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Updated: May 17, 2025
They were pale and full of excitement, and Hans's first word was: "Vere is dot man you sent to mine place yesterday?" "Wilhelm?" stammered Farmer Weitbreck. "Wilhelm!" repeated Hans, scornfully. "His name is not 'Wilhelm. His name is Carl, Carl Lepmann; and he is murderer. He killed von man shepherd, in our town last spring; and dey never get trail of him.
It was indeed a heartrending story, to come so late, so bootless now, to the poor boy who had slept all these years in the nameless grave, even its place forgotten. It seemed that a man sentenced in Mayence to be executed for murder had confessed, the day before his execution, that it was he who had killed the shepherd of whose death Carl Lepmann had so long been held guilty.
The other shepherd, Carl Lepmann, had disappeared, and was never again seen by any one who knew him, until this previous day, when he had entered the Dietmans' door bearing his message from the Weitbreck farm. At the first sight of his face, Gretchen Dietman had recognized him, thrown up her arms involuntarily, and cried out in German: "My God! the man that killed the shepherd!"
They had quarrelled about a girl, a faithless creature, forsworn to both of them, and worth no man's love or desire; but jealous anger got the better of their sense, and they grappled in fight, each determined to kill the other. The shepherd had the worst of it; and just as he fell, mortally hurt, Carl Lepmann had come up, had come up in time to see the murderer leap on his horse to ride away.
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