Ludmila by Paul Gallico. Part 6.
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It was the next day that Alois decided to take the cattle for the last time up to the highest pasture just below the Sareiser-joch where the green slopes are watered by crystal springs that gush from the rocks.
As the herdsmen and dogs marshaled the beasts for the climb, for the pasture lay a thousand feet above them, his eyes fell upon the Weakling, and he found himself torn between a mixture of annoyance as he remembered the reproof of Father Polda administered the night before, and pity for the animal that was so thin and generally ill-favored. He genuinely loved the animals that had been entrusted to his care, and watched over them.
As he looked, he thought of the long climb and the poor condition of the beast, as well as the plight of farmer Vospelt should the animal die on the heights and have to be sold for what her hide would bring for leather. And, too, there was the celebration and descent to be thought of, now less than a week away. It would be foolish to take chances, for it was a part of the custom that if during the season there was an accident, or one of the animals died, the ceremony of the milking stools, the ribbons, and the gay decorations was dispensed with for that year.
He said to the herdsmen: “Let her be, the little Weakling.
She is not worth taking to the high pasture now. She is out of the running for the prizes, anyway. Let her remain down here where she will be safe.”
And then he called to his youngest daughter, aged seven, who was playing nearby, and who too was named Ludmila after die heilige Notburga: “Ludmila, come here. Look after the little Weakling today and see that she comes to no harm. She is to remain behind. Do not let her stray out of your sight and see that she is back in the stall by sundown.” And with that the dogs were set to work, the herdsmen cried “Heuh!” Beasts and herders set off up the mountain.
Little Ludmila had brown legs and arms, a brown face, and brown hair, but her eyes were as blue as the cornflowers and wild delphinium that grew in the mountain meadows. She went at once and put her arms around the little Weakling’s neck and laid her cheek next its soft, white muzzle, and then taking hold of the end of her halter marched off with her, with the Weakling following on docilely behind, her bell giving off a musical clang with every other step she took.
Some children would have been upset at having their day’s play disturbed by such a peremptory order to take charge of a derelict animal that was not good for much of anything, but Ludmila was pleased, for she had for a long time wished to go into the dark glen at the foot of the Bettlerjoch a short distance away to look for elves which she was sure lived there.
She was afraid to go alone, for there might be other things there as well, such as witches, or little hairy wild men with peaked hats and long noses and ears who hid behind rocks with only the tips of their ears and the points of their hats showing, or even perhaps a small dragon.
But with the little cow along as her companion, her bronze bell tonkling loudly to frighten away any evil spirits, and her warm and comforting presence there and the halter to cling to, Ludmila felt no fear at all, and soon child and beast were lost to sight as they left the little community at Malbun and chose the path toward Gritsch and the deep wild glen at the bottom of the Bettlerjoch.
The sturdy brown legs took the child over a winding Alpine road that soon plunged into a dark pine forest. Shortly they came to a spot where the path split in two and on the right descended sharply into a dark and rocky ravine where fallen trees were tumbled like jackstraws and the boulders lay strewn about as though flung by a giant hand.
This was the mysterious ravine of the Bettlerjoch. Mounting, it grew wilder and more tumultuous until it reached to that mass of granite pillars and monoliths with the curiously human forms which legend said were the Butter Beggars, those wandering friars who came over the pass known as the Nen-zinger Himmel through the Joch to the high pasturage to beg for butter for the cold winter days to come and in return bestowed their blessings on herdsmen and herds and prayed for them, and who one day were overtaken by a terrible storm and their forms frozen there forever.
But descending, the terrain grew less wild; there were little patches of grass and meadow with many herbs and wildflowers that seemed to flourish nowhere else.
For a moment, Ludmila hesitated to enter this unfamiliar territory, but the Weakling’s bell jangled reassuringly, and when the animal also gave forth a soft “Moo,” she hesitated no longer, and taking the halter once more in her chubby fist entered the side of the ravine by the right-hand path and descended to the glen below.
The elves were there in the form of splinters of sunlight flashing from the quartz in the granite, or filtering through the greenery, dappling the leaves of the trees, and the child pursued them deeper and deeper into the ravine until they vanished in the darkness of tumbled rock or cave, or dense pines where the sun no longer penetrated.