Franz reeled like a bullet-stricken chamois. Professor Luttman was one
of the finest men in Dornblatt. He was a great and kind teacher, one who
had struggled hard to teach even a stupid Franz Halle. If he and his
knowledge were lost, then all the boys and girls of Dornblatt who might
learn stood a fine chance of growing up to be ignorant indeed. There
would be no one to teach them.
Jean Greb closed his eyes to hide the tears that sprang into them. He
said bitterly, "Would that it were I, and not Professor Luttman, who
lies beneath the snow!"
Franz suddenly forgot that the mountains might tumble if he spoke to
the Prior. He flung himself before the supreme authority of St. Bernard
Hospice.
"Let us go!" he begged. "Let Caesar and me go with whoever searches for
Professor Luttman!"
The Prior said gently, "Your spirit is admirable, Franz, but this is
work for experienced men. You and your dog would merely hinder them."
"No!" Franz cried. "I can get about on snow! It was Caesar who found the
very Emil Gottschalk whose message Professor Luttman carries, when
experienced men failed!"
"That is true," Jean Greb spoke from his pallet. "Emil would not be
alive today were it not for Franz's dog. He was buried so deeply in the
snow that men alone never would have found him."
"Your dog can find men buried beneath the snow?" the Prior questioned.
"Yes!" Franz exclaimed.