MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN. 319 



one of them, he was a dead man, and in some places 

 they treated us in the same manner. As I said, 

 both parties expected nothing else : neither com- 

 plained; and if such a poacher got a full charge of 

 swan-shot in his body when one of us caught him 

 carrying off a roebuck or a chamois, he never laid a 

 complaint or said a word about the matter, knowing 

 very well he ought not to have been there, that it 

 was his own fault, and that he deserved the punish- 

 ment. He was aware of what he risked before he 

 went out ; but as he could not gratify his passion 

 without the danger, why, he was content to take the 

 venture as he found it." 



"But what was the story of Bromberger?" asked 

 the younger forester. 



"Why," said I, "the thing happened thus: a 

 friend of mine, young Count D * * *, who was with 

 Bromberger at the time, has often told me the story. 

 They were out together, looking for chamois : while 

 sitting on the mountain and peering around, they 

 suddenly perceived several men below the ridge, a 

 good distance off, and, like themselves, watching for 

 game. Their glasses were out in a moment, and one 

 of the band was recognized as a noted poacher of the 

 name of Hofer. At the sight of him the keeper's 

 blood began to flow quicker, for this fellow was known 

 as the most daring in the whole neighbourhood, and 

 the blood of more than one forester was on his head. 

 Solacher had fired at him once, but missed. Brom- 

 berger waited to see what they would do. After a time 



