Then Karl bade him good-by and stepped forth through the woods, to do the emperor’s bidding.
CHAPTER XIII
HOW WORD OF HIS DANGER CAME TO WULF AT THE FORGE
Once Karl was gone, Wulf set to work to cook some food for himself over the forge fire, and when he had eaten he barred the smithy door of heavy bolted planks, and threw himself down upon the armorer’s pallet to seek the rest he so much needed.
Meantime, through the dim, leafy reaches of the forest a man dragged himself painfully, now catching at the great tree-boles that he might not fall, now staggering forward in a vain attempt to run, then dropping on all fours to creep forward, never halting altogether, but ever, in some way or other, pressing onward hour after hour, and so making headway. He had muffled his telltale bell, and his face was set in deadly determination to the gaining of some great end. So the half-wit fared through the forest that night on an errand of human love, and no beast crossed his path to hinder, nor bewraying twig or bough crackled under his feet to warn any foe of his coming.
How long Wulf had slept he knew not, but his slumber at last became fitful and uneasy, and presently he was ware of some noise at the great door of the smithy. From the rays of moonlight that stole in through the chinks, he knew that the night must be well-nigh spent, but he was yet heavy with sleep and could not rightly get awake on the moment.
He sprang up at last, however, sword in hand, and waited to hear further. If this were a foe it were none of any great strength to stand thus, making no clamor, but calling softly.
“Open! Open!” a voice outside cried in a hoarse, imploring whisper. “In the name of Heaven, make haste to open! No foe is here, but only one weak man who comes to warn ye of danger. ’Tis poor Bell-Hutten, who means no harm to him who saved him in the forest. Open! Open!”
Softly, then, Wulf drew out the great forged bolt that held it, and keeping the steel weapon-wise in his right hand, threw open the door.
“What wouldst have? Art hungry?”
“Nay; speak not of my wants, but tell me—art named Wulf, and do men call thee the tinker?”