1: THE SCHOOL
Sitting on his assigned portion of the backless wooden school bench,fourteen-year-old Franz Halle tried earnestly to concentrate on theLatin text before him. He read, "_Deinde rex perterritus Herculi hunclaborem, graviorem, imposuit. Augeas_--"
Very interesting, he thought, and doubtless very important. ProfessorLuttman, who taught the school at Dornblatt, said so, and ProfessorLuttman was both wise and educated. Franz himself had heard the villagemen say that he could discuss the classics, politics, history, highermathematics, astronomy and the latest method of bloodletting as a curefor the ague, at endless length and most thoroughly. Franz tried again.
"_Deinde rex_--" Surely it meant something or Professor Luttman neverwould have assigned it. But what? If only it were a squirrel track inthe snow, a chamois doe trying to lure an eagle away from its kid, atrout in the cold little stream that foamed past Dornblatt, or anuncertain patch of snow that was sure to become an avalanche, it wouldbe simplicity itself. But written words were never simple, not even whenthey were written in the German that Franz could read.
Franz made one more manful effort. Then he gave up and devoted himselfto looking through the window on the south side of the school.
The mighty birches that had once grown there, and that had been solovely to see when spring clothed their branches in tightly curled newleaves that looked oddly like baby lambs, or when the wind set trees andleaves to dancing, had been felled for half a furlong down themountainside.
Franz smiled wistfully. Furlong--furrow long--the distance a team ofoxen could pull a plow without tiring. Now there was a word heunderstood perfectly. Not that there were any gardens a furlong inlength around Dornblatt, for not even the strongest oxen could pull aplow through solid rock. Some of the villagers had even carried dirt,basket by basket, to cover the rocks and form more garden space.
Vaguely it occurred to Franz that there was something he had been doingor should do, but he had forgotten what it was. He continued to look outof the window.
The village spread below him, sturdy log buildings with living quartersfor humans on the second floor and stables for the cattle beneath. Thevillages lined the narrow path that trailed on up the mountain and,eventually, into the mighty Alps. Here and there was a garden patch, forwhere there was so little land to cultivate, not even one square footmust be wasted. But most of the gardens were beyond the limits ofDornblatt itself. Summer pasturage for the village cattle, and thefields where the villagers cut most of their hay, were far above timberline.
Franz thought again of the birch trees that had been and a twinge ofremorse stirred his heart. It was right and just to fell trees, but onlywhen timber was needed for new buildings or wood was required for thevillage stoves. It was wrong to destroy so many beautiful birches simplybecause one greedy man had the power to gratify his greed.
The land upon which the school was built had belonged to EmilGottschalk, the only man in Dornblatt who had managed to acquire anywealth. It was a foregone conclusion that a site for the schoolhousewould be bought from Emil--and this was the only location that heoffered. Since practically everybody else in Dornblatt was in Emil'sdebt, none had dared protest vehemently even though all knew that theschoolhouse, at the very foot of a steep and almost forestless mountain,was directly in the path of an avalanche and, sooner or later, would bedestroyed by one.
Emil had prepared for that, too. After selling the site for a school tothe citizens of Dornblatt, he had proceeded to sell them the birches.Every man in the village had helped cut and trim the trees, and everyhorse and ox team had been pressed into service to drag the trimmedtrunks to the north side of the school. There the men, includingProfessor Luttman, had again fallen to and erected a breastwork thatprobably would stop anything except a major avalanche.
So Dornblatt had its school, but at three times the cost in money andlabor that would have been necessary had any of a half dozen other sitesthat were available--and out of the path of avalanches--been selected.
Franz straightened suddenly and grew tense. A squirrel had emerged fromthe far side of the clearing where the birches had been and was crossingto the near side. Franz's eyes widened, for this promised both starkdrama and excitement. Squirrels lived among the trees, and almost alwaysthey were safe as long as they stayed there. But almost invariably theywere doomed when they left their arboreal haunts.
Obviously not alarmed, for it was not running fast, the squirrel came aquarter of the way into the clearing. Franz knitted puzzled brows. Latinwas a mystery to him, but almost without exception the creatures of theforest were an open book. The squirrel presented a puzzle, for the veryfact that it was not running fast proved that it had not been frightenedfrom the forest. It was no baby but an adult, therefore it wasacquainted with danger. What had prompted it to risk this foolhardyjourney?
As unexpectedly as a sudden wind can whirl a spiral of snow into theair, the squirrel's leisurely pace changed to wild flight. Franz ceasedpondering whys and wherefores and lost himself in watching.
From the same side of the clearing where the squirrel had firstappeared, a fox emerged from the forest. But rather than choosing aleisurely pace, the fox was running so furiously that it seemed littlemore than a streak of fur. Franz watched with pounding heart as theanimal, whose every leap equalled twenty of the short-legged squirrel'sfrantic lunges, overtook its quarry.
There was just one possible end, the fox would catch and kill thesquirrel before the latter was able to reach the safety of the trees onthe other side of the clearing. Then both passed out of Franz's field ofvision and, crane his neck as he would, he could no longer see thechase.
He felt a pang of disappointment. He could find no life in a Latin text,but life in its fullest was represented by the fox and squirrel chase.
A split second later, to his vast astonishment, he saw the fox streakingback toward that part of the forest from which it had emerged. Since nosquirrel dangled from its jaws, it was evident that the fox had failedto catch its quarry. Then a dog appeared, a half dozen bounds behind theterrified and madly-racing fox. The dog was light tawny in color, withno dark markings. About thirty-two inches high at the shoulder and sixfeet from tip of its black nose to the end of its tail, it weighed wellover a hundred pounds. It was short-haired, square-faced, long-legged,and its tail was curled over its back. Lean of paunch, its shoulderswere massive and blocky. Even had it been standing still, instead ofrunning, its great power and strength would have been evident.
_Then a dog appeared, a half dozen bounds behind themadly-racing fox_]
Franz smiled. The dog, an Alpine Mastiff, was his own Caesar. Threeyears ago he'd found it, a whimpering puppy, on the refuse heap whereEmil Gottschalk had tossed it to die. Inch by inch, he had nursed itback to health.
He had learned a little of its history, and its roots went very deep.Originating in Asia, probably Tibet, many thousands of years ago, AlpineMastiffs were brought to Asia Minor by silk merchants. Some fell intothe hands of the early Romans, who used them as war dogs. When theRomans crossed the Alps, they took a number of these mastiffs with them.Some became hurt, or a female might give birth to puppies. These wereleft behind, simply because the marching columns could not afford to beslowed by them. And so, after thousands of years, the Alpine Mastifffound in the Swiss Alps a land very like the Tibet of its forefathers.
Caesar had an almost uncanny ability to adapt himself to the mountains.His huge paws supported him where another dog would have been hopelesslymired. At the height of winter, with Franz on skis and Caesar trailingalongside or behind, the two went where they willed and always safely.
Should the snow be soft, Caesar plowed his own path with his tremendousshoulders and never experienced the least difficulty. Even when all therest of his body sank out of sight, Franz could always tell where he wasby looking at the tip of his tail.
Let the wind blow as it might, and alter the outward appearance of thesnow as it would, Caesar still knew the safe trails. He had an inbornf
oreknowledge of impending avalanches and a feeling for unsafe ice. Whenthe brothers Karsmin were caught in an avalanche and buried beneathseven feet of snow, Caesar found them when all humans failed. Franz wassatisfied that the dog had heard their hearts beating.
For all that, Dornblatt had no extra food for dogs. Franz never wouldhave been allowed to keep Caesar had the animal not proven his worth.When the snow lay too deep for any horse or ox to venture forth, it wasCaesar who dragged in the firewood. His back could carry as heavy aburden as two strong men were able to bear, so, even though Franz wasthe only human who could handle him, Caesar earned his way.
Professor Luttman said, "You will please translate the assignment."
Franz, whose body was present but whose spirit had flown to help Caesarchase the fox, paid no attention.
Then he was rudely jerked back into the hall of learning.
"I am talking to you, Franz," Professor Luttman said.
"Me? Oh! Yes, sir," Franz stammered.
"Proceed," Professor Luttman said.
"Well--You see, sir--"
Professor Luttman's kindly, studious face was suddenly very weary. "Didyou even hear me?" he asked.
"No, sir," Franz admitted.
"Very well, I'll repeat. Translate the assigned lesson."
"I--I cannot do it, sir."
"Why not?" Professor Luttman asked.
"I do not know it, sir," Franz confessed.
Hertha Bittner, who was always able to do any lesson perfectly, giggled.Her laugh was echoed by the other students. Professor Luttman lookeddirectly at Franz.
"I fear," he said sorrowfully, "that your scholarly instincts andabilities leave much to be desired. For two years I have tried earnestlyto teach you, and I question whether you have yet mastered the simplestportion of any subject at all. It is my considered opinion that yourtime will be far more constructively spent if you devote it to helpingyour father. Will you be so good as to go home and tell him what I havesaid?"
"Yes, sir."
Franz left the schoolroom, his cheeks burning. Caesar's meeting him atthe door lifted none of his shame and embarrassment, but did providesolace. Laying his hand on the big mastiff's neck, Franz struck directlyaway from the school.
At least, he could take the long way home.
Rescue Dog of the High Pass Page 6