"I know," answered Franz.
"What route do you intend to follow?" his father asked.
"I'll work toward the Widow Geiser's with Caesar," Franz told him. "I'll
try to retrace the path I think Hermann might have followed. If we do
not find Mr. Gottschalk, I'll cast back and forth with Caesar and
depend on his nose."
"A good plan," his father said, "and, since you are the only one who has
a dog that might be depended upon to find a lost man, it will be best
for you to work as you see fit. I'll rouse the villagers and we'll
search the same area, with each man assigned to his own route. Take my
pistol, for when Emil is found, one shot will announce to all that the
search is ended and at the same time bring help. I will carry my rifle
and signal with it."
"Loan me some skis!" Hermann pleaded. "I would search, too!"
"No," Franz's father said. "You are near exhaustion and, should you
venture out before you've rested, there will be two lost in the storm.
Stay here and rest in Franz's bed."
Franz stole a glance at his former classmate, who had always seemed such
an awful snob but toward whom he could now feel only sympathy. Faced
with a grave problem, Hermann had been courageous enough, and, despite
the fact that some villagers would be sure to consider the entire
incident a judgment of God because Emil Gottschalk would have
impoverished the Widow Geiser, Franz knew that it was only a judgment of
the storm.
In Dornblatt, few winters ran their course without someone getting
lost--and not all were found. Franz was glad that his father had said,
in Hermann's hearing, "when Emil is found," and not, "if he is found."
Franz put on his ski boots and his heavy coat with the hood, and thrust
his father's immense, brass-bound, bell-mouthed pistol into his belt.
Franz Halle the elder dressed in a similar fashion, slung the rifle over
his shoulder, and the pair left the house together.
Comfortable in their stable beneath the house, the cattle stamped their
hoofs, munched their fodder and never cared how much snow fell. Caesar
sprang from his snow tunnel, shook himself, and came forward to push his
nose into Franz's mittened hand.
The two Halles took their skis from beneath the overhanging ledge, where
they were stored when not in use, and harnessed them to ski boots. A ski
pole in either hand, the elder Halle paused a moment before setting out
to rouse the able-bodied men and boys from Dornblatt's snow-shrouded
houses.
He said, "We will come as quickly as possible," and was gone.
Franz waited another moment. Within fifteen minutes, or twenty at the
most, all Dornblatt would know of the lost man and all who were able
would be in the search. But there was something else here, something
more sensed than seen or felt.
His father had declared that he, Franz, was fit only for cutting wood.
But it was quite evident now that the elder Halle also thought his son a
capable man in the mountains. If he did not, he would never let him go
off alone on a night such as this.
A pride that he had seldom felt--or seldom had reason to feel--swelled
within Franz. He was no scholar and he was a complete dolt at most
skills and crafts. But it was no small thing to be considered an
accomplished mountaineer.
Caesar, who might easily have broken trail, was too sensible to do so
when he might follow the trail already broken by Franz's skis. He stayed
just far enough behind to avoid stepping on the tail of either ski.
Franz let him remain there for now. Emil Gottschalk would surely be
farther from Dornblatt than this. When the time came, and Caesar was
ordered to go ahead, he'd do it.
A minute afterwards, the falling snow hid the village as completely as
though it had never been and Franz and Caesar were alone in the night.
The boy remained undisturbed. He had never feared the mountains or the
forest and he was not afraid now.
He started southward, traveling downslope, for the wind screamed from
the north and Hermann Gottschalk had been guided into Dornblatt by a
dog's bark. Even Caesar's thunderous bark would be heard at no great
distance against such a wind. But any sound would carry a long way with
it. Hermann must have come in from the south.
Just how far south had he been when he heard the dog bark? Hermann
himself did not know. But when he turned toward the barking dog, in
addition to plowing through deep snow, he had been fighting an uphill
slope and a powerful wind. Without skis, his progress must have been
painfully slow. Therefore, he could have been no great distance from the
village.
Franz curled the hood of his jacket around his face to keep flying snow
out of his eyes. It made little difference as far as visibility was
concerned, for, in the stormy night, he could see less than the length
of a ski pole anyhow.
Except for those who were too old or disabled, everybody in Dornblatt
must use skis or remain housebound from the time the deep snows fell
until they melted. Most were past masters of ski travel, but Franz had
an extra touch, an inborn feeling for snow, that set him apart. He was
not afraid of becoming lost or of breaking a ski, as Hermann Gottschalk
had, probably when he blundered into a tree trunk.
[Illustration: _Caesar stayed just far enough behind to avoid stepping
on the tail of either ski_]
When Franz thought he had gone far enough south, he turned west, toward
the Widow Geiser's. Again he used his mountain lore and knowledge of
snow to analyze what might have happened.
Leaving his father, Hermann probably had tried to set a straight course.
Undoubtedly the powerful wind had made that impossible. While Hermann
thought he was traveling due east, he had also gone slightly south.
Franz set a course that would take him slightly north of west.
Now he must consider Emil Gottschalk. Even though he was lost in the
storm, Emil, a lifelong resident of Dornblatt, was not one to surrender
easily, and he would know what to do. Even though he was unable to
stand, he would crawl to the lee of a boulder or copse of trees and let
the snow cover him. His own warm breath would melt a hole and assure a
supply of air. Even though such a bed was not the most comfortable one
might imagine, any man buried beneath snow would never freeze to death.
Franz made a mental map of all the boulders or copses of trees on the
course he was taking that Emil might seek. When he thought he was
reasonably near the place where Emil lay, he began to zigzag uphill or
down, depending on which was necessary to reach each of the shelters he
had already marked in his own mind.
Whenever he came to such a place, he watched Caesar closely. But at no
time did the dog indicate that there was anything worth his interest.
Franz passed the farthest point where he had calculated he might find
Emil Gottschalk.
In all this time, he did not see any of the other searchers, but that
was not surprising. The area to be covered was a vast one. Also, someone
might have passed fairly close in the snow-filled darkness and would not
have seen or heard him.
He began to worry, but kept on for another half hour, for Emil might be
farther away than he had thought possible. Finally, sure that he had
passed the lost man, Franz climbed higher up the mountain and turned
back toward Dornblatt.
Now he set a course south of east, trying as he did so to determine
exactly how far the wind might have veered Hermann from a true course.
His anxiety mounted when he found nothing.
At what Franz estimated was two hours past midnight, the snow stopped
falling and the stars shone. Now there was light, and, even though it
was only star-glow, it seemed dazzling when compared with the intense
darkness that had been. Franz set a new course, back toward the Widow
Geiser's.
He was descending into a gulley when Caesar stopped trailing and plunged
ahead. Plowing his own path with powerful shoulders, he went up the
gulley to a wind-felled tree that cast a dark shadow.
On the tree's near side, Caesar began to scrape in the snow. Franz knelt
to help, removing his mittens and digging with bare hands. He felt
cloth, then a ski boot.
Franz rose and fired the pistol that would bring help from the men of
Dornblatt. Then he resumed a kneeling position and continued to help
Caesar dig Emil Gottschalk from his snowy couch.