On the 29th of July, 1835, Kasper Boeck, a shepherd of the little
village of Hirschwiller, with his large felt hat tipped back, his
wallet of stringy sackcloth hanging at his hip, and his great tawny dog
at his heels, presented himself at about nine o'clock in the evening at
the house of the burgomaster, Petrus Mauerer, who had just finished
supper and was taking a little glass of kirchwasser to facilitate
digestion.

This burgomaster was a tall, thin man, and wore a bushy gray mustache.
He had seen service in the armies of the Archduke Charles. He had a
jovial disposition, and ruled the village, it is said, with his finger
and with the rod.

"Mr. Burgomaster," cried the shepherd in evident excitement.

But Petrus Mauerer, without awaiting the end of his speech, frowned and
said:

"Kasper Boeck, begin by taking off your hat, put your dog out of the
room, and then speak distinctly, intelligibly, without stammering, so
that I may understand you."

Hereupon the burgomaster, standing near the table, tranquilly emptied
his little glass and wiped his great gray mustachios indifferently.

Kasper put his dog out, and came back with his hat off.

"Well!" said Petrus, seeing that he was silent, "what has happened?"

"It happens that the _spirit_ has appeared again in the ruins of
Geierstein!"

"Ha! I doubt it. You've seen it yourself?"

"Very clearly, Mr. Burgomaster."

"Without closing your eyes?"

"Yes, Mr. Burgomaster--my eyes were wide open. There was plenty of
moonlight."

"What form did it have?"

"The form of a small man."

"Good!"

And turning toward a glass door at the left:

"Katel!" cried the burgomaster.

An old serving woman opened the door.

"Sir?"

"I am going out for a walk--on the hillside--sit up for me until ten
o'clock. Here's the key."

"Yes, sir."

Then the old soldier took down his gun from the hook over the door,
examined the priming, and slung it over his shoulder; then he addressed
Kasper Boeck:

"Go and tell the rural guard to meet me in the holly path, and tell him
behind the mill. Your _spirit_ must be some marauder. But if it's a
fox, I'll make a fine hood of it, with long earlaps."

Master Petrus Mauerer and humble Kasper then went out. The weather was
superb, the stars innumerable. While the shepherd went to knock at the
rural guard's door, the burgomaster plunged among the elder bushes, in
a little lane that wound around behind the old church.

Two minutes later