his hood,
And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind;
The storm will burst before we are prepared.

KUONI.
'Twill rain ere long; my sheep browse eagerly,
And Watcher there is scraping up the earth.

WERNI.
The fish are leaping, and the water-hen
Dives up and down. A storm is coming on.

KUONI (to his boy).
Look, Seppi, if the cattle are not straying.

SEPPI. There goes brown Liesel, I can hear her bells.

KUONI.
Then all are safe; she ever ranges farthest.

RUODI.
You've a fine yoke of bells there, master herdsman.

WERNI.
And likely cattle, too. Are they your own?

KUONI.
I'm not so rich. They are the noble lord's
Of Attinghaus, and trusted to my care.

RUODI.
How gracefully yon heifer bears her ribbon!

KUONI.
Ay, well she knows she's leader of the herd,
And, take it from her, she'd refuse to feed.

RUODI.
You're joking now. A beast devoid of reason.

WERNI.
That's easy said. But beasts have reason too--
And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois.
They never turn to feed--sagacious creatures!
Till they have placed a sentinel ahead,
Who pricks his ears whenever we approach,
And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe.

RUODI (to the shepherd).
Are you for home?

KUONI.
The Alp is grazed quite bare.

WERNI.
A safe return, my friend!

KUONI.
The same to you?
Men come not always back from tracks like yours.

RUODI.
But who comes here, running at topmost speed?

WERNI.
I know the man; 'tis Baumgart of Alzellen.

CONRAD BAUMGARTEN (rushing in breathless).
For God's sake, ferryman, your boat!

RUODI.
How now?
Why all this haste?

BAUMGARTEN.
Cast off! My life's at stake!
Set me across!

KUONI.
Why, what's the matter, friend?

WERNI.
Who are pursuing you? First tell us that.

BAUMGARTEN (to the fisherman).
Quick, quick, even now they're close upon my heels!
The viceroy's horsemen are in hot pursuit!
I'm a lost man should they lay hands upon me.

RUODI.
Why are the troopers in pursuit of you?

BAUMGARTEN.
First save my life and then I'll tell you all.

WERNI.
There's blood upon your garments--how is this?

BAUMGARTEN.
The imperial seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg.

KUONI.
How! What! The Wolfshot? [3] Is it he pursues you?

BAUMGARTEN.
He'll ne'er hunt man again; I've settled him.

ALL (starting back).
Now, God forgive you, what is this you've done!

BAUMGARTEN.
What every free man in