A man, creeping along under an ox-hide, started up, and proved to be Franz.
"What do you here?" cried Hofer.
"Why, Sandwirth, can that be you?" said Franz, in seeming astonishment. "Why, how you surprise me! How are you?—How altered you are, to be sure!"
"Very likely, Franz; but the question is, what brought you here to seek me?"
"Nothing brought me—how should I guess where you were?" returned Franz, hardily. "I came to look for a strayed calf."
"Well—I've sought for a strayed calf too, in my time, but never up this high in deep winter, nor yet on all fours with an ox-hide over me. Franz!—now, don't tamper with an old friend. I've oft had dealings with you, and I've done you many a kindness. You know, my lad, I'm in jeopardy, and you know that if you say where I am, you will get me into trouble—"
"What matter is it of mine?" grumbled Franz. "What good would it do me?"
"As to the real good it would do you, I think you would get none; but as to a handful of zwanzigers, I dare say they would give you so much, for the price of your old friend's blood."
"Don't talk in that way, Sandwirth," said Franz, whiningly. "Poor as I am,—and I'm very poor,—I hope I'm not so bad as you think me."