10: THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD
Franz braced the sole of his shoe against the blade of his shovel, tooka big bite of snow and threw it high above his head. Even cows, AntonMartek had told him--or especially cows--might lose their faith if theycould never see daylight.
How could they see daylight if the windows of their stable were darkenedby snow? And how could the snow be removed unless someone shoveled itaway? Franz thought grimly that, at last, he knew why the handles of theshovels at St. Bernard Hospice were a full three feet longer than any inDornblatt.
Caesar, lying on the snow six feet above the boy's head, wagged anamiable tail and grinned a canine grin. Franz glared at him.
"You might well smile!" he glowered. "You do no work at all! You refuseeven to turn the spit!"
Caesar's tail wagged harder and his jaws parted a bit more. A littleworm of worry gnawed at Franz's heart. Since the deep snows had started,except to go down to the rest house with Father Benjamin whenever it wasthe latter's turn to go, the mastiff had been idle.
Anton had worked patiently and endlessly to make him turn the spit--andhe was still working at it. But Caesar had discovered a simple ruse thatfoiled the most cunning scheme Anton could devise; he merely lay down,wagged his tail, beamed agreeably and refused to move at all. Not evenAnton cared to drag a hundred-and-fifty-pound dog around and turn thespit with him.
Franz looked beseechingly up at the big mastiff, who was still lying onthe snow and interestedly observing his master.
"You should learn to do it!" he begged. "Father Benjamin already knowsthat you will not work! Soon Father Martin or Father Stephen willdiscover that Anton and I have been taking turns revolving the spit foryou. They will inform one of the Canons, who is sure to tell the Prior.Then you will be sent away from the Hospice, which is entirely right andgood and as it should be. The Fathers are not men of wealth, who canafford to maintain such a big, lazy loafer as yourself in idleness!"
Caesar wagged his tail a little harder, as though he were beingcomplimented. Franz looked sternly at him, but could not find it in hisheart to scold any more.
"It will be very right and very just if you are sent away," he saidsadly, "but it will leave me so very lonesome. Caesar, you _must_ try!"
Franz turned back to his shoveling, fastening his heart and mind on theone ray of hope that remained to him. Since the day of the blizzard,when Caesar had brought them safely to the Hospice, Father Benjamin hademphatically declared that any dog able to do such a thing waspriceless. But he was not going to be readily accepted.
There had been dogs at the Hospice since its founding; tradition saidthat Bernard de Menthon himself had had one. But tradition said alsothat it was the work of the priests and _maronniers_ at the Hospice tosuccor travelers. That was why only men born to the mountains andskilled in mountain arts could be accepted for service there.
It had been that way for seven hundred years, said Father Benjamin, andanything that has existed for seven centuries is not lightly discarded.Franz should be of good cheer, and while so being, though he needn'tdishonestly conceal the fact that Caesar was doing no work, he needn'tadvertise it either. Gentle persuasion, according to Father Benjamin,was far more effective than raging or bullying when it came to breakinga wall of custom that was seven hundred years old.
Meanwhile, whenever it was Father Benjamin's turn to go down to eitherrest house, he would take Caesar with him. Sooner or later, he wouldprove the dog's value.
Franz sighed and dug his shovel blade into the last of the snow. Caesarhad accompanied Father Benjamin on every trip. But on every trip FatherBenjamin made, the weather had been so fine that there had been no needfor a rescue or any other kind of work. Franz threw the last of the snowout of the hole, climbed out himself and at once slipped his feet intothe skis that awaited him.
The snow at this altitude was hard and granular and not at all similarto the soft stuff that often covered the lower reaches. The hard snow,plus Caesar's huge paws, kept him from sinking more than a few inches,and he rose to greet his master with furiously-wagging tail. Franzcaught up his shovel, smoothed the snow he had thrown out and turned tolook about him.
The Grand St. Bernard Pass was indeed locked in the grip of winter, withsnow piled high about the Hospice and drifts lying at intervals. But theday had started out very well, and Fathers Stephen and Martin had gonedown to the rest houses on the north and south slopes, in order to bringup any travelers waiting there.
Franz turned uneasily on his skis. The day was still fine, but therewere a few clouds where none had been earlier and an undercurrent thatspoke of fury to be. It was a hint that only a born mountaineer couldfeel at all--but Franz resolutely banished his fears. Father Stephen hadhad three years of experience at the Hospice and Father Martin seven.They were well able to take care of themselves.
Franz moved to the stable door, slipped out of his skis and entered.Anton Martek, sitting on a pile of hay and honing an ax, looked up andgrinned.
"Tomorrow," he prophesied, "you shall have all of it to do over again."
"So you sense the storm coming, too?" Franz asked.
"I sense nothing," Anton said serenely, "for to do so is very silly. Ilive for the moment that is, not the one that will be, and that provesme either a great fool or a very wise man. I do not know which and donot care, but anyone knows that snow may fall at any time now in GrandSt. Bernard Pass. Therefore, it is evident that you will do yourshoveling all over again tomorrow."
Franz said, "It is very great labor."
"It is life at the Hospice," returned Anton. He patted Caesar's massivehead. "If you did not like the life, you would not be here. As for thisgreat loafer, it is no wonder he enjoys it, for he has nothing whateverto do."
"If the Prior finds out," Franz said worriedly, "Caesar will not beliving at the Hospice any more."
"Trust in God and Father Benjamin," Anton advised. "By the time thePrior discovers the supposed worthlessness of this mighty eater,Caesar's worth will be known."
"It should be known by this time," Franz pointed out. "Father Benjamintold of how Caesar prevented his falling into the crevasse and thenfound a safe path. Some of the Fathers smiled at him, for they said itwas no great blizzard, anyhow."
"As it was not," Anton remarked.
Franz went on, "Some said it was God Who saved us."
"And do you doubt that it was?" Anton asked.
"No," Franz admitted, "but Caesar had something to do with it, too. Whycannot he be given due credit?"
"You have not learned the lesson of patience," Anton told him. "That isnot surprising, because no youth has. I tell you everything will be allright."
"I hope so," Franz said gloomily. "Now, since all this thinking haspained me, I will clean the stable."
"A worthy endeavor," Anton said, "and one well calculated to remove yourmind from your own troubles."
Caesar threw himself down on a pile of hay, pillowed his head on hispaws and went to sleep. Franz started cleaning the stable. He sighedagain. It would be nice if he were wise, like Father Benjamin or evenlike Anton, for then he would know so many things that otherwise hecould never hope to know.
Since he was stupid and knew nothing except how to work with his hands,he must find contentment in such work. Presently he found it and becameso absorbed in what he was doing that he was startled by Anton's voice,saying, "We must close the shutters, for it is starting to snow."
Franz looked up to discover that the stable, never bright as long assnow was heaped around the shutter openings, had grown noticeablydimmer. He hurried to help close the shutters. Anton lighted his candlelantern and hung it on the peg. With the shutters closed, the scream ofthe wind died to a soft moaning.
Caesar rose to pace beside Franz, as though in so doing he was somehowstanding between his master and the storm. The four gentle cows, neverdoubting that they would be cared for, munched their hay. In the fitfullight of the candle lantern, Anton's massive face looked strangelysober.
"It
will be well for one of us to have his supper and then the other,little Franz," he said. "The storm will not grow less, and one of usshould be here to reassure the cows if the wind screams too loudly. Doyou want to go first?"
"No, you go," Franz urged.
"Very well."
The giant opened the stable door, braced against the wind, slipped intohis skis, closed the door and was gone. Franz huddled very close toCaesar while the four cows stamped and munched. He shuddered, not infear but with awe. This was what winter in St. Bernard Pass truly meant.The wind that sounded inside the stable as a doleful moan, was ascreaming demon outside. A strong man would have to struggle just tostand against it.
Twenty minutes later, the stable door opened and Anton came back. Hecarried a bowl and a dish.
"I have brought your supper, little Franz, for you must remain here," hesaid. "There is very great trouble. Father Stephen has only now comeinto the refectory. He is almost spent. A traveler missing from the resthouse has not arrived at the Hospice and Father Stephen has beensearching for him."
"What now?" Franz asked, with some alarm.
Anton replied, "We all go, little Franz. The Fathers and the_maronniers_ alike, all search for that traveler until he is found. Thatis our only reason for being here."
"I will eat quickly and be ready at once," Franz said.
Anton smiled gently. "Not you, little Franz. You stay here."
"It was Caesar and I who found Emil Gottschalk!" Franz asserted. "We'vesearched for lost travelers before!"
"But never in St. Bernard Pass during a storm," Anton reminded him.
"Please--" Franz began.
Anton said shortly, "You stay here."
Anton left and Franz looked dejectedly at the closed stable door. He atehis supper and blew the candle out, for candles must not be wasted. Adozen times during the night he awakened, sure that Anton had returned.
But it was not until past noon of the following day, during a lull inthe storm, that Anton did return. From the stable door Franz watched thegiant _maronnier_ and two priests of the Hospice. All three were on skisand Anton carried a blanket-wrapped object that had the size and shapeof a man. It couldn't possibly be a man, for men were not like that.
Franz watched with staring eyes as the three went to the House of theDead. When they left it, Anton no longer carried his burden.
_But it was not until past noon of the following day,during a lull in the storm, that Anton did return_]