frost which could only be explained as
having been made by one who had lain long on the earth, and the back of
his head, where he had fallen, had left a print in the grass as big as a
man's fist. Here was clear proof that Ann and her companion had, on this
very spot, been beset by three robbers, two of them knights and one of
low degree, that Uhlwurm had fought hard and had overpowered one of them
or had got the worst of it, and had been flung on the grass.

Alas! there could be no doubt, whereas Kubbeling found a foot-print of
Ann's over which the spurred mark lay, plainly showing that she had come
thither before those men. And on the highway we found fresh tracks of
horses and men; thus it was beyond all doubt that knavish rogues had
fallen upon Ann and Uhlwurm, and had carried them off without bloodshed,
for no such trace was to be seen anywhere on the mead.

Meanwhile the forester had followed the scent with the bloodhounds,
starting from the place where the man had lain on the grass, and scarce
were they lost to sight among the brushwood when they loudly gave tongue,
and Grubner cried to us to come to him. Behind a tall alder bush, which
had not yet lost its leaves, was a wooden lean-to on piles, built there
by the Convent fisherman wherein to dry his nets; and beneath this
shelter lay an old man in the garb of a serving-man, who doubtless had
lost his life in the struggle with Uhlwurm. But Kubbeling was soon
kneeling by his side, and whereas he found that his heart still beat, he
presently discovered what ailed the fellow. He was sleeping off a drunken
bout, and more by token the empty jar lay by his side. Likewise hard by
there stood a hand-barrow, full of such wine-jars, and we breathed more
freely, for if the drunken rogue were not himself one of the highway
gang, they must have found him there and seized the good liquor.

Now, while Kubbeling fetched water from the pool, Uncle Christian tried
the quality of the jars in the barrow, and the first he opened was fine
Malvoisie. Whether this were going to the Convent or no the drunken churl
should tell, and a stream of cold November-water ere long brought him to
his wits. Then was there much mirth, as the rogue thus waked on a sudden
from his sleep let the water drip off him in dull astonishment, and
stared at us open-mouthed; and it needed some patience till he was able
to tell us of many matters which we afterwards heard at greater length
and in fuller detail.