“Oh, no, mein herr,” said Tom. “They are too well covered for that. Don’t you be alarmed, I’ll help you up,” and he sprung to the side of his prostrate fellow-traveler, and tried to help him to his feet. But Herr Johann Schmidt weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, and though Tom succeeded in raising his head about six inches from the floor of the wagon, he could do no more. In fact, as bad luck would have it, it fell back with a whack, and caused the poor Dutchman to redouble his groans.
“You have killed me once more,” he said dolefully.
“Excuse me, mein herr,” said Tom. “I didn’t know you were so heavy. Mr. Gates, won’t you help me?”
But before Gates could come to his help there was another fearful jolt, causing the prostrate body to give an upward bound and fall back with several additional bruises.
“Stop the horse!” roared the incumbent Teuton. “Stop him all at once, or I shall be murdered.”
The horse was stopped, and by the united help of the other three, Herr Johann Schmidt was replaced on his seat.
“I wish I had not come out here,” he bewailed to himself. “Why could I not stay zu home in my lager bier saloon, where I was make much money. I shall not never go back once more, and what will meine Frau do?”
“Oh, don’t mind about her,” said Gates mischievously. “She’ll marry another man, and he’ll take care of the children.”
“Was!” roared the Teuton, his small eyes lighted up with anger. “Mein frau marry another man! Den I will not die at all!”
“That’s where your head’s level,” said Tom, who had picked up the phrase in San Francisco. “I wouldn’t peg out it I were you.”