Part 11 (1/2)
”Oh, there are men who would fetch them; or Andregg would send Pierre with his mule.”
”Who is Pierre?--that man we saw milking?”
”Yes, herr. I don't like him, but he is honest, and will do that very well. Shall I send? After you have done here, I can get them carried farther over the mountains, or, if you liked, we could hire Andregg's mule for use at once.”
”But the mountains? Can he climb?”
Melchior laughed.
”Almost anywhere. I think he could even beat us. He is a wonderful beast.”
The proposal was agreed to, and after they had partaken of their homely breakfast, Andregg was questioned about the mule.
Oh yes, he was quite willing to lend it, for as many days or weeks as the herr liked.
”Then I'll have it to carry our little tent, rugs and provisions. I promise you I will feed the animal well.”
”The herr need not trouble himself,” said Andregg; ”Gros will feed himself.”
”Well, then, I will not work him too hard.”
”I am not afraid, herr,” said the st.u.r.dy grey-haired old Swiss, smiling; ”he always lies down when he is tired.”
”Then I will not beat him.”
”No, herr,” said Andregg; ”he will not let you.”
”Here, I want to see that mule!” cried Saxe.
”Oh yes, the young herr shall see him,” said the old Swiss; and he went to the door and uttered a peculiar jodel, which was answered directly by a horrible bray which Saxe recognised as the yell he had heard before he was awake.
”Nein--nein--nein--nein!” shouted the old Swiss, and the donkey's bray died off into a sobbing moan. As this was ended, the old man jodelled again, apparently without result; but soon after there was a snort, and a peculiar-looking animal came trotting down from the mountain, whisking its long tail from side to side and pointing its long ears forward. But as it came close up, it suddenly stopped, and spun round as if upon a pivot.
”Here, come round and let's look at your head,” cried Saxe.
”No; he will not turn till he knows you well,” cried the old man; ”he's very bashful, is Gros. You must make friends with him by degrees, and then he is quite a brother to any one in the mountains.”
”But how am I to make friends with him?” cried Saxe.
”Get a piece of bread for the young herr, Melchior Staffeln,” said the old man. ”When it comes,” he continued, ”you may tempt Gros to come to you; but he is very particular, and may not like you, because you are foreigners.”
The bread was brought. Saxe took it, and held it out to the mule, which slightly turned its head, gazed at it wistfully, but kept its hind quarters toward the would-be donor, turning as he turned, in spite of sundry coaxing words.
”Here, turn round,” cried Saxe: ”you can't eat with your tail.”
”Don't go too close, herr,” said the old Swiss; ”I don't think he would, but he might kick.”
”And I think it's very probable that he will,” said Dale sharply; ”that right hind leg is all of a quiver. Why, the brute's vicious, Melchior!”
he said, in German.