Bengt, for his part, was perfectly satisfied with the Dean's speech. Those words about his having been a good and faithful servant, the medal, the august presence of His Reverence in the servants' hall, and the whole demonstration in his honour, had had the salutary effect of dispelling the ache in his joints and the shooting pains in his back. In the afternoon the old man sat up in bed and related, again and again, to all who would listen, how he had once rescued the money-chest for the Paymaster of the Regiment.
It happened one winter when he and the master were out tax-gathering. They had covered all the eastern districts, and before starting on the western, the Paymaster wanted to go home for a while, as he longed for a sight of his wife and little ones. But that of course he did not mention to Bengt. His excuse was that the horse must be rested a couple of days and the food-box, being empty, needed replenishing. Besides, the money-chest was now so full he thought they'd best drive no further until it had been emptied and the money sent on to Karlstad.
The day they turned their noses toward home there was a big blizzard. The roads were so deep with snow they had to drive at a snail's pace. When they were crossing Klarälven on the ice it was already dusk. Shortly afterward, on coming to Nordsjö Manor, the Paymaster spoke of turning in there to ask for a night's shelter. However, he was anxious to get home, and as they were then within thirteen miles of Mårbacka, he and Bengt decided to drive on. Even though it meant being out in the sledge until ten or eleven at night, sleeping in one's own bed was best.
Coming into the dense forest between Nordsjö and Sandviken, they found the road impassable. The sledge went so heavily the horse had to stop at every step, and neither urging nor coaxing could put life into him.
"This is provoking, Bengt," said the Paymaster. "But isn't there a little forest croft somewhere hereabout?"
"Ay, a bit further on is a hut," Bengt replied; "but you can't take in there. Master!"
"I know what you're thinking of, Bengt. That tavern is said to be the haunt of ruffians and vagabonds, decent folk usually fight shy of it. But what else can we do? We've been three hours getting from Nordsjö here, and the horse is spent. We must get him under cover, where he can rest for the night."
"Well, Master, you do as you think best, said Bengt.
When his man spoke in that manner, the Paymaster knew he had his own good reasons for not wishing to put up at that place. So he decided to make another attempt to go on.
The two then got out of the sledge and began to clear a path for the horse, which slowly followed them. It was a heavy task. Bengt worked hard and his master, who had on great boots that went above his knees, a heavy wolfskin coat and thick muffler, was soon all out of breath.
"No, Bengt, my boy, this won't do," said he when they were almost at the forest hut. "Now I'm as used up as the horse is. You'd better go in and ask for house-room.
There was nothing for Bengt to do but obey, though he thought to himself they might better remain out in the sledge all night than betake themselves, with the Crown's money, into that robbers' den. It was plain that this would lead to trouble.
In the hut he found a man and wife sitting quietly by the fire. It cannot be said that they were especially pleased to receive the travellers. They made all sorts of excuses: the guest chamber was cold and they had no bed or bedclothes suitable for a gentleman. All the same they were persuaded. The woman brought in wood and made up a fire in the bedroom, the man took a spade and helped Bengt clear away the snow, so that the horse and sledge could be taken to the shed. When Bengt went back to the sledge he found his master sitting there, sound asleep.
"That one doesn't guard the Crown's money any too well, eh?" grinned the crofter.
"Well, so far he's never lost so much as a shilling of what's the Crown's," Bengt snapped.
Always, when they put up anywhere, the Paymaster would carry in the money-chest and Bengt would follow with the food-box. But now, seeing how tired his master was, Bengt said, as the sledge stood before the wretched shed where the horse was to be stabled:
"Go in to bed, Master, and I'll be along later with the boxes."
"You need only bring in the one," the Paymaster told him.
When Bengt had unharnessed the horse and led it into the shed, he found that his master had already gone inside, and the crofter, too, had disappeared. The strong-box was not in the sledge, and he assumed that the master had taken it in as usual.
The Paymaster of the Regiment sat by the fire in a wretched little room when Bengt came in. He heard him put a box down, but was too dead tired even to turn his head.
"Lock the door, Bengt," he said, "and take out the key."
"'Twas not much use bringing in the empty food-box," Bengt observed.
"That's what I thought," said his master. "But we'll be able to sleep to-night without any supper."
Then he stretched himself out on a bare bench—great boots, fur coat, and all—slipped a couple of sticks of wood under his head, and was asleep in a second. He never slept later than four or five in the morning, but this time he awoke about two o'clock, quite rested and refreshed.
"Up, Bengt! he called. "For God's sake let's be off at once, so that we can breakfast at Mårbacka."
There was neither lamp nor candle in the room; but the night was not pitch-dark, and they could see well enough to grope their way out.
"You take the box, Bengt, and hitch up," said the Paymaster, "while I go in and settle for the lodging."
In a few moments they drove away. The storm had abated, and though the road was still heavy with snow, they made fair progress, now that the horse was rested.
"After all, it wasn't such a bad idea our stopping there over night," the Paymaster remarked.
"It turned out better than I expected," said Bengt. "But I had such bad dreams all night, and thought I heard a lot of noise. It sounded as if they were pounding and hammering in the crofter's room. I don't know yet whether they were up working or whether I was just dreaming."
"No doubt you dreamt they stole my money-chest," laughed the Paymaster.
"But, Master—where have you put the box?" the servant burst out, beginning to fumble about under the seat.
"The box?… Why, you brought that out."
"I?—I carried out the food-box."
"But I told you last evening to bring in only the strong-box, and leave the other."
It must have been a terrible moment for Paymaster Lagerlöf when he realized that through a misunderstanding on the part of his man the money-chest had been left out in the sledge. That the crofter had stolen it was plain. But what had he done with it? Could he have opened it? The chest was the regulation bailiff's strong-box, iron bound, with combination lock. But at that, they might perhaps have pried it open.
They left the horse standing in the road, and ran back to the hut. When they burst into the house they found four rough-looking men sitting by the fire with the crofter and his wife, none of whom showed the least surprise. Bengt knew the men at once for the worst desperadoes in the district.
"Now 'tis just as I said," the woman began, "that ye'd not be able to get home till the snow-plow'd been run afore ye."
"Oh, we'll manage to get home," said the Paymaster of the Regiment. "But my money-chest is still in your house, and that I must have along with me."
"Well, well, can it be possible that ye went off and left the money-box!" said the woman. "Then it must be standing in the bedroom. No one's been in there since ye left."
"The box was not forgotten," said the Paymaster, sternly. "So produce it at once! You know what happens to those who steal the Crown's money."
"Now where could we hide a big money-chest?" the woman protested blandly. "Ye can see for yerself what's here, and ye're welcome to search the house."
And that Bengt had already done. He had peered and poked into every nook and corner—and had found nothing.
"If you won't give it up willingly," said the Paymaster, I shall have to leave my man here on guard while I go for the bailiff."
"What, that fellow stay and keep guard over us!" almost laughed the woman.
Nor was it likely that Bengt, single-handed, could have kept six persons quietly seated in the hut while his master went in search of the bailiff. But all this time Bengt had been puzzling over something. He heard a crackling noise coming from the bake-oven, but saw no evidences of dough having been prepared. Without a word, he stole up and flung open the oven door.
"Come here, Master, he cried, "and see the kind of bread they bake in this here oven."
In there on a pyre of burning wood stood the money-chest.
The crofter and his wife now sprang at Bengt, but Paymaster Lagerlöf, who was a powerful man, pushed them back. When the other four, who had also begun to bestir themselves, saw the kind of thrusts he could give, they kept out of his reach. Bengt seized the oven rake and quickly pulled the box down onto the hearth. In his eagerness to find out whether the box had been much damaged, he nearly burned his fingers off.
"Ha! it hasn't been opened," he cried exultantly.
Though the box showed that the thieves had been filing and hammering at it, the good oaken chest was intact; neither lock nor mountings had given way. As a last resort they had put it on the fire. But, luckily, Bengt had been too quick for them—only a bit of one corner was charred.