LAID UP FOR REPAIRS
About the time when Alaric was pleasantly travelling with his mother in
Germany, Hans Altman, with Gretchen, his wife, and Eittel, his little
daughter, dwelt in a valley of the Harz Mountains. Although Hans was a
poor man, he found plenty of work with which to support his family in
comfort, but he could never forget that his father had been a
burgomeister, and much better off in this world's goods than he.
Thinking of this made him discontented and unhappy, until finally he
determined to sell what little they had and come to America, or, as he
called it, "the land of gold," with the hope of bettering his fortunes.
In vain did Gretchen protest that nowhere in the world could they be so
happy or so well off as in their own land and among their own people.
Even her tears failed to turn him from his purpose. So they came to this
country, and at length drifted to the far-away shores of Puget Sound,
where they stranded, wellnigh penniless, ignorant of the language and
customs of those about them, helpless and forlorn. With the distress of
mind caused by this state of affairs, Hans grew melancholy and
irritable, and when Eittel died he declared that he himself had killed
her. The faithful Gretchen soon followed her little daughter, and with
this terrible blow the poor man's mind gave way entirely. He not only
fancied himself a murderer, but believed officers of the law to be in
pursuit of him, and that if captured he would be hanged.
Filled with this idea, he fled on the very night of his wife's death,
and having been born among mountains, now instinctively sought in them a
place of refuge. He carried an axe with him, and somewhere procured a
rifle with a plentiful supply of ammunition. Through the vast forest he
made his way far from the haunts of men, ever climbing higher and
penetrating more deeply among the friendly mountains, until finally he
reached a tiny valley, in which he believed himself safe from pursuit.
Here he built a rude hut, and became a hunter of mountain-goats. Their
flesh furnished him with food, their skins with bedding and clothing,
while from their horns he carved many a rude utensil.
In this way he had lived for nearly two months, when our lost and sorely
perplexed lads stumbled upon his camp, and found in it a haven of
safety. In the peaceful quiet of those mountain solitudes the poor man
had become calmly content with his primitive mode of life, and was even
happy as he recalled how skilfully he had eluded a fancied pursuit, and
how impossible it had now become for those who sought his life to
discover his retreat.
It was in this frame of mind that, on returning from a long day's hunt
with a body of a goat slung across his back, he saw, to his dismay, that
his hiding-place had been found, and that his camp was occupied by
strangers. Of course they were enemies who were now waiting to kill him.
He would fly so fast and so far that they could never follow. No; better
than that, he would kill them before they were even aware of his
presence. This was a grand idea, and the madman chuckled softly to
himself as it came to him. Laying his dead goat on the ground, and
whispering to it not to be afraid, for he would soon return, the man
crept stealthily forward towards the firelight. At length he spied the
form of what he believed to be one of his pursuers, sitting half hid in
the shadows and doubtless waiting for him. Ha! ha! How disappointed that
enemy would be when he found himself dead! and with a silent chuckle the
madman lifted his rifle.
At that terrible moment the notes of Alaric's song were borne to him on
the still night air, and then came the words:
"Muss i denn, muss i denn
Und du, mein Schatz, bleibst hier."
It was his Gretchen's song, and those were the very words she had sung
to him so often in their happy Harz Valley home. The uplifted arm
dropped as though palsied, and, like one who hears a voice from the
dead, the man uttered a mighty cry of mingled fear and longing; at the
same moment he stepped into the full glare of firelight and confronted
Alaric, at whom he poured a torrent of questions in German.
"Who are you? How came you here? What do you want? Have you seen my
Gretchen? Where did you learn to sing '_Muss i denn_'?"
"In Germany, of course, where everybody sings it," replied Alaric,
answering the last question first, and speaking in the man's own
language. "And I didn't think you would mind if we took possession of
your camp until your return; for, you see, we are in great trouble."
"_Ach_, no! All who are in trouble should come with me; for I, too, have
many, many troubles," replied the man, his blue eyes losing their fierce
look and filling with tears. "But I never meant to do it. _Gott in
Himmel_ knows I never meant to do it."
"Of course not," said Alaric, soothingly, anxious to quiet the man's
agitation, and suspecting that his mind was not quite right. "Nobody
thinks you did."
"Yes, they do, the cruel men who would kill me; but you will stay and
drive them away if they come, will you not? You will be my friend--you,
to whom I can talk with the tongue of the fatherland?"
"Certainly I will stay and be your friend, if you will help me care for
another friend who lies yonder very ill."
"_Ja! ja!_ I will help you if you will stay and talk to me of Gretchen,
and sing to me '_Muss i denn_.'"
"Very good," agreed Alaric. "It is, then, a contract between us." At the
same time he said to himself: "He is a mighty queer-looking chap to have
for a friend; but I suppose there are worse, and I guess I can manage
him. It's a lucky thing I know a little German, though, for he looked
fierce enough to kill me until I began to talk with him."
The appearance of the man was certainly calculated to inspire
uneasiness, especially when taken in connection with his incoherent
words. He was an immense fellow, with shaggy hair and untrimmed beard.
On his head was perched a ridiculous little cloth cap, while over his
shoulders was flung a cloak of goat-skins, that added greatly to his
appearance of size and general shagginess. His lower limbs were covered
with leggings of the same hairy material. His ordinary expression was
the fierce look of a hunted animal, but now it was softened by the rare
pleasure of meeting one who could talk with him in his own language.
From that first moment of strange introduction his eagerness to be with
Alaric and induce him to talk was pathetic. To him he poured out all his
sorrows, together with daily protests that he had never meant to kill
his Gretchen and little Eittel. For the sake of this companionship he
was willing to do anything that might add to the comfort of his guests.
He scoured forest and mountain-side in search of game, and rarely
returned empty-handed. He fetched amazing loads of wood on his back,
went on long expeditions after berries, set cunningly devised snares for
ptarmigan, and found ample recompense for all his labor in lying at full
length before the camp-fire at night and talking with Alaric. Bonny he
mistrusted as being one who could speak no German, and only bore with
him for the sake of his friend.
Nor was he greatly liked by the lad, whose injuries compelled a long
acceptance of his hospitality. "I know he's good to us, and won't let
you do any work that he can help, and all that," Bonny would say; "but
somehow I can't trust him nor like him. He'll play us some mean trick
yet, see if he don't."
"But he saved our lives; for if we hadn't found his camp we should
certainly have starved to death."
"That's just it! We found his camp. He didn't find us, and never would
have. Anyhow, he's as crazy as a loon, and will bear a heap of
watching."
For all this, Bonny did not allow his anxiety to interfere with a speedy
recovery from his injuries, and by the aid of youthful vigor, a splendid
constitution, complete rest, plenty of food, and the glorious mountain
air, his broken bones knit so rapidly that in one month's time he
declared himself to be mended and as good as new.
Although Alaric insisted that he should carry his arm in a sling for a
while longer, they now began to plan eagerly for a continuance of their
journey down the mountain and a return to civilization. By this time
they were as heartily sick of goat-meat as they had ever been of fish in
Skookum John's camp, tired of the terrible loneliness of their
situation, and, more than all, tired of their enforced idleness, with
nothing to read and little to do. Alaric had beguiled many long hours
with his baseball, which he could now throw with astonishing precision
and catch with either hand in almost any position. As this ball, bought
in San Francisco, was the sole connecting-link between his present and
his former life, it always reminded him of his father, whom he now
longed to see, that he might relieve the anxiety he felt certain Amos
Todd must be suffering on his account.
The boys often talked of M. Filbert, and wondered what had become of
him. At first Alaric made an earnest effort to induce Hans Altman to go
in search of the Frenchman's camp and notify him of their safety; but
the German became so excitedly angry at the mere mention of such a thing
that he was forced to relinquish the idea. He would gladly have
undertaken the trip himself, but could not leave Bonny.
Their strange host became equally angry at any mention of their leaving
him, and refused to give any information concerning their present
locality or the nearest point at which other human beings might be
found. Nor did he ever evince the least curiosity as to where they had
come from. It was enough for him that they were there.
When the time for them to depart drew so near that the boys could talk
of nothing else, Alaric made another effort to gain some information
from the German that would guide their movements, but in vain. He only
succeeded in arousing the man's suspicions to such an extent that he
grew morose, would not leave camp unless Alaric went with him, and
watched furtively every movement that the boys made. Bonny realized
this, and spoke of it to his comrade. "I believe this Dutchman regards
us as his prisoners, and has made up his mind not to allow us to escape
him," he said. But Alaric only laughed, and answered that he guessed
they would get away easy enough whenever they were ready to go.
The two lads slept at one end of the hut with their host at the other,
and that very night something happened to confirm Bonny's worst fears
and fill him with such horror that he determined never again to sleep
within miles of that vicinity.