HERR SCHMIDT.
IT WAS twilight of the second day. They had exchanged the stage-coach
for a rude wagon, which jolted uncomfortably over the rough roads. They
had traveled for the greater part of two days, yet were less than eighty
miles from San Francisco. It was a wearisome mode of traveling, and they
were all tired. The party consisted of but four: Gates, Morton, Tom, and
a stout Dutchman, who bewailed his miseries most of all.
“I don’t call this traveling for pleasure,” said Gates, as he was jolted
off his seat.
“Nor I,” said Morton. “I wish I had never left San Francisco.”
“Oh, well,” said Tom, who, being younger, was more hopeful than the
rest, “it won’t last forever.”
“What is dat you say?” broke in the German. “Forever! Gott in Himmel! I
hope not. I think I shall never see meine Frau and die Kinder once more
at all.”
“Oh, yes, you will, mein Herr,” said Tom. “You will go back with a big
lump of gold, and live happy ever after.”
“If I do not get killed first,” said the German dubiously. “Gott in
Himmel, where am I going?”
As he spoke, in consequence of a sudden jolt the unhappy German tumbled
over backwards upon the floor of the wagon, there being no back to the
seat, and lay on his back incapable of sitting up.
“Ich bin toldt!” he groaned, “ich denke dat my bones are broke in two.”
“Oh, no, mein herr,” said Tom. “They are too well covered for that.
Don’t you be alarmed, I’ll help you up,” and he sprung to the side of
his prostrate fellow-traveler, and tried to help him to his feet. But
Herr Johann Schmidt weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, and though Tom
succeeded in raising his head about six inches from the floor of the
wagon, he could do no more. In fact, as bad luck would have it, it fell
back with a whack, and caused the poor Dutchman to redouble his groans.
“You have killed me once more,” he said dolefully.
“Excuse me, mein herr,” said Tom. “I didn’t know you were so heavy. Mr.
Gates, won’t you help me?”
But before Gates could come to his help there was another fearful jolt,
causing the prostrate body to give an upward bound and fall back with
several additional bruises.
“Stop the horse!” roared the incumbent Teuton. “Stop him all at once, or
I shall be murdered.”
The horse was stopped, and by the united help of the other three, Herr
Johann Schmidt was replaced on his seat.
“I wish I had not come out here,” he bewailed to himself. “Why could I
not stay zu home in my lager bier saloon, where I was make much money. I
shall not never go back once more, and what will meine Frau do?”
“Oh, don’t mind about her,” said Gates mischievously. “She’ll marry
another man, and he’ll take care of the children.”
“Was!” roared the Teuton, his small eyes lighted up with anger. “Mein
frau marry another man! Den I will not die at all!”
“That’s where your head’s level,” said Tom, who had picked up the phrase
in San Francisco. “I wouldn’t peg out it I were you.”
“And my Katrine be another man’s frau!” continued the German, in a tone
of disgust.
“You couldn’t blame her, you know,” said Gates, in a mischievous spirit.
“Of course she couldn’t manage the children alone. I’m not married, and
I might be willing to take her myself, that is, if anything happened to
you.”
“You marry my Katrine!” exclaimed Herr Schmidt, almost speechless with
indignation.
“I suppose you would prefer that a friend like me should marry her to a
stranger, wouldn’t you, Herr Schmidt?”
“But I am not dead! I will not die!” roared Johann. “You shall not have
her!”
“Oh, of course if you are not going to die, that makes a difference. You
said you were, you know.”
“I have change my mind—I will go home to mein Katrine myself. She shall
have no other husband.”
“Good for you! I like your pluck,” said Gates. “Give me your hand.”
But Herr Schmidt was offended.
“I will nicht give my hand to dem man who will wish to marry meine
Katrine,” he said obstinately.
“Oh, that was only to oblige you, Herr Schmidt. I thought you might like
to have your wife and children taken care of.”
“I take care of them myself.”
“To be sure you will, if you don’t kick the bucket. I see you’re riled,
Herr Schmidt. My advice is that you smoke a pipe. It will make you feel
better.”
This suggestion appeared to strike the German favorably, for though he
did not deign an articulate reply, he pulled out a pipe, which appeared
to have seen much service, and was soon smoking placidly, and to judge
from appearance, much more comfortable in mind.
Meanwhile the road had entered the forest and the trees cut off what
scanty daylight yet remained.
“How long are these woods?” inquired Gates of the driver.
“Two miles or thereabouts, sir.”
“It is a lonely place?”
“Yes, sir; but that isn’t the worst of it,” said the driver, with a
certain significance in his tone.
“Isn’t the worst of it? What is, then?”
“Loneliness is better than bad company.”
“What are you driving at?”
“I’ll tell you, sir. There’s a set of desperadoes who infest these
parts—bandits, we call them—and these woods are said to be their
favorite lurking-place.”
“That’s pleasant news, Morton,” said Gates, turning to the clerk.
Evidently Morton thought so, for he looked very much disturbed at the
intelligence.
“Why didn’t you tell us before?” he said to the driver.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Then why did you bring us to these woods?”
“Because there is no other way.”
“What is dat you say?” interrupted Herr Schmidt at this point.
“Oh, nothing very particular,” said Gates. “I hope your life is
insured.”
“What for?”
“Because there is a gang of robbers in this forest, the driver says. If
we meet them, they may take a fancy to cut our throats.”
“Let me get out!” roared the frightened Dutchman. “I will nicht stay to
have meine throat cut. How will I get home to meine Frau?”
“It won’t do any good, your getting out,” said the driver. “The robbers
are just as likely to be behind as before. The best thing to do is to
push on.”
The driver’s words were unexpectedly verified. Before he had fairly
finished speaking, two men sprang out from the covert from opposite
sides of the road. One seized the horse by the bridle. The other
advanced, pistol in hand, to parley with the passengers.
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