"Wait, master! thou art the head; thou must drink the first. Let me treat thee this time."
The young man had already prepared some of the drowsy stuff and he quickly mixed it with the wine and presented it to the master.
The proud merchant drank and fell sound asleep.
Our merchant's son killed a miserable old horse, cut it open, pushed his master and the shovel inside, sewed it all up and hid himself in the bushes.
All at once black crows came flying,—black crows with iron beaks; they promptly lifted up the horse with the sleeping merchant inside, bore it to the top of the mountain, and began to pick the bones of their prey.
When the merchant awoke he looked here and looked there and looked everywhere.
"Where am I?"
"Upon the golden mountain. Now if thou art strong after thy rest, do not lose time; take the shovel and dig. Dig quickly and I'll teach thee how to come down."
The proud, rich merchant had to obey and dug and dug. Twelve big carts were loaded.
"Enough!" shouted the merchant's son. "Thank thee, and farewell!"