“Well, then—­this is all fancy, remember—­I imagine he may look round Assmannshausen to find another company who will at least obey him.”

“What you say sounds very reasonable.  Still, I do not see why he should have left two friends like us without a word.”

“A word, my dear Greusel, would have led to another, and another, and another.  One of the first questions asked him would be ’But what are Ebearhard and I to do?’ That’s exactly what he doesn’t wish to answer.  He desires to know what you will do of your own accord.  He is likely rather hopeless about this mob, but is giving you an opportunity, and then another chance.  Why, his design is clear as that rivulet there, and as easily seen through.  You will either bring those men across the hills, or you won’t.  If you and I are compelled to clamber over to Assmannshausen alone, Roland will probably be more pleased to see us than if we brought this rogues’ contingent straggling at our heels.  He will appoint you chief officer of his new company, and me the second.  If you doubt my conclusions, I’ll wager twenty-five thalers against your thirty that I am in the right.”

“I never gamble, Ebearhard, especially when certain to lose.  You are a shrewder man than I, by a long bowshot.”

In a work of fiction it would of course be concealed till the proper time came that all of these men were completely wrong in their prognostications regarding the fate of Roland, but this being history it may be stated that the young man had not the least desire to test Greusel’s ability, nor would his lieutenants find him awaiting them when they reached Assmannshausen.

“Hello!  Rouse up there!  What have we for breakfast?  Has all the wine been drunk?  I hope not.  My mouth’s like a brick furnace!”

It was the brave Kurzbold who spoke, as he playfully kicked, not too gently, those of his comrades who lay nearest him.  He was answered by groans and imprecations, as one by one the sleeping beauties aroused themselves, and wondered where the deuce they were.

“Who has stolen the river?” cried Gensbein.

“Oh, stealing the river doesn’t matter,” said a third.  “It’s only running water.  Who drank all the wine?  That’s a more serious question.”

“Well, whoever’s taken away the river, I can swear without searching my pouch has made no theft from me, for I spent my last stiver yesterday.”

“Don’t boast,” growled Kurzbold.  “You’re not alone in your poverty.  We’re all in the same case.  Curse that fool of a Roland for throwing away good money just when it’s most needed.”

“Good money is always most needed,” exclaimed the philosophic Gensbein.

He rose and shook himself, then looked down at the beautiful but unimportant rivulet.

“I say, lads, were we as drunk as all that last night?  Was there an impassable torrent here or not?”

“How could we be drunk, you fool, on little more than a liter of wine each,” cried Kurzbold.