CHAPTER III.
MORE WITCHCRAFT.
The night hours sped away with only one incident to disturb us. I heard a strange noise which I could not locate nor understand, and as I stood listening intently Chris, within the hut, barked loudly.
I heard the girl speak to him, and was half minded to ask her to let him out that he might help my watch; but I heard nothing more, and so let the thing pass.
Day had broken before Karasch returned. He was alone, and had only failure and mishap to report. Trouble had dogged him from the start. He had not seen a trace of the man he had gone out to find. His companion’s horse had put his foot in a hole and broken his leg, and nearly killed Andreas, who was lying some fifteen miles away in the hills; while Karasch himself had twice been thrown, the second time with disastrous results to his broken arm.
He left no doubt as to where he laid the blame.
“We are bewitched, Burgwan,” he said, his brow frowning and his glance threatening. “In five years I have never once been thrown; and now twice within as many hours. The spell was upon us, and we were not meant to find the man.”
“Does anyone cast spells for their own hurt, Karasch? It was necessary for her safety that the man should be caught and prevented from bringing his comrades here.”
“You are not of this country, or you would know better. These devils work their own ends in their own ways. I lifted my hand against you because of her, and have brought the spell upon me. God defend us;” and he crossed himself earnestly.
“But why should she help to bring her pursuers here?” I repeated; and might as well have reasoned with the wind.
“You do not know. He will never reach his friends; or, if he does, the way hither will be hidden from them.”