12: JEAN'S STORY
Father Mark and Anton rushed to their skis and sped out to help theapproaching pair. Father Benjamin surrendered Jean Greb to the mightyAnton, then knelt to undo the harness of Jean's skis. As though Jean, abig man, weighed no more than a baby, Anton Martek cradled him in hisarms and carried him into the refectory. He laid him tenderly on apallet that the Clavandier and one of the Canons had placed in front ofthe fire.
Franz hung fearfully in the background while the Prior himself, who wasskilled in the healing arts, knelt beside the injured man and began toexamine him. Jean had fought on while there was need for fighting. Nowthat the need no longer existed, unconsciousness came.
"I fear that there is no hope for this man's companion," Father Benjaminsaid in a low voice. "They were coming from the inn to the Hospice whenan avalanche rolled down upon them. By a miracle alone, this man wasthrown to the top. Not even his skis were broken, and when I discoveredhim, he was trying to find his companion. I thought it best, even thoughhe protested, to bring him here with all possible speed."
"It was wise to do so," the Prior said quietly. "The snows have claimedmany lives. Had you let this man continue to search for his friend, hislife might have been lost, too."
"Is Jean badly hurt?" Franz asked huskily.
The Prior glanced up quickly. "Do you know this man, Franz?"
"He is Jean Greb, from my native village of Dornblatt," Franz answered."He is a very good friend to my family and myself."
"Put your heart at ease." The Prior's slim fingers ceased exploringJean's body. "There is very great shock, which is not at allextraordinary after one has been the victim of an avalanche. Aside fromthat, your friend seems to have suffered only a broken arm and somebroken ribs. It will be less painful for him if we take the propermeasures while he still sleeps."
Anton Martek, who had doubtless discovered Jean's broken arm whilecarrying him to the Hospice, was suddenly there with splints. FatherMark brought bandages, and all the rest stood silently near while thePrior set and splinted Jean's broken arm and bound his ribs.
Finished, the Prior reached for a flask of brandy that the Clavandierhad brought from his stores. He forced a few drops between Jean's lips,waited a moment, then gave the injured man a few more drops.
Jean's eyelids fluttered. He turned his head to one side and moaned.Then he opened his eyes and stared blankly. The Prior knelt before himwith a small glass of brandy. He cradled Jean's head with one arm.
"Drink," he said.
Jean sipped slowly, and as he did the color returned to his face and thelife to his eyes. He nibbled his own lips. Then the shock faded and hereturned to the world of rational beings. His eyes found Franz, and anagony that was born of no physical pain twisted his face.
"We came to see you, Franz," he said in a husky whisper, "and I was theguide. Alas, I was a very poor guide, for the one who engaged me stilllies in the snow!"
"It was not your fault," the Prior soothed. "No man can foresee anavalanche."
Franz's heart turned over. For none but the most important of reasonswould anyone have set out from Dornblatt to visit him in St. BernardPass. Were either of his parents or one of his sisters lost in the snowand not found? Were they beset by some terrible illness? Were--?
"I know there was a message," Jean continued, "but I was not the one whocarried it."
"Who was the message from?" Franz burst out.
Jean said, "It was from Emil Gottschalk."
"Emil Gottschalk?" Franz asked bewilderedly.
"The same," Jean said. "It was only two weeks ago that he was able toleave the hospital at Martigny and return to Dornblatt. He has lost oneof his feet, but that seems to make small difference, for he has foundhis heart. His first act was to send for the Widow Geiser and say to herthat she may discharge her debt to him at her own will and in her owntime. That she will be able to do, since she has such a very fine farmand is shortly to marry Raul Muller. His second act--"
Jean lapsed into silence while Franz's bewilderment grew. Of all thepeople of Dornblatt who might have sent him a message, Emil Gottschalkwas farthest from his thoughts. But the former greedy miser of Dornblattmust surely have come home a changed man. That he had given the WidowGeiser time to pay her debts when he might have foreclosed on her farmwas evidence enough of that.
"His second act," Jean went on, "was to compose a message to you. It wasa most important message, that must be entrusted only to a mostimportant messenger."
"Who was the messenger?" Franz asked.
Jean answered, "Professor Luttman."
Franz reeled like a bullet-stricken chamois. Professor Luttman was oneof the finest men in Dornblatt. He was a great and kind teacher, one whohad struggled hard to teach even a stupid Franz Halle. If he and hisknowledge were lost, then all the boys and girls of Dornblatt who mightlearn stood a fine chance of growing up to be ignorant indeed. Therewould be no one to teach them.
Jean Greb closed his eyes to hide the tears that sprang into them. Hesaid bitterly, "Would that it were I, and not Professor Luttman, wholies beneath the snow!"
Franz suddenly forgot that the mountains might tumble if he spoke tothe Prior. He flung himself before the supreme authority of St. BernardHospice.
"Let us go!" he begged. "Let Caesar and me go with whoever searches forProfessor Luttman!"
The Prior said gently, "Your spirit is admirable, Franz, but this iswork for experienced men. You and your dog would merely hinder them."
"No!" Franz cried. "I can get about on snow! It was Caesar who found thevery Emil Gottschalk whose message Professor Luttman carries, whenexperienced men failed!"
"That is true," Jean Greb spoke from his pallet. "Emil would not bealive today were it not for Franz's dog. He was buried so deeply in thesnow that men alone never would have found him."
"Your dog can find men buried beneath the snow?" the Prior questioned.
"Yes!" Franz exclaimed.
The Prior appeared puzzled. "How does he do it?"
"I cannot be sure, but I think he hears the heart beat!" Franz replied."Let us go! We will hinder no one!"
"I speak for Franz and Caesar," Jean Greb urged. "I have known both alltheir lives, and I have never known either to hinder anyone. There arefew men in Dornblatt who can equal Franz's skill on the snow."
Anton Martek said, "I also speak for Franz. He calls himself stupidbecause he is unable to understand that which is written in books. Buthe knows well the arts of the snow and the mountains."
The Prior nodded. "Then go. You too, Anton, and Father Mark. FatherBenjamin will guide, and may God go with all of you!"