"Oh, I shall!" responded the dove, lifting her wings. "But if it is to that fierce Baron you are taking a message, I prefer to wait outside on the tower." Then up she flew.
The sky was now one dark mass of thunder-clouds. The thunder rumbled among the mountains; the green fields on the heights shone out like emeralds against the dark blue haze beyond. All creatures had become wonderfully silent; not a bird sang, not an insect hummed. Anton went forward with dragging step, and the dove floated silently above him,—a white speck against the dark sky.
But what was that high up there on the cliff? It was a little chamois that stood with all its four feet close together on a point of rock, and looked about.
"Hurrah! I shall get you!" thought Anton as he cocked his gun; but the chamois with a couple of nimble bounds sprang farther up the mountain.
"Ho, ho! That won't help you any!" said Anton, running nearer to the rocks where the chamois stood. "I am a good shot, let me tell you; and I must have prey of some sort to take with me from the mountain."
"But why should you kill me?" asked the chamois, bounding a little farther away. "What harm have I ever done to you? Does it annoy you that I stand here and look at the view?"
"No, but you have such handsome little horns. I should like to put them up over my door as a sign that I had conquered you."
"For you to conquer me would be easy," said the chamois. "You have a gun, and I have nothing. But I had always believed that the mountain was made for us both."
Anton made no reply but scrambled hastily up the rocks to get nearer the chamois.
"Oh, Anton, little Anton! let me alone!" called the chamois, making the longest leap it could. "I would truly rather have my horns on my head than over your door! Cannot you understand that? If you love your freedom, let me keep mine."