them, them who love thee, and have cherished thee and
tended thee, them thou pushes from thee. That is no love--that is mere
obstinacy."
Wally was silent, and Benedict also said no more. He did now as old
Klettenmaier had done the year before. He set the hut in order as well
as he could for Wally, and brought her a store of wood. Then he held
out his hand to her in farewell. "May God guard thee up here! And if I
might say one more word to thee, it would be this: Watch over thyself,
and pray that no evil powers may get the better of thee!"
Wally's heart contracted as his eyes full of deep sadness rested on
her. It seemed to her as though in truth she felt the evil powers
hovering round her, and almost unconsciously she held the hand of her
protector who had watched over her so faithfully, and accompanied him
part of the way back, as though she feared to remain alone.
"Now then--here the path becomes bad; I thank thee for coming so far,"
said Benedict, and parted from her.
"Farewell, and a safe journey home," cried Wally after him.
He looked round no more. She turned back to the hut, and was once more
alone with her vulture and her mountain spirits. But the spirits seemed
appeased. Murzoll smiled kindly in the glow of the spring sunshine upon
the returned child, and Wally no longer felt herself a stranger in the
midst of her mighty and sublime surroundings. Each fold on Murzoll's
brow was familiar to her now; she knew his smile and his frown, and it
no longer frightened her when sullen clouds beset his brow, or when he
rolled down avalanches into the abyss. She felt herself secure on his
harsh breast, and the breath of his storms blew away from her heart the
weight that she had brought up with her again from the valley. For a
healing power lies in the storm; it cools the blood, it bears the soul
on its rushing wings far away over the stones and thorns amongst which
it would flutter, painfully entangled. As when a child has hurt itself
and cries, we breathe on the place, saying, "It will soon be well," and
the child smiles back to us again, so Father Murzoll blew away from the
heart of his returned child the dull pain that oppressed it, and she
looked with shining eyes and an uplifted heart out into the wide
world--and hoped and waited.
So weeks and months passed by. The July sun shone with such power that
the mountain was already completely "ausgeapert"; that is to say, the
lighter winter snow was all melted away to the limits of the eternal
snows where Wally dwelt. Now and then one of the Rofener brothers came
up to enquire whether she had not yet changed her mind. But they came
but seldom, and interrupted Wally's solitude by a few short half-hours
only.
One day the sun's rays "pricked" with such sharp, unusual heat, that
Wally felt as though she were passing between glowing needles. When the
sun "pricks," it draws the clouds together, and soon, somewhere about
midday, it had gathered about itself a thick tent of clouds behind
which it disappeared, and a leaden twilight was spread heavily over the
earth. A strange disquietude seized the little flock; now and then a
quivering brightness shuddered through the grey cloud-chaos, as a
sleeper's eyelashes quiver in dreams, and gigantic black mourning
clouds waved about Murzoll's head. Now and again they were rent
asunder, affording faint glimpses into the clear distance, but
instantly across these thin places new veils were woven till all was
closed, and no empty space, as it seemed, left between earth and
Heaven.
Wally well knew what all this foreboded; she had already experienced
plenty of bad weather up here on the mountains, and she drove the flock
together under a projecting rock, where she had herself arranged a fold
in case of need. But a young goat had wandered out of sight, and she
was obliged to go and seek it. No storm had ever yet come on with such
rapidity. Already hollow mutterings could be heard amongst the
mountains, whilst the gusts of wind swept roaring onwards, flinging
down isolated hailstones. Now it was a question of minutes only, and
the kid was nowhere to be seen. Wally extinguished her hearth fire and
stepped out into the conflict of the elements, like an heroic queen
amongst the hosts of her rebellious subjects. And queen-like indeed she
looked, without knowing or caring anything about it. She had set a
little copper milk-can upside down upon her head as a helmet to protect
her from the hailstones, and a thick horse-cloth hung down like a
mantle from her shoulders. Thus equipped, and a shepherd's staff with
its iron hook in her hand in the place of a lance, she threw herself
out into the storm, and fought her way through it till she reached a
point of rock from whence she could look out after the lost animal. But
It was impossible through the mists to distinguish anything. Wally
ascended higher and higher, till she had reached the path that leads
over the Hochjoch into the Schnalser valley; and there, deep below in
the ravine, the kid was clinging to the side of the steep precipice,
trembling with fear and crouching beneath the blows of the heavy
hailstones. The helpless animal moved her to pity--she must have
compassion on it. The hail rattled down thicker and thicker around her,
the wind and rain struck her like whips across the face, there was a
heaving and swelling on every side like the thundering waves of an
approaching deluge, but she paid no heed to it; the mute supplications
of the distressed animal rose above the raging of the storm, and
without a moment's hesitation she let herself down into the misty
depths. With infinite trouble she got far enough down the slippery path
to lay hold of the animal with her crook and draw it towards her, then
throwing it over her shoulder, she climbed upwards again with hands and
feet. Then, all at once, a stream of fire seemed to shoot from the
zenith down into the gulf, a shivered fir-tree crashed beneath her in
the depths, and in one universal roar of heaven and earth together
there came a crackling from above, a rushing, a thundering of hurling
streams and masses below, till to the solitary pilgrim clinging to the
quaking rock it seemed as though the whole world were whirling round
her in wild dissolution. Half-stunned, she swung herself up at last on
to the firm edge of the pathway, then stood a moment to recover breath
and wipe the moisture from her eyes, for she could hardly see, and
the kid too struggled on her shoulder, so that she was obliged to bind
it before carrying it any further. Meanwhile, thunder-clap after
thunder-clap crashed above her, beneath her, and as though heaven had
been a leaking cask filled with fire, the lightning struck downwards in
fiery streams. Hark!--what was that?--a human voice! A cry for help
sounded clearly above the rushing and roaring. Wally who had not
trembled at the fury of the thunder and the hurricane, trembled now. A
human voice--now!--up here with her in this fearful tumult of nature,
in this chaos! It terrified her more than the raging of the elements.
She listened with suspended breath to hear whence the voice came, and
whether she had not deceived herself. Again she heard the cry, and
close behind her. "Hi, thou yonder--help me, then!" And out of the
mists and rain emerged a figure that seemed to drag along a second
form. Wally stood as though suddenly stiffened--what face was that? The
burning eyes, the black moustache, the finely aquiline nose, she looked
and looked and could not stir a limb for the sweet terror that had come
upon her--it was indeed St. George, it was Joseph the bear-hunter.
He himself was scarcely less startled than Wally when she turned round,
but from another cause. "Jesu Maria--it's a girl," he said almost
timidly, and looked at Wally with astonishment. Seeing her from behind,
he had thought from her height that she was a shepherd--now he saw a
maiden before him. And as she stood there, her long mantle falling
around her in stiff folds, her head protected by its warlike helmet
against the hail, her dark hair, loosened and dripping, hanging about
her face, the crook in her hand and the kid on her broad shoulders, her
great eyes flaming and fastened upon him, he had a weird feeling for a
moment, as though something supernatural stood before him. In his whole
life before he had never seen so powerful a woman, and he had to pause
for a minute before he could clearly make her out.
"Ah," he said, "thou'rt only old Stromminger's Vulture-Wally?"
"Yes, that am I," answered the girl breathlessly.
"So--well, precisely then with thee I have nothing to do."
"Why not?" asked Wally, turning pale, and a flash of lightning quivered
just over her, so that her copper helmet flashed red in the glare.
Joseph was obliged to pause, so crashing was the thunder-clap that
followed, and with new fury a shower of hail came rattling down. Joseph
looked at the girl in perplexity as she stood there immovable, whilst
lumps of ice struck against the slight metal can on her head. Then he
bent down over the lifeless form that he was carrying.
"See here, ever since that affair in Soelden I've been in disgrace with
thy father, and people say that thou also art not one to have dealings
with. But this poor maid can go no further; a flash of lightning struck
close by her and threw her down, and she's quite out of her senses. Go,
lead us to thy hut, that the girl may rest till the storm is over--then
we'll leave again at once; and for certain, such a thing shall never
happen again."
Wally looked strangely at him during this speech--half in defiance,
half in pain. Her lips trembled as though she would have made some
vehement answer, but she controlled herself, and after a short and
silent struggle, "Come," she said, and strode onwards before him.
Presently she paused and asked, "Who is the maid?"
"She's a poor girl out of Vintschgau on her way to the Lamb in
Zwieselstein. My mother is dead, and I've had to go over to Vintschgau,
where her home was, to look after the inheritance, and as our roads lay
together, I've brought the girl across the mountains with me," answered
Joseph evasively.
"Thy mother is dead? Oh, thou poor Joseph--" cried Wally full of
sympathy.
"Yes--it was a hard blow," said Joseph in deep sadness, "the good
little mother."
Wally saw that it pained him to speak of her, and was silent. They said
no more till they reached the hut.
"Here's a horrible hole," said Joseph stooping and yet knocking his
head as he entered. "It's not for nothing that a man sends his child
off to live in a dog-kennel like this. Well, certainly thou'st done
enough to deserve it."
"Ah!--thou's sure of that?" said Wally, breaking out bitterly now as
she untied the kid and set it down in a corner. Then she shook up her
bed and helped Joseph to lay the stranger on it. Her hands trembled as
she did so.
"Well," said Joseph indifferently, "everyone knows how wild thou's been
with thy father, and how thou nearly killed Vincenz Gellner dead, and
set fire to thy father's barn in a rage. It seems to me, that with such
a beginning thou may go still further."
"Dost know why I struck Vincenz, and fired the barn?" asked Wally with
a trembling voice, "Dost know _why_ I am up here in this dog-kennel as
thou calls it? Dost know?" And with her two hands she broke a strong
branch in pieces across her knee, so that the wood cracked and
splintered, and Joseph involuntarily admired her strength.
"No," he said, "how should I know?"
"Well then, if thou doesn't know, thou needn't speak of it," she said
low and angrily as she made up the fire that she might warm some milk
for the sick girl.
"Tell me, then, if thou thinks I'm doing thee a wrong."
Wally broke out again suddenly into the shrill, bitter laugh peculiar
to her when her heart was secretly bleeding. "Thee I'm to tell--thee?"
she cried, "Yes, truly; thou'rt a fitting person for me to tell!" And
she rinsed out a kettle with feverish haste, poured the milk into it,
and hung it up over the crackling fire.
Joseph did not discover the pain that lay hidden in this scorn--he only
felt the scorn, and turned away from her offended: "With thee there's
nothing to be said; people are right enough there," he answered, and
thenceforward occupied himself only with the sick girl.
Wally also was silent, and only now and then as she moved about her
work cast a stolen glance to where Joseph, with the red light of the
fire upon him, sat on a stool not far from the bed. His eyes glowed
like two coals in the reflection of the flames, which shining now
brightly, now faintly, lighted up the strong and handsome face of the
hunter with strange changes, so that it appeared sometimes friendly,
sometimes full of gloom.
All at once Wally remembered her dream on the first night of her
arrival on the Hochjoch. "If the phantom-maidens could see him now,
they would melt away before him like snow before the fire." Something
of this she thought, and it seemed to her as if only with tears of
blood--as it is said of a heart that it bleeds--could she tear her
glance away from him. Two scalding drops did in truth fall from her
eyes, and though they were not drops of blood, they gave her no less
pain.
The stranger now recovered consciousness. "What has happened?" she
asked in astonishment.
"Thou must keep thyself quiet, Afra," said Joseph, "the lightning
nearly struck thee dead, and so Wally Stromminger has brought us to her
hut."
"Jesu Maria, are we with the Vulture-Wally?" said the girl terrified.
"Keep thyself still," said Joseph, comforting her, "as soon as thou's
recovered, we'll go on our way again."
"So over in Vintschgau even thou's heard talk of me? There, take
something to drink against the fright," said Wally quietly and with a
touch of good-humoured sarcasm, as she reached her the warm milk mixed
with some brandy. Joseph had stood up to allow Wally to come to the bed
with the drink. Afra tried to sit up but she could not manage it, and
Wally coming quickly to her aid raised her and held her in her arms
like a child, whilst she gave her the milk with the other hand. Afra
took a thirsty draught out of the wooden bowl, but she was so weak that
her head sank upon Wally's shoulder when she had done drinking, and
Wally, beckoning to Joseph to take the bowl from her hand, remained
sitting patiently so as not to disturb the sick girl.
Joseph looked at her meditatively, as she sat there on the edge of the
bed with the girl in her arms. "Thou'rt a handsome maid," he said
honestly, "it's a pity only thou should be so bad."
A slight colour passed over Wally's face at these words.
"How thy heart beats all at once!" said Afra. "I can feel it on thy
shoulder." And a little stronger now, she raised her head and gazed at
the beautiful tanned face, and the large eyes. Wally also now studied
the girl more attentively. She saw that she had charming features, blue
eyes full of expression, fair hair that looked like floss silk, and a
strange, uneasy feeling of aversion stole over her. She looked at
Joseph, stood up, and began to bustle round again.
"Is that really the Vulture-Wally?" asked Afra of her guide, as though
she could not understand how the decried Vulture-maiden could be so
kind.
"One wouldn't suppose it, but she says herself that it's she," answered
Joseph half-aloud.
"And I'll soon prove to thee that I am," cried Wally proudly, and
opening the door, she cried "Hansl--Hansl, where art thou?" A shrill
scream answered her, and forthwith Hansl came rushing down from the
roof, and in at the door.
"Heavens, what is that?" screamed Afra, crossing herself; but Joseph
placed himself before her, as a protector.
"That is the vulture that I took as a child out of its nest--away
yonder on the Burgsteinwand. It is from him I got my name--the
Vulture-maiden!" and her eyes rested proudly on the bird, as a
soldier's eyes rest on the conquered colours. "See, I've tamed him so
that I can let him fly where he likes now--he never flies away from
me." She set him on her shoulder and unfolded his wings, so that Joseph
might see they were not cut.
"That fellow's a state-prize," said Joseph, his eyes resting with both
longing and hostility on the splendid booty which no hunter will yield
to another, least of all to a girl! There must have been something in
the look that irritated the vulture, for he uttered a peculiar whistle,
bristled up his feathers, and bent his neck forward towards Joseph.
Wally felt the unwonted agitation on her shoulder and tried to quiet
the bird with caresses. "Nay, Hansl, what's come to thee? Thou wert
never so before."
"Aha!--thou knows the hunter, my fine fellow," said Joseph with a
challenging laugh and snatching violently at the vulture as though to
tear him from Wally's shoulder. Suddenly the irritated bird put forth
all its might, spread out its wings, rose to the ceiling, and thence
swooped with its whole strength down upon the enemy below. A shriek of
terror rang from Wally's lips, Afra saved herself in a corner, the
narrow hut was almost filled with the rushing monster who no longer
heard his mistress's voice, but dashed again and again at Joseph with
his terrible beak striving to strike his talons into the man's side. It
was one wild confusion of fighting fists and wings, in which feathers
flew about, and the walls grew red where Joseph's bleeding hands
touched them. "My knife, if I could only get at my knife," he cried.
Wally tore the door open. "Out, Joseph, out into the open air; in this
narrow hole thou can do nothing with him."
But Joseph the bear-slayer had no idea of running away from a vulture.
"The devil take me if I stir from the spot," he said with a groan. For
one moment longer the battle wavered. Then Joseph, his face pressed
against the wall, managed with his iron fists to seize the vulture by
the claws, and with giant strength forced down the struggling animal as
in a trap whilst it hacked at his hands and arms with its beak. "Now my
knife, draw out my knife--I have no hand free," he cried to Wally.
But Wally used the moment otherwise; she sprang by, and threw a thick
cloth over the vulture's head. It was easy for her now to tie its feet
together with a cord, so as to render it helpless, and Joseph flung it
on the ground. Trembling and without strength the proud animal
exhausted itself in struggles in the cloth on the floor, and Joseph
taking up his gun, began to load it.
"What art thou doing there?" asked Wally astonished.
"Loading my gun," he said, setting his teeth with the pain of his torn
hands. When it was loaded, he took the captive bird up from the floor,
and flung it out of the hut into the open air. Then placing himself at
a little distance, he took aim, and said low and imperiously to Wally,
"Now let him loose."
"_What_ am I to do?" said Wally, who could not believe she had heard
aright.
"Let him fly!"
"What for?"
"That I may shoot him. Doesn't thee know that no true hunter shoots his
game excepting on the spring or on the wing?"
"For God's sake," cried Wally, "thou wouldn't shoot me my Hansl?"
Joseph, in his turn, looked at her wonderingly. "Thou'd have me let the
rabid brute live, perhaps?" he said.
"Joseph," said Wally, stepping resolutely up to him, "leave me my
Hansl untouched. I fought with the old one for the bird at the risk
of my life, I've brought him up from the nest, no one loves me as he
does--he's my only one, all that I have in the world--thou shall do
nothing to my Hansl."
"Indeed," said Joseph sharply and bitterly, "the devil nearly tore out
my eyes, and I shall do nothing to him?"
"He didn't know thee. How can a bird help it that he has no more sense?
Thou'll never revenge thyself on a beast without understanding?"
Joseph stamped his foot. "Unbind him that he may fly," he said, "or
I'll shoot him in a heap, as he is." He took aim again with his rifle.
All the hot blood flew to Wally's head, and she forgot everything but
her favourite. "That we will see," she cried in flaming anger, "whether
thou'll dare to lay hands on my property. Put down the gun. The bird is
mine! Dost hear? _Mine_. And none shall hurt or harm him when I am by,
come what will. Away with the gun, or thou shall learn to know who _I_
am!" And she struck the gun out of his hand with a swift blow, so that
the charge went off, rattling against the wall of rock.
There was something in her demeanour that subdued the strong young
fellow, the mighty bear-hunter, for he picked up his gun with apparent
composure, saying with bitter scorn, "Please thyself for all I care;
I'll not touch thy hook-beaked sweetheart; he's like enough the only
one thou'll ever have in thy life! Thou--thou's nothing but the
Vulture-Wally."
And without deigning even to look at her again he tore his
pocket-handkerchief into strips, and tried to bind up his torn hands
with it. Wally sprung forward and would have helped him; now for the
first time she saw how severe the wounds were, and it was as if her own
heart were bleeding at the sight. "O Heavens, lad, what hands thou'st
got!" she cried out. "Come, and I'll wash them and dress them for
thee."
But Joseph shoved her aside. "Let be--Afra can do it," he said.
He went into the hut. An anguish as of death came over Wally; she
suddenly understood that she had made Joseph her enemy, perhaps for
ever, and she felt as if she must die at the thought. As though
suddenly crushed, she followed him in, and her eye watched the stranger
as she bound up Joseph's hands, with jealous hatred.
"Joseph," said she in a stifled voice, "thee mustn't think that I don't
care for thy wounds, because I wouldn't let thee shoot my Hansl. If it
could have made thy hands whole, thou might have shot Hansl first, and
me after him; but it would have done thee no good."
"It's no matter, there's no need to excuse thyself," said Joseph,
turning away. "Afra," he continued to the girl, "can thou go on now?"
"Yes," she said.
"Make thyself ready then, we'll go."
Wally turned pale. "Joseph, thou must rest thyself a little longer.
I've given thee nothing yet to eat; I will cook thee something at once,
or would thou sooner have a draught of milk?"
"I thank thee kindly; but we must go so as to be home before nightfall.
It no longer rains, and Afra can walk again now." And with these words
he helped the girl to get ready, slung his gun over his shoulder, and
took his alpenstock in his hand.
Wally picked up one of the feathers which had fallen from Hansl in the
struggle, and stuck it in Joseph's hat. "Thou must wear the feather,
Joseph. Thou ought to wear it, for thou conquered the vulture, and he'd
have been thy booty if thou'd not given him to me."
But Joseph took the feather out of his hat. "Thou may mean well," he
said, "but the feather I'll not wear. I'm not accustomed to share my
booty with girls."
"Then take the vulture altogether, I'll give him to thee; only I pray
thee, let him live," urged Wally breathlessly.
Joseph looked at her in wonder. "What has come to thee?" he said, "I'll
take nothing from thee on which thy heart is so set; one day perhaps I
may take a live bear, and if so I'll bring it up to thee that the party
may be complete. But till then, thou'll see no more of me; I might
happen to shoot the bird yet if I came across him anywhere, so I'd
better keep away from his haunts! God be with thee, and thanks for the
shelter thou's given us." So saying he walked proudly and quietly out
of the hut.
Afra stooped down and picked up the feather that Joseph had thrown
away. "Give me the feather," she said; "I'll lay it in my prayer-book,
and so often as I see it I will say a Pater Noster for thee."'
"As thou will," said Wally gloomily; she had scarcely heard what Afra
had said. Her bosom heaved and throbbed, and in her ears there was a
rushing noise as though the tempest was still raging round her. She
followed the departing guests out of the hut. The storm had passed
away; the veil of black clouds hung raggedly down, and through the
rents sparkled the wet, far-gleaming distance. But for the sullen
mutterings of the Thunder-god as he withdrew, and the roar of the
waters as they rushed down the gullies into the depths, all around was
tranquil and silent, and a white shroud of snow and hail stones had
spread itself upon the mountains.
Wally stood motionless, her hands pressed upon her bosom. "He never
thinks how poor one must be to set one's heart so upon a bird," said
she to herself. Then she stooped down and freed the half-numbed animal
that climbed, staggering, on to her arm and looked at her with
intelligence, as if to ask her forgiveness. "Aye, thou may look at me,"
she sobbed; "oh, Hansl, Hansl, what hast thou done for me!"
She sat down on the door-step of her little hut, and wept from the very
bottom of her heart till she was weary of the sound of her own sobbing.
She looked up to where a high wall of snow rose perpendicularly behind
her, down to where on the right hand and on the left death had prepared
his cold nest in the snowy hollows,--away into the grey distance, where
long streaks of rain cloud hung down from heaven to earth, and suddenly
she felt again as she had felt on the first day, that she was alone in
the wilderness--and must stay there.