The stubborn Anton had not abandoned hope and was still determined to make a spit dog of Caesar, but, in the darkness, Franz's worried frown deepened. The mastiff was equally determined that he would not turn the spit, therefore, not even Anton could make him do it.
An anguished little moan escaped Franz. If Caesar were declared useless and banished from the mountain, life in St. Bernard Pass, that had become so very fine, would be so very bleak. A second time Franz reached out to ruffle the big mastiff's ears.
"Try!" he whispered fiercely. "Try hard, Caesar!"
The dog licked his hand. Thus comforted, his body cushioned by soft hay, warmed by blankets and Caesar, and with the cattle adding their warmth to the stable, Franz never heard the wind scream and never thought of the frost.
He was awakened by Anton Martek, who lighted his way into the stable with a glass-shielded candle. Caesar rose and wagged his tail to greet this new friend whom he had come to like so well, and Franz sat sleepily up in bed. Anton hung his candle-lantern on a wooden peg.
"It is time to be up," he scoffed good-naturedly. "The day is for working."
"It is not day yet," Franz protested.
Anton said, "Soon it will be."
Anton, who was entirely willing to let Franz clean the stable as long as he kept it spotless, but who never permitted anyone except himself to handle the cows or their products, began to groom his charges. He always followed the same procedure. After the cows were clean as comb and brush could make them, he would wash their udders with warm water. Then he would milk, care for the milk and clean the cows all over again.
Franz impulsively asked a question that had long tickled his curiosity, but that he had never dared ask before. "Why do you stay here, Anton?"