But the first thing he did was to refill the chambers of his trusty revolver, in case he might be attacked again.
His next thought was to attend to his wounds, but finding these required a surgeon, he made his way sorely back to the tavern, and dispatched his servant for one.
After relating the story of his adventure to the landlord while waiting the surgeon's coming, that individual said:
"I should have told you about it, sir, but you men of the world do not believe in such things."
"What things–wolves?" asked Barnwell, between his groans of agony.
"Well, sir, not that exactly. In fact, I hardly know how to explain myself to you, since I know nothing save by hearsay, and what mountaineers say."
"About what?"
"Well, it has become folklore in these parts that there is a cave somewhere in the Hardt Bergs, containing a vast amount of stolen gold, every coin of which is spotted with human blood, that is guarded by a pack of fierce wolves placed there by the devil. It has been said that desperate men have tried to reach the treasure, but that they have always been slain and eaten by the guardian wolves."
"Nonsense. Simply a story told in the twilight to frighten children, who after growing up come to believe it true."
The landlord shook his head.