And they shovelled up the snow for a considerable while, and dug a regular shaft, so that the snow-walls on both sides, rose high over their heads. They had often to breathe on and rub their hands during their cold work. Suddenly the herdsman uttered a shout of delight, echoed by Ekkehard, for now a black spot had become visible. The old man ran to fetch the hatchet; a few shovelsful more, and a shaggy object arose heavily, and, snorting and grunting, stretched out its forepaws, as if trying to shake off sleep; and finally it slowly mounted one of the tors, and sat down.
It was a huge she-bear, who, on a nightly fishing-expedition to the Seealpsee, had been buried alive with her spouse. The latter, however, gave no sign of life. He had been stifled by her side, and lay there in the quiet sleep of death. Around his snout there was yet a half angry, half defiant expression; as if he had left this life with a curse on the early snow.
The herdsman wanted to attack the she-bear with his hatchet, but Ekkehard restrained him, saying: "Let her live! One, will be enough for us!"
Then, they drew the bear out, and together could hardly carry him. The she-bear sat on her rock, gazing down mournfully, and uttering a plaintive growl, she cast a tearful look on Ekkehard, as if she had understood his interference in her behalf. Then, she came down slowly, but not as if with hostile intentions. The men meanwhile had made a sling, with some twisted fir-branches, in which to drag their booty along. They both stepped back, hatchet and spear in hand, but the bear-widow bent down over her dead spouse, bit off his right ear and ate it up, as a memorial of the happy Past. After this, she approached Ekkehard walking on her hind-legs, who, being frightened at the prospect of a possible embrace, made the sign of the cross, and pronounced St. Gallus's conjuration against bears: "Go out and take thyself away from this our valley, thou monster of the wood. Mountains and Alpine glens be thy realm; but leave us in peace, as well as the herds of this Alm."
The she-bear had stopped, with a bitter melancholy look in her eyes, as if she felt hurt at this disdain of her friendly feelings. She dropped down on her fore-legs, and turning her back on the man who had thus banished her, walked away on all fours. Twice she looked back, before entirely disappearing from their sight.
"Such a beast, has the intelligence of a dozen men, and can read a person's will, in his eyes," said the herdsman. "Else, I should think you a saint, whom the inhabitants of the wilderness obey."
Weighing the paws of the dead bear in his hand, he continued: "Hurrah! that will be a repast. These we will eat together next Sunday, with a dainty salad, made of Alpine herbs. The meat will be ample provision for us through the winter, and for the skin we will cast lots."
Whilst they were dragging the victim of the avalanche up to the Wildkirchlein, Benedicta sang:
"And he who digs for snow-drops,
And whom fortune will befriend,
Will by chance dig a bear out,
And perhaps two, in the end."
The snow had been a mere soft sleet, which soon melted again. Summer came back once more to the mountains with heart-stirring warmth, and a peaceful Sabbath-quiet lay over the highlands. Ekkehard had regaled himself with the bear's paws at dinner in company with the herdsman and his daughter. It was a savoury dish, coarse, but strengthening, and well suited for inhabitants of the mountains. Then he mounted the top of the Ebenalp, and threw himself into the fragrant grass, from whence he looked up at the blue sky, enjoying his recovered health.