"We can't be far from the smith's forge," said the dismounted man to his friend. "I will stop and get him shod there."
"Will he shoe him?" asked the other. "He is no friend of our good lord, and has not shod a hoof for him for years."
"Oh, Franz Creussen is a good heart," answered the man on foot. "He would shoe the devil sooner than a poor beast should go lame. Besides, he will like to hear our tidings, though they will vex him mightily; for the young gentleman is a great friend of his. By the Lord! I should not wonder if that mad Baron of Eppenfeld put him to death--there's no knowing what he will do."
"No, no," answered the other; "he knows better. The Count would make him pay dearly for it."
"I'm not sure of that," replied the man on foot. "I've seen him give Ferdinand of Altenburg many a moody look at times; and I've a notion in my head--but no matter for that, I shall keep it to myself. I think some people in the castle love the young gentleman better than our lord likes."
"Not unlikely," said the man on horseback. "I've my thoughts too, but the less said the better."
The conversation now dropped between the two weary men, and for about half an hour or so they continued to plod on their way in silence, till at length a red glare, suddenly rising and falling through the dark and misty air, showed them that they were approaching the forge of Franz Creussen, and that the industrious smith, or some of his busy men, were still pursuing the labours of the day. The wide open shed, when they came near, displayed ten or twelve Cyclops, naked nearly to the waist, plying the busy hammer at different anvils, blowing the huge bellows, or heating the iron in the fire. But Franz Creussen himself was not amongst them; and while one of the travellers applied to have his horse shod as speedily as possible, the other inquired for the master of the forge, and was informed that he had gone into his cottage hard by, to take his evening meal. Fastening his horse by a hook, the horseman proceeded to seek Franz in his house; and as the smith was a wealthy man in his way of life, offering very cogent reasons for refusing to submit to many of the exactions which the neighbouring nobles generally laid upon the peasantry, his dwelling presented an appearance of comfort, and even luxury, seldom met with amongst persons in his station.
"Who the fiend are you?" exclaimed the giant, as soon as the soldier entered. "I have seen your face somewhere, but do not know your name. Ah! now I bethink me; you are one of those who were riding with the lad Ferdinand this morning, are you not? Where is he?--but I can guess."
"He's in a dungeon at Eppenfeld by this time," answered the man. "I and my companion are the only two that got off; so, as I know you have a friendship for him, Franz, I thought I would come in and tell you, while my comrade got his horse's shoe put on."
"That was kind, that was kind," cried Franz Creussen, rubbing one of his temples with a forefinger as big as a child's arm. "There, take some wine; the boy must be got out."