"But," he added aloud, "I have an idea; I will try if one of the greatest amusements of my youth cannot serve me a good turn now. Old man, where do you keep your snow-shoes?"
"My snow-shoes?" replied the old man, confused. "I have none."
"You have, I see it in your face. No Finn in the wilderness is without snow-shoes. Out with them, quick!"
And without heeding the old man, Bertel pushed open the door which led to the garret, and drew out a fine pair of snow-shoes.
"Well, old friend," exclaimed the young cavalier, "what do you think of my horses? ... I call them mine, for I will bet anything that you will sell them to me for three hard silver thalers: swifter steeds have seldom hurried over high snow-drifts. If you have any greeting for the monk or Lady Regina, I will take it with pleasure."
"Do not go alone into the wilderness," said the old man. "There is neither track or path; the woods extend for miles, and are filled with wolves. It will be certain death to you."
"You are wrong, my friend," replied Bertel. "If I am not mistaken, there are traces in two directions: one from my horses, the other from the fugitives. Tell me, did they go in a sleigh, or on horseback?"
"I think they went on horseback."
"Then I am certain they drove. You are a finished rogue. But I forgive you for the sake of your excellent snow-shoes. Farewell, in a couple of hours I will find those whom I seek."
With these words Bertel hurried out.