tainly went off, but the wild animal escaped unhurt through the thicket. As, destitute of hope the unlucky hunter threw himself under a tree and bewailed his fate, a rustling was heard in the bush, and an old soldier with a wooden leg came limping out.
“Hallo, my gentle sportsman”—said he to Wilhelm—“why so sorrowful? Art in love, hast an empty purse, or has something bewitched thy rifle? Give me a fill of tobacco, we will chat awhile together.” Wilhelm, with a dejected mien, gave him what he required, and the Wooden-leg threw himself beside him on the grass. Bye and bye the conversation turned on venery, and Wilhelm recounted his misfortunes. The old soldier bade him show his gun. “This is bewitched,” said he, ere he had held it in his grasp an instant, “ye can take no more rightful aim with this; and be you ever so skilful a marksman, the same hap will attend every gun ye take in your hand.”
Wilhelm, somewhat terrified, raised several doubts in opposition to the stranger’s faith in magic; the latter on his part besought him to prove his words. “With us soldier folk”—said he—“such occurrences are not rare, and up till evening, even to midnight, could I cite ye marvellous examples. How hit the sharpshooters their mark, who fire in spite of everything, and strike their man ’mid volumes of thick powder-smoke which obscures all, knowing no art save to aim and pull their trigger? Here, for instance, is a bullet, which is sure to hit its mark, so much of secret virtue hath it to withstand every witchcraft. Try it, it will not fail thee.”
Wilhelm loaded his rifle and looked round him for an aim. A huge bird of prey swooped high up in the clouds, seeming a mere point. “Shoot that eagle yonder”—said he with the wooden leg. Wilhelm laughed, for the bird flew at such an altitude ’twas almost out of sight. “Hey man, fire!”—exclaimed the other—“I’ll wager my wooden stump that he falls.” Wilhelm pulled his trigger, the dark point sank quickly, and a large lammergeyer fell bleeding to the earth.
“Ye need not wonder at it”—said the soldier to the young hunter now all speechless with astonishment—“you were always an excellent marksman. It is no monstrous difficult art to cast such bullets, and requires merely some skill and courage, since it must be done at night-time. I will teach you bye and bye when we see each other again, to-day I must be off, since it just struck seven. Accept then a couple of these my stock,—you still seem half incredulous. Au revoir!”
With these words the Wooden-leg gave Wilhelm a handful of bullets and limped away. Full of wonder the hunter tried another of these balls, and hit an almost impossible mark; he then essayed his usual charge, and failed. Again he wished to have the old soldier by his side, but could find him not in the wood: Wilhelm was therefore obliged to solace himself with the hope of his promised reappearance.
CHAPTER THE FIFTH.
There was great joy in the Forest-lodge, when Wilhelm returned, as of yore, with a stock of venison; and father Bertram prophesied from his achievements that he would turn out a skilful hunter yet. He now pondered about relating the cause why ill-luck had followed him so unmercifully, and what he had done to cast it off; but he was ashamed to speak regarding these infallible bullets without sufficient evidence, and he therefore threw the odium upon his gun which he had not cleaned till the previous night.
“See now, mother Anne”—said the Forester, laughing—“it is as I have told ye; our hunter hath trimmed his tools; and the hobgoblin which old Father Cuno conjured up this morn, lay in that rusted nail.”
“What hobgoblin?” enquired Wilhelm.
“Nought”—replied the other—“that picture fell down of itself this morning, just as the clock struck seven; and mother Anne conjectures thence ’tis haunted.”
“At seven!” cried Wilhelm, as it occurred to him that this was the very hour the Wooden-leg had parted from him.
“Good ’sooth, but that was no right hour for ghosts,” exclaimed the forester, and patted mother Anne pleasantly on the back. She, however, shook her head thoughtfully. “God grant, that all hath happened naturally,” said she with a sigh. Thereupon Wilhelm blushed a little. He resolved to lay his bullets on one side, and only to use one for the Trial-shot, so that his happiness might not be marred by the intervention of any evil spirit. The Forester urged him, however, to continue at the sport, and in order not again to excite a suspicion of his bad-luck, or irritate the old man, he was obliged to have recourse to some of his magic bullets.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
In a few days Wilhelm became so accustomed to the use of these lucky balls, that his conscience was quieted on the rightfulness of employing them. He went daily into the wood in the hope of meeting the soldier with the wooden leg; for his stock had diminished to two only, and in order to make sure at the Trial shot, the most sparing use of them had become necessary. The old Forester to-day bore him company to the field; and the morrow the Umpire was expected, who would naturally require before the Trial, to be shown a proof of his skill. A message came, however, to Bertram towards evening, to say that this dignitary had been bidden to a grand battue held by the Court, and that he should visit their district some eight days later.
At this, Wilhelm thought he should have sank to the earth; and his fears excited the suspicion that all things had conspired to retard the promised bliss of his marriage. He must now go to the chase, and at least sacrifice one of his bullets. He swore, however, to retain the last for that decisive shot upon his bridal day.
The Forester chided as Wilhelm returned from the chase with but a single stag, then his supplies diminished fearfully. Another day he scolded him still more, since Rudolf returned with a rich booty, whiles Wilhelm came home almost empty-handed. At even he was for sending the lad forth again, expressing unwillingness to his union with Kate, unless he brought back at least two roebucks the following morning. Kate grew sadly anxious, and besought him by their mutual affection to apply himself to the chase with renewed diligence, and to think less on her.
Full of despair, Wilhelm therefore betook him to the forest. Kate beheld him lost to her for ever as it were, and to him alone was left the mournful determination as to by what means he could restore himself good-luck.
Whilst wandering adrift, thus buried in the contemplation of his miserable fate, a herd of deer came running close beside him. With a convulsive grasp he seized his last bullet; it seemed to weigh a hundred-weight in his hand. He was about to reserve it, resolute to keep back the treasure, cost what it would,—when he perceived him of the wooden leg advancing toward him in the distance; joyfully, he rammed down this last bullet, fired, and two roebucks fell. Wilhelm suffered them to lie, and hastened to the old soldier, but he must have taken another track, for he was nowhere to be found.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.
Father Bertram was well pleased with our Wilhelm, but the latter passed the day in a fit of silent despair, nor even the caresses of his darling Kate could rouse him from his melancholy.
Toward even-tide he sat apart so wrapped in thought that he scarcely remarked the old Forester, who had entered into a lively altercation with Rudolf; until the noise they made finally aroused him.
“You should not tolerate this any more than myself”—cried Bertram to the young dreamer—“that any man should slur our Cuno’s memory like Rudolf here. Did not the Saints protect him, and that poor man beside? read, too, of your English Robin Hood i’ the old ballad! We ought to still praise God thereon, and not accuse our ancestor of magic. He died quietly and calmly in his bed surrounded by his children and relations; but those who play with devils’ arts ne’er come to a goodly end, as I myself have witnessed, when practising at Prague in Bohemia.”
“O tell us what it was!” cried Rudolf, and the rest joined in his request.
“The circumstance was evil enough”—continued the Forester—“and the bare thought of it makes me still to shudder. There was then in