Day Two
Wednesday, September 13, 1634
Dawn came early this day, or so Dieter thought. He was not an early riser. Getting up before dawn, waking Greta, his wife, and the rest of the household, couldn’t be helped. Greta rose, wrapped herself in a robe, and went down the stairs to the kitchen they shared with the Mitchells. Greta had baked some travel food the previous evening, including several small loaves of apple-nut bread that would keep well on the road. Marjorie, Archie’s wife, was up, too, to help Greta. Dieter could hear Archie faintly snoring in the Mitchell’s apartment.
When Dieter and Archie were assigned to Suhl the previous spring, they shared this house; a former bakery. The previous owners had died and left no heirs. Archie worked a deal for the house. The large common room in front was now Greta’s bakery shop. A short hallway led to the rear, to the kitchen and oven. Archie and Dieter subdivided the rest of the ground floor into several smaller rooms that comprised the Mitchell’s apartment. Off the kitchen were stairs that led to the upper floor and the Isslers’ apartment.
Marjorie gave Dieter a breakfast taco she’d made the previous evening and had warmed in the oven. When the women were finished, Marjorie went back to join Archie. Greta watched Dieter eat while she ate her own taco and nibbled on some crumbs of leftover apple-nut bread.
“You can go back to bed, Greta. Thank you for breakfast and please thank Marjorie, too.”
“Of course I’ll thank Marjorie. You shouldn’t be surprised she got up with us. You know she and Archie think of us as family.”
“I know. I’m still getting used to them and all the up-timers. You think you know them and then they’ll do something completely unexpected.”
Greta chuckled. “Time for you to go.”
“Yeah, I’m meeting Kurt at the stables. If I can hire this tracker, we’ll continue on. Else, I’ll look for another. I may be gone awhile.”
“You’ve a job to do. Do it.”
“Yes, Greta, as always.”
He gave her a peck on her cheek and left by the back door to the small stable behind their house. Dieter, when he’d arrived at Suhl, had taken Archie’s advice and bought two horses; one for him and another for Greta.
Johann Zeitts, a local saddler, made two saddles patterned from the ones owned by Archie and Marjory Mitchell. The Western saddle, as Archie called it, was much more comfortable than down-time saddles.
Inside the stable, Dieter saddled his roan mare, slung his saddlebags across the saddle, and slid his SRG carbine into the scabbard. A short time later, he rode into the mounted constabulary stables where Kurt Moesch was waiting.
“Wie Gehts, Kurt.” The greeting was an up-time German phrase Dieter had picked up from Archie.
“Good, Dieter. I have the spare horse ready and I put the revolver, holster, powder, caps and balls into the pack like you said.”
“Good. Did you find a map?”
“Captain Gruber let me copy his.” Moesch was, amongst his other skills, a talented artist. At one time, he had been apprenticed to a portrait artist. Unfortunately for his mentor, Moesch preferred to be outdoors, to being cooped up inside formulating pigments for his master. Moesch would never be a master portraitist. However, he was much better than amateurs and better than many journeyman artists.
“I hope we won’t need it. But…if we can’t get this tracker to join us, it’ll be just you and me.”
“I’m not that good a tracker, Dieter.”
“You’re better than me. If this tracker recommended by Konrad Heimbrecht won’t go, you better get in practice very quick.”
“Jawohl, Dieter.”
* * *
The trail over the mountain ridge was steep. They emerged from the forest above Suhl into a rocky, grass-covered summit where the soil was thin. A few stunted, twisted, lightning blasted trees graced the grassy landscape but not much else. The trail continued down the other side into the valley below. Rows of green mountains, hills, and ridges, continued into the hazy distance—the Thuringenwald. The two deputies followed the trail down the other side until they were at the edge of the valley forest. When they reached the forest’s edge, the trail continued further down to a small mining hamlet. At that point, a second path led to a small stone- and slate-roofed cot. Smoke rose from its chimney.
Stengel emerged from the cot as the two approached. “Hello,” Dieter called. “Are you Walter Stengel? Konrad Heimbrecht recommended you for a job with us.”
“Who wants to know and what kind of job?” Stengel asked.
“We’re SoTF deputy marshals. I’m Dieter Issler and this is Kurt Moesch. We have a warrant to arrest a fugitive who escaped custody in Meiningen. He was waiting for transport to Suhl for trial. We want you to help us find him.”
The haggling begun. A small woman stepped out from the cot’s interior to stand in its doorway. She watched the men and held a rifle crosswise in her arms. Stengel’s wife, Dieter assumed. She could probably shoot as well as Stengel.
In the end, Stengel agreed to go for the standard daily rate, plus Dieter’s help in getting Stengel a new rifle. He wanted a cartridge rifle like the Sharps or one similar to it. Dieter knew Pat Johnson was working on a breech-loading rifle, one based on the Remington design. He hoped he could convince Pat to let Stengel field test one before Gary Reardan put the rifle into production.
Stengel gathered some trail food, his rifle, a different one than that held by his wife, Dieter noted, and a camp pack. He strapped the pack and food to the back of the horse they had brought for him.
Kurt Moesch retrieved the H&K pistol, holster, powder, ball and a small cap box from his saddlebag and gave them to Stengel. “Just in case,” he said. Stengel nodded, ran his belt through the holster and slid the pistol into it.
“It’s unloaded, I presume?” Stengel asked.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t give you a loaded pistol without telling you. I’ll show you how to load it when we break for camp tonight. You shouldn’t need it before then.”
Stengel laughed. “I have everything I need right here,” he said, lifting his rifle.
Stengel’s confidence was assuring. Dieter felt he could use some during this assignment. “Let’s go. We need to get to Meiningen and pick up Bettin’s trail.”