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Updated: June 24, 2025
The miles passed but slowly, so heavy was the road's deep mud, and it seemed to von Rittenheim that he had been travelling for hours when they crossed the Six Mile Branch that measured but half their journey done. The keen air of the early morning, whose cold was accentuated by a drizzling rain, chilled him to the bone, unfortified by food as he was.
The Snare of the Fowler It was at the early hour when the morning brings to the earth no warmth and but a dim and grudging light, that a sharp rap summoned von Rittenheim to his cabin door. Three men stood outside in the grayness, their horses tied to trees behind them. To his surprise, Friedrich recognized his guest of the previous evening.
Her eyes were fixed on the man who had followed von Rittenheim into the room. "You, you!" she whispered, hoarsely. Von Sternburg gave a cry of amazement. "The Baroness here! Why didn't you tell me, Friedrich?" he demanded, while his mind quickly reviewed the possible relations between von Rittenheim and his sister-in-law, and considered the effect upon them of his frank disclosures of the morning.
Across the room came Hilda, who never could stay away from Friedrich many minutes, in spite of Wendell's efforts to interest her; and Wendell himself, following her reluctantly only when her progress brought him near von Rittenheim; and Bob, never truly happy except near Sydney.
Bud approached, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Bud, did you know this was here?" Von Rittenheim reached behind him and tapped something that gave forth a sound of earthenware. "Know what was there?" "Come and see." Yarebrough stepped behind the stump, upon whose top the Baron swung around so as to keep his face in view. "Whose jug?" asked Bud. "I know not.
It was not much that the commissioner learned from von Rittenheim after all, for food brought back self-reliance and courage, and he felt that the whole story of his trouble would be an appeal for sympathy that he could not make. However, he told enough to cause Weaver to say under his breath a few condemnatory things about the deputy-marshal, and then he asked, "What are you going to do?"
Say," he was wagging his head solemnly to and fro, disgustingly near von Rittenheim's face, "Ah reckon you'd like to go into business with me now ye made a start at hit." Bob remained behind his shield, hoping that Pressley would go away before von Rittenheim had the mortification of seeing him. "Ah reckon you-all need money mahty bad," drawled the drunken voice.
"My so good friend, Mr. Weaver?" acknowledged Friedrich, looking at him through the squinting eyes that a sharp headache gave him. "You'll be held by the grand jury, of course, von Rittenheim, but you needn't stay here all the time. Just drop in once or twice a day and see how the list stands.
"The boss in the revenue office, Mr. Weaver. He wants you. Ah'm his boy Sam." Friedrich supposed that some form had been omitted, and returned with docility to the Federal Building. Mr. Weaver nodded pleasantly as he entered. "This German was brought in here just after you went out, von Rittenheim. I want you to interpret, if you will."
I shall get on very well. And may I go to my room now?" Von Rittenheim was startled into activity by the simple request. "I think you must wait until some preparation is made. I will go and fetch a woman who will look after you. You will not be afraid if I leave you alone for a few minutes?" "Entirely alone?" "Yes. There is no one here.
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