Obviously the personality of a killer also had of necessity the thread of fierce courage required to face the inevitable. This was no new discovery for Faro. In a lifetime of dealing with hardened criminals, he'd often found that no man is totally evil. The human soul bears its redemption clause.
He walked back into the hut, a haven in comparison with the hostile landscape outside. The porter, still swathed as he had slept, was already relighting the fire, grumbling to himself as he did so.
The boys had awakened and announced that they were very hungry. As they went outside to relieve themselves, George said cheerily, 'Come along, Anton, remember the rules in Glenatholl. We would have been ordered in the absence of water to use the snow to wash our face and hands.’
They did not linger over their ablutions and returned indoors shivering as Faro opened the picnic hamper. He had not expected it to have to last another day and was glad to see that the contents had been generous and there was still bread and cheese remaining from the night before.
Strangely, perhaps because of his hidden fears, he wasn't hungry and settled for coffee, which the old porter brewed up on his spirit stove.
'Where is Dieter?' asked George anxiously. 'We must save something for him. Shouldn't he be back by now, sir?'
Faro tried to sound casual and reassuring. 'I expect he decided it was safer to stay near the telegraph office until daylight.'
'You mean because of the wolves?' asked George quietly.
Faro looked at him.
'We saw their footprints outside, a whole pack, by the look of them.' He sounded scared and Faro realised that he had underestimated the boys' imaginations. Dogs, indeed!
‘I imagine Dieter thought it was too dangerous to walk back in the dark. Perhaps he had to wait until the telegraph office reopened this morning to send his message. I expect he'll arrive any minute now with the train. Just think, this time tomorrow you will both be waking up in your own beds,' he added with a confidence he was far from feeling.
He smiled at Anton, silent, asking no questions, curiously withdrawn from their anxiety about Dieter. And watchful. Watchful was an odd word to use for the boy's complete lack of emotion, which had concerned Faro in the earlier part of the journey and now worried him more than ever. After all, Dieter was his bodyguard, which suggested that his standing in Luxoria must warrant such an appointment.
As for George, he regarded Faro with an expression of faint disbelief. And no wonder. The boy could count and the train that should have been with them last night was now ten hours late.
As for himself, he was feeling the full force of the predicament of being in a foreign country in an area where his basic knowledge of German, which he had been at pains to keep concealed, was utterly useless, far too basic to deal with any emergencies.
He looked despairingly at these two boys - fourteen and twelve and he was entirely responsible for seeing them safely to Luxoria. Not in his wildest dreams had such an idea presented itself.
As they both finished eating and rushed out to play in the snow, he watched from the window, afraid to let them out of his sight for a moment. The porter smoked a fierce pipe and totally ignored these unwelcome sharers of his hut's hospitality.
Another hour ticked by and still Dieter did not appear, nor did any trains. Occasionally the distant noise of an engine had them alert and listening, rushing to the door, only to watch with considerable frustration the passage of an express train thundering down the main line.
Faro had come to a decision. If by the end of the day neither the Luxorian train nor Dieter had put in an appearance then he would have to try to find some way to get himself and the boys to Stuttgart. He hoped for some inspiration, that some bright idea would come to him of how one stops an express train without endangering the safety of the passengers or getting killed in the process.
Then suddenly he heard it. A sound from far off, but not in the direction of the express trains. This one was coming from over the hill.
A train's engine?
He listened, and saw the boys look up from the wooden board they had turned into a sledge and were using on a snowy mound.
'The train - the train - at last.'
'No.' Not a train. Rifle shots.
The porter appeared at the door, shouted something incomprehensible to Faro and waved urgently to the two boys. Whatever he said, they needed no second bidding and raced through the snow to the hut. The porter pulled them quickly inside and closed the door. He was trembling.
George turned to Faro. 'He says it is not the train. It is the brigands.'
Brigands. Dear God!
If confirmation was needed the rifle shots were nearer now, mingled with the sound of horses, and blood-curdling yells and shouts which made the wolves' howling during the night suddenly an attractive alternative.
The porter was speaking to George again.
'Translate?' Faro demanded.
'He says they are like buzzards watching for carrion. They will have been watching us and know how few we are. They must have seen us leaving the train yesterday, seen our luggage - guessed there would be rich pickings.'
Faro wanted to ask why they had waited so long. Why didn't they attack during the night? George continued to translate the porter's terror into English.
'When the Luxorian train didn't arrive, they must have guessed we were stranded.'
Faro glared at the porter and put a finger to his lips indicating that he had said enough. He didn't want the boys to be any more terrified.
George looked scared. 'What will happen to us?' he asked Faro.
'We two will be all right,' Anton put in quickly. 'No harm will come
