But his fears seemed to have been verified, for he ought long since, as he firmly believed, to have reached the spot where the trees felled by the settlers were lying, and yet the swamp did not come to an end; for although Von Schwanthal saw dry land on his left, he would not on any account deviate from what he considered the right course. He now felt the water grow more shallow, and immediately afterwards found himself upon dry ground—ran over it—came to one of the innumerable little muddy brooks, which cross the country in all directions—dashed through it without pausing to consider; found himself up to his arm-pits in water—climbed as well as he could out on the other side—and, being now firmly convinced that he must have lost his way, as he knew nothing of this brook, he began to call out with all his might for help.
"Mercy on us! what's the matter?" asked the little tailor, who stood close beside him without his having noticed it,—"why, you're on dry ground again."
"Oh, Meier, are you here?" exclaimed Von Schwanthal, delighted; "why, there's the shoemaker, too. You haven't—surely, you haven't lost yourselves, have you?"
"Lost ourselves? no, no!" laughed the little fellow; "we are too wide awake for that; I, for instance, never go further away from the rest than I can reach with my hand one of them, at all events. But what did you halloo so for?"
"Oh, I—I—haven't you seen a stag come past here?" asked Von Schwanthal, taking up his cue, for he was ashamed to let the people see that he had been frightened. "I only called 'Look out!' in case any one might have been out here with a gun."
"It sounded exactly like 'Help!'" said the shoemaker, grinning, and giving the tailor a sly push with the crosscut-saw, which rested on a slight oak, felled by Charles's hands, lying between them. "Have you shot nothing?—there was a report."
"I—I wounded a stag," answered the sportsman; "but there was so much water on the spot, that the tracks could not be followed, I couldn't trace the blood; and, as I had no dog, why——"
"Of course!" said the tailor, elevating his eyebrows and nodding his head violently—"of course! I think I shouldn't catch a stag either, without a dog—the critters run so fast."
Schwanthal turned away in vexation, and, in a very bad humour, strode towards the encampment, which was no longer distant; but he suddenly began to limp, and declared, when he arrived at the first fire, where he met Mrs. Hehrmann, that he had sprained his ancle, and most likely must give up wandering about for a few days.
Von Schwanthal was pretty well cured of his apparently insatiable passion for sport, and even began to help the labourers at their work; but that was the wisest thing he could have done, for he thereby escaped ridicule, and he comforted himself meanwhile with the idea that he should soon be sufficiently acquainted with the woods—at all events, in the neighbourhood—as to be exposed to no further danger of losing himself, and to be enabled to hunt in all directions.