CHAPTER IX.DUTCH COURAGE.
It has been said early in this chronicle, that Chance made a triple blunder. In one corner of the triangle was Buffalo Bill, dropping through the roof of Red Steve’s dugout and effecting the release of Nate Dunbar; in another corner was Wild Bill, watching a queer contest of watch throwing and finding a scrap of paper which ultimately led to the relief of Dick Perry; and in the third corner was Villum von Schnitzenhauser, lured from the rest of his pards by the prospect of a talkfest with Fritz Dinkelmann.
The baron had heard of Fritz Dinkelmann at the house of a small rancher where he, and Wild Bill, and old Nomad, and Little Cayuse had halted for an hour on their journey toward Hackamore. The rancher had mentioned Dinkelmann in an off-hand way, and the baron had pressed inquiries.
Dinkelmann had been on the Brazos for ten years. Everybody in that section knew him, and knew how he had borrowed and borrowed from Lige Benner, until Benner had secured every head of the Dutchman’s stock and a mortgage on his land and the cabin roof that sheltered himself and his wife. Dinkelmann had been in the German army, and carried honorable wounds—mementos of the Franco-Prussian War.
This mention of Dinkelmann’s army experience was what stirred the baron most deeply; for the baron himself had served his time in the kaiser’s ranks, and hadwon the Order of the Black Eagle for bravery on the field.
Yes, certainly, the baron would have to see Dinkelmann and engage in a talkfest. It would be some time before Buffalo Bill could reach Hackamore from Texico, and the baron could pass the night at Dinkelmann’s and get to Hackamore before the scout reached the town.
It was nine o’clock in the evening when the baron, having lost and found himself at least a dozen times, first sighted the glow of light in Dinkelmann’s cabin, rode up to the door and leaned down from his saddle to knock.
A buxom lady answered his summons, starting back in trepidation when she found the baron’s mule bulked across the entrance.
“Iss Misder Dinkelmann in der house, yes?” inquired the baron.
“Yah,” replied the buxom lady, but not with much enthusiasm.
“Meppy you peen Frau Dinkelmann, yes, no?”
“Yah.”
“Vell, I peen Deutsch meinseluf, und I rite seferal miles oudt oof my vay schust for a leedle talk mit friendts from Chermany.”
“For vy you nod shpeak der Deutsche sprache?” inquired Frau Dinkelmann skeptically.
“Pecause I dry hardt to make some berfections in der English.”
The baron, however, in order to prove that he was not an impostor, rattled away in his native tongue. Herr Dinkelmann was in the cabin, but he was not feeling well. He was a good-for-nothing, the herr, and he was not brave enough to call his soul his own except whenhe was at his schnapps. Would the baron put up his mule in the corral behind the house, and come in?
The baron would—and did.
He found the interior of the house a bare enough place. There were two chairs and a lounge in the front room, and a table on which stood the lamp.
Herr Dinkelmann was stretched out on the lounge. He was a short, fat man and seemed in great distress over something.
“Ged oop, you lazy lout, und see vat iss come already!” cried Frau Dinkelmann. “A visidor has come py us, und you peen so drunk like nodding. Fritz! Ged oop yourseluf und sit der lounge on, den look vat you see. A visidor yet.”
Frau Dinkelmann talked English, perhaps out of deference to the baron, perhaps only because she wanted to show him that she also was proficient in foreign tongues.
As she talked to Fritz, she grabbed him and heaved him bodily into a sitting position.
“Vat a fool I don’d know!” puffed Frau Dinkelmann. “Macht schnell, Fritz! Lieber Gott, vill you your eyes oben und see vat iss here?”
A groan escaped Fritz Dinkelmann’s lips. His eyes opened and he saw the baron’s hand. Grabbing at the hand, he clung to it with a fervor that almost threw him off the lounge.
“Safe me!” he blubbered; “safe me or I vill die! Vere vas it put you der schnapps, Katrina? Liebe Frau, gif me der pottle some more yet.”
Katrina stood in front of him and stuck up an admonitory finger.
“Hear me vat I say now und reflect,” she cried. “I gifyou nod der pottle some more yet to-nighdt. Dot’s all aboudt it. You make oof yourseluf some pigs, some mules, ven you der schnapps trink so great. It iss nod dot he loves der trink so,” she explained to the baron, “aber dot he vants it der Dutch courage vat you call. He iss troubles in, ve art bot’ troubles in, lieber Gott, und he takes der schnapps to forget him der troubles. Vat a nonsense.”
“I haf hat drouples meinseluf, yah, so helup me,” said the baron, “aber I look dem in der eyes und face dem oudt. Vat’s der use to trink und make some forgeddings? Der drouples vas dere alretty, ven ter trink iss gone. Fritz, mein lieber freund, douple der fist oop und knock der drouples oudt oof der vay.”
Fritz moaned and tried to slump back on the lounge.
“I don’d got it some nerve to knock me my drouples oudt mit der fist. Liebe Frau——”
But Katrina had grabbed him and pushed him back to a sitting posture.
“Iss it to dreat a visidor righdt you act like dot?” she cried. “I vill handt you vone auf der kopf oof you don’d make some vakings oop und act mit resbect.”
“Vat iss der name?” asked Fritz, displaying a feeble interest in the baron.
“Villum, Baron von Schnitzenhauser,” answered the baron. “Vat iss der madder? Some oof der shildren sick?”
“Kindern ve haf none,” answered Fritz.
“Haf you some cattles on der range?”
“Cattles ve haf nod, neider kinder. Ach, du lieber, vat a hardt time I don’d know. I dry to do der righdt t’ing mit eferypody, und pecause I owe Penner, he makesme do der wrong t’ing, oder he takes from Katrina und me avay der leedle house vere ve lif.”
“Shut oop such talks!” cried Katrina. “Der Dutch courage don’d make some helps mit you. I go by der kitchen now to ged us der paron some subber. Shpeak mit him, Fritz, vile I peen avay.”
“Liebe Frau,” begged Fritz, stretching out his hands, “gif us first der schnapps.”
She struck his hands aside.
“Macht ruhig aboudt der schnapps, oder I vill der pottle preak on der shtones,” she cried angrily.
With that, she lost herself in the rear room.
The baron tried to talk with Fritz, but it was impossible to get much out of him. Even a mention of the German army failed to arouse any interest in the distressed Dutchman. Finally Fritz slumped back on the lounge and began to snore.
The baron would have been disgusted but for the fact that some great sorrow was preying upon the unfortunate Dinkelmann. He craved his schnapps to give him strength to bear his trials. Frau Dinkelmann, it was clear, didn’t believe in Dutch courage.
What was all the bother about? the baron asked himself. If it was the loss of cattle or a mortgage on the home that grieved and fretted his countryman, the baron would not have had much sympathy for him. The baron liked to see a man act in a manly way, face his misfortunes, and walk over them to peace, plenty, and happiness.
But there was something besides the loss of cattle and the mortgage on Dinkelmann’s mind.
While Dinkelmann snored, and his wife moved aroundin the kitchen, the baron smoked, and tried to guess out the problem.
He was almost sorry he had not gone on to Hackamore with Nomad, Wild Bill, and Little Cayuse. Had he known the trail better, he would have excused himself and started out without waiting for supper. But he had lost his way so many times coming to Dinkelmann’s that he was afraid to attempt the unknown country by night.
While he sat and mused, he became conscious of a slight tapping, as of knuckles lightly drumming against a door. He started forward in his chair, and stared around. There were only three doors to that room—one at the front entrance, one leading into the kitchen, and another opening off to the right. The tapping came from the other side of the door on the right.
What did it mean? The baron sat and studied over the remarkable phenomenon until a shuffling sound struck on his ears. When that commenced, the knocking ceased.
Under the baron’s astounded eyes a bit of white cloth was showing itself beneath the door which had so mysteriously claimed his attention. Some one, it seemed, was trying to push the piece of cloth through into the living room.
Softly the baron arose, crossed to the door, bent down, and pulled the cloth away.
It was a small handkerchief. Turning it over in his hand, he saw that there was writing in pencil on one side of it.
The plot was thickening! The baron, overjoyed to find a little excitement where he had expected nothing more than a talkfest, sat down again, spread the handkerchiefout on his knee, and puzzled his brain over the following:
“Stranger: Will you be a friend to a woman in distress? I am being detained in this room against my will. I must escape and go back to my home. The horse that brought me should be in the corral. The window of the room is boarded up on the outside, but the boards can be easily removed.”
“Stranger: Will you be a friend to a woman in distress? I am being detained in this room against my will. I must escape and go back to my home. The horse that brought me should be in the corral. The window of the room is boarded up on the outside, but the boards can be easily removed.”
Had the writing been in German, the baron would not have been long in deciphering it, but it was in English and, in places, almost illegible. However, he managed to get at the gist of the communication. A flutter of joy ran through him.
Here was an adventure!
And the baron could not live and be happy unless adventures were constantly piling in upon him.
From the moment the baron had deciphered the writing on the handkerchief, and had made up his mind to act upon the request of the imprisoned lady, he found nothing monotonous in his surroundings.
When Frau Dinkelmann asked him to come out into the kitchen and have some supper, he stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, and moved with alacrity into the rear room.
Frau Dinkelmann, sitting on the opposite side of the table while the baron ate, talked unceasingly in the German language. The baron, even if he had been so inclined, could hardly have got a word in edgeways. But he wasn’t anxious to talk. He listened mechanically, and ate mechanically. His mind was busy with the imprisoned lady who had sent him a penciled appeal on her handkerchief.
“I vonder iss she young?” thought the baron; “und isshe goot-looking? Und vill she be gradeful oof I safe her from der Dinkelmann house?”
So far as the mere adventure went, the baron was not particular whether the lady was young or good-looking. But, if she happened to be both, the glamor of romance might be added to the undertaking.
“You vill shday der house in till morning?” inquired Frau Dinkelmann, dropping back into her English as the baron arose from the table.
“Could I talk mit Fritz in der morning?” he asked. “Vill he feel pedder mit himseluf den?”
“Yah, so. You shday und you can talk mit Fritz all vat you blease. I make you a bed der floor on.”
“I don’d like to shleep in der house,” demurred the baron. “I like pedder der oudttoors as a shleeping blace. I drafel mit fellers vat shleep oudtoors all der time, und I have got used to it.”
The baron was cunning. He knew that if he was supposed to be sleeping outdoors he would have a chance to examine the boarded-up window without arousing Frau Dinkelmann. He could also find the lady’s horse, and get both the horse and Toofer, the mule, ready for the road.
“Dere iss hay py der corral,” said Frau Dinkelmann.
“Den,” said the baron, going into the front room for his hat, “I vill shmoke, und shleep on der hay. Vat iss der preakfast time?”
“Sigs o’glock, oder venefer you retty vas for vat ve haf. Gott sei dank, ve got somet’ing to eat.”
Bidding Frau Dinkelmann good night, the baron left the house by the kitchen door, rounded the corner of the building, and crept stealthily to the boarded-up window.
Lightly he tapped on the boards. A tapping on the other side of the barrier answered him.
The baron breathed quick and hard. What would Nomad and Wild Bill not have given to be mixed up in such an adventure?
Ach, du lieber, but he was a lucky Dutchman!
After making sure that the lady had heard, and that she understood he would come to her rescue, the baron fell to examining the boards that closed up the opening.
They had been stoutly spiked to the side of the house. In prying them away, it would be necessary to use an axe, and there would be considerable noise.
The baron would have to wait until Frau Dinkelmann was fast asleep. Even then there was a chance that she would be aroused by his attack on the boards, but, if she was, he would rescue the lady anyway, and in spite of both the Dinkelmanns. The baron preferred, however, to rescue the lady quietly, and to get away from the house with her without making a scene with the muscular frau.
Leaving the cabin, he went to the woodpile and found an axe. This he carried to the window, and laid on the ground beneath it, where it would be conveniently at hand when the time came to remove the boards.
His next move was to go to the corral and look for the horse and the lady’s riding gear. He found both, and was not long in getting the horse and Toofer accoutred for the flight.
Leading the animals out of the corral, he hitched them to a post where they would be ready for use at a moment’s notice; then he stealthily approached the cabin, and peered through the window of the living room.
He was disappointed.
Frau Dinkelmann was wide awake. She had drawn a chair in front of the door leading into the prison chamber, and was sitting in it. She was knitting. Across her ample lap, the ball of yarn dancing around it as it unrolled, lay an old-fashioned pistol with a bright brass cap under the hammer.
The baron wondered if Frau Dinkelmann suspected that he was planning to assist the imprisoned lady. She was there on guard, that was evident.
Impatiently the baron went back to the corral. Sitting on a forkful of hay and leaning against the corral fence, he smoked three pipes very slowly, and again went to the house and stole a look through the window.
There was the frau, vigilant as ever, her needles flying and the ball dancing up and down the barrel and stock of the old pistol.
“Py shinks,” thought the baron, “vat oof she shdays dere all nighdt?”
The baron wasn’t afraid of the pistol—not for himself, but the lady would be endangered if he tried to take her away in spite of the watchful frau.
No, it would be better to wait until Frau Dinkelmann was sound asleep.
The baron returned to his place by the corral fence. Sitting down as before, he leaned back, and tried to beguile the tedious wait by wondering who the lady was, why she had been imprisoned in the house, and whether or not it was she who weighed so heavily on Fritz Dinkelmann’s mind.
Then, being tired, and growing confused over his knotty reflections, quite naturally he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, a dingy gray light tinged thesky in the east. For a moment he blinked; then, with a muttered exclamation, he jumped to his feet.
“Himmelblitzen!” he gasped. “I haf shlept all der nighdt, und now it iss gedding tay! Dit I tream dot aboudt der laty vat vants to be resgued?”
His troubled eyes wandered toward the cabin, and then back to a post by the corral.
No, he had not dreamed about the lady. There, plainly before his eyes, was the boarded-up window, and here, hitched to the corral post, stood the weary horse and the mule.
Softly the baron made his way to the living-room window, and peered through.
The lamp, burning dimly, cast a sickly light over the room. In the chair in front of the door still sat the frau, but her knitting lay in her lap, and her head was bowed forward in slumber.
Hastily the baron passed to the rear of the house, picked up the axe, and pried at the boards covering the window. The first one came away with such a crash that he felt sure Frau Dinkelmann must have heard the noise. But, no. There was no sound in the living room to bolster up his fears.
He went to work at the second board, and got it off much more quietly than he had the first. It was not necessary to remove any more. A woman’s face appeared in the opening he had made, and a slender form forced itself through the breach and dropped to the ground at his side.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said the woman, catching one of the baron’s hands in both her own.
The baron’s heart fluttered. She was young and beautiful—and he had saved her from the Dinkelmanns!
“Dot’s all righdt, lady,” said the baron, throwing out his chest, “making resgues like dose vas my long suit. I peen a bard oof Puffalo Pill’s, und I learned how to do dot mit him. You know Puffalo Pill, yes?”
“I have heard of him,” the girl answered.
For the first time the baron noticed that the girl’s face, though very pretty, was haggard and worn.
“Ach,” he murmured sympathetically, “you haf hat some hardt times, I bed you! Vat iss your name?”
“Hattie Perry.”
“Vat a pooty name! Haddie Berry! I like dot name. Vere you vant to go, Miss Berry? Schust shpeak der vort, und it iss my law.”
“I want to go back to my father’s ranch,” said the girl, her voice trembling.
“Dot’s vere ve vill go, you bed you. Iss it far avay?”
“About three hours’ ride, if we hurry.”
“Den ve vill hurry fasder as dot und make it in an hour and a haluf,” laughed the baron. “Meppyso ve hat pedder ged avay mit ourselufs. Der olt laty insite der house has a bistol, und I don’d vant her to vake oop mit herseluf und see us pefore ve ged a gouple oof miles from here. Aber vait.”
The baron reached into his pocket and pulled out three twenty-dollar gold pieces. Reaching his hand inside the window, he laid the gold pieces on the sill back of the boards.
“Why did you do that?” asked the girl curiously.
“Dot’s somet’ing for der Dinkelmanns,” replied the baron. “I bed you dey don’t got mooch, und I don’d pelieve dey are as pad as vat some beobles mighdt t’ink. Now, den, Miss Berry, off ve go for der ranch vere you lif ven you are ad home.”
They hurried to the place where the animals had been hitched. The baron untied both mounts, he and the girl got into their saddles, and in a few minutes they were moving briskly along the timbered bank of the Brazos.
The baron felt like bursting into song. But he wanted to make a good impression on the girl—and he knew he couldn’t sing.