"Well, Franz, as to poor, you have made a good deal of money in your time; and it has always been your way to be with full pockets one day and empty ones the next—"
"But they're always empty now, Sandwirth, for I can't do a stroke of business, and my mother's dead, and my sister's married to Karl Hoven, and Karl won't speak to me; so that I'm really what one may call in want."
"Well, boy, well—the case is hard, I grant ye: but bad as it is, you'll make it worse if you take to evil courses. Go to Nicolas Wagner at Botzen—tell him that the last time you saw me, I bade you go to him and say I hoped he would give you some employment. And be mum—do you observe?—as to when that was. Stay, here are a couple of dollars—it's but little I have myself, and I shall perhaps need them shortly, as much as yourself; but you shall have them. Now, go; and forget where or when you have seen me; and according as you are faithful to your old comrade, may your worldly affairs prosper."
Franz looked sheepish, made a movement of his hand towards Hofer's, drew it back, and crept off. Even his gait was that of a caitiff.
"How altered the Sandwirth is!" mused he—"his hair, that was raven black, is now half grey; his beard looks as if it hadn't been trimmed for a month. His face is full of lines and furrows, and he is very thin. Why, he isn't half the bulk he was!—very likely, knows pretty well what it is to want victuals. Well, so do I; and when a man wants victuals, it makes him ready to do things that he wouldn't think of doing when full fed. Why now, these two dollars will keep me four days, I'll say—they won't keep me longer, because, this cold weather, I must drink as well as eat. At the end of that time, I must starve, unless through Father Donay; for, as to Nicolas Wagner of Botzen,—no, I thank ye! I'm as good a fellow as he; I won't work under him! Still, I can't be too hard upon the Sandwirth—I'll give him a fair start. He dropped that perhaps he should soon be as much in want of dollars as myself. Now, as he can't spend them on the mountain-top, that must intimate that he means soon to leave it—very likely, now that he has taken alarm at me, he'll steal off this very night. All the better for us both, if he does. Because all I engaged for, to Father Donay, was to find out where he was. I've done that, and I can lead to the spot; but if, when they reach it, the steed is gone and the stable empty,—why, that won't be my fault, I say. Besides, they may soon make out his track and follow it; but meanwhile, my part in the business will be done. Well, but I won't do it while the Sandwirth's money is keeping me in bread. No, no; I'll give him his chance while it lasts, and I'll make it last four days—that will be hon ... hum!—I won't go a-near Father Donay the while, or I shouldn't make it last so long, and he'd get the secret out of me too soon—No, no."
At this instant, Franz—who, while his mind was thus pre-occupied, had unwittingly followed the path by which Rudolf had gone to the châlet instead of that by which he had returned from it—suddenly came upon the two bears, who instantly pursued him; and in his hurry and affright, he was precipitated down a steep acclivity, down which he pitched over and over, till he found himself several hundred feet below his shaggy enemies, bruised and breathless, but not seriously hurt.
The search which was being made for Speckbacher, all this time, was quite as vigorous as for Hofer. Minute descriptions of his person and dress were published, large rewards offered for his apprehension; and every nook and corner eagerly searched for him by cruel and greedy enemies.
Speckbacher, on separating from his comrades, had first concealed himself in the little mountain hamlet of Dux; but his retreat being discovered, he was obliged to retire from the haunts of man, and was hunted from place to place, till at length he found refuge in heights hitherto deemed inaccessible save to the eagle and vulture. Here he underwent incredible sufferings from cold, hunger, and fatigue; but his indomitable nature made him prefer it to submission to the enemy.
When Hofer returned to his châlet after the encounter with Franz, his wife observed, "I really do think, Anderl, it is now time you should cut off your beard. It makes you unlike everybody else; and, therefore, easily recognisable at a distance; whereas, should a spy to whom you were personally unknown, find his way up here, you, without your beard, might easily persuade him you were somebody else."