When Father Benjamin frowned questioningly, Franz smiled to show that he
understood and the pair went on. The wind suddenly sang a song instead
of snarling threats. Lowlanders who understood nothing except a warm
sun might flinch from such weather. But, as Father Benjamin had said, it
was indeed a fine day--if one happened to be a mountaineer.
Presently Father Benjamin stopped again. "The Hospice," he said.
Franz looked, more than a little astonished. He hadn't had the faintest
notion of what he might expect, but certainly it was not the massive,
fortresslike structure that, though still a long ways off, seemed as
prominent as any of the peaks. Presently the boy understood.
The Hospice must be visible from as great a distance as possible. Many
an exhausted traveler, coming this far and sure he could go no farther,
would find the strength to do so if he could see a refuge.
Father Benjamin pointed out the principal buildings. "The chapel," he
said. "The refectory, where meals are eaten and guests entertained, the
sleeping quarters, the house of the dead--"
Franz looked questioningly at him and Father Benjamin explained. "The
mortal remains of many who die in the snows are never claimed. At first
they were interred beneath the Hospice floor. Now, in the event that
someone will claim them some time, they go into the house of the dead.
Some have been there for a hundred years."
Franz felt a proper awe. A hundred years was a long time to be dead. But
to be dead a hundred years in a place such as this, which was shunned by
even the cliff and cold-loving edelweiss, must indeed be dreadful! Franz
consoled himself with the thought that the dead have no feeling. No
doubt those who rested in warm valleys and those who waited in this grim
house would both awaken when Gabriel blew his trumpet.
They drew nearer, and Franz saw a little lake from which the ice had not
yet melted. That was fitting and proper and altogether in keeping. Some
of these Alpine lakes were ice-free for fewer than thirty days out of
the whole year.
Then they came to a stable beneath one of the buildings and Franz met
his immediate superior.
He was big as a mountain and bald as a hammer. His eyes were blue as
glacier ice that has been swept clean by the broom of the wind, and at
first glance they seemed even colder. His face, for all his size, was
strangely massive. Perhaps because of his very lack of other hair, his
curling mustaches seemed far longer than their eight inches. For all the
cold, he wore only a sleeveless leather jacket on his upper body. It
hung open, leaving his midriff, chest and biceps bare. Rippling muscles
furnished more than a hint of great strength.
[Illustration: _Presently the boy understood.... The Hospice must be
visible from as great a distance as possible_]
Franz thought at first glance that he was a dedicated man, one who is
absolutely devoted to his work, for he treated Father Benjamin with vast
respect.
"Anton," Father Benjamin said, "I want you to meet the new _maronnier_,
Franz Halle. Franz, this is Anton Martek. He will instruct you in your
duties here."
"Is good to have you." Anton Martek extended a hand the size of a small
ham. "Your dog work? Yah?"
"Oh, yes!" Franz said eagerly. "See for yourself that he carries a pack
even now!"
Caesar wagged up to Anton Martek, who ruffled the dog's ears but
continued to look at Franz.
"Packing is not all of work." He scowled. "Is he a spit dog, too?"
"A what?" Franz wrinkled puzzled brows.
With a sweeping circle of his right arm, Anton offered a near-perfect
imitation of a dog walking around and around while the meat on a spit
roasted. Franz warmed to this huge man. Anton's ice was all on the
outside. Inwardly, he was gentle as the fawn of a chamois.
"Not yet," Franz said. "But I know we can teach him."
"Yah," said Anton. "We teach him."
Father Benjamin laughed. "You two seem to be getting along very well
together, so I'll leave you alone."
Anton said respectfully, "As you will, Father," and turned to Franz.
"Come."
Franz followed him into the stable, that was windowless, except for
rectangles of wood hung on wooden hinges that now swung open to admit
the sunlight. The place had a familiar smell the boy was unable to
define until he remembered that the same odor dominated his mother's
kitchen, and that it was the odor of complete cleanliness.
"Where are the cattle?" he asked.