Quite natural, he thought, that the fellow should be muttering in
German. It was only the halting, rusty fashion of the speech that
finally fretted him into listening. The words did not concern him.
"Are you dead, then?" grumbled the coolie. "Did she kill you?"
Rudolph dismissed him with a vague but angry motion.
Some time afterward the same voice came louder. The coolie was still
there.
"You cannot sit here all night," he said. "By daylight they will catch
you. Come. Perhaps I can take you to your friends. Come."
Rudolph felt sharp knuckles working at his lips, and before he could
rebel, found his mouth full of sweet fiery liquid. He choked, swallowed,
and presently heard the empty bottle splash in the river.
"_Stoesst an_!" said the rescuer, and chuckled something in dispraise of
women. "Is that not better?"
The rice-brandy was hot and potent; for of a sudden Rudolph found
himself afoot and awake. A dizzy warmth cleared his spirit. He
understood perfectly. This man, for some strange reason, was Wutzler, a
coolie and yet a brother from the fatherland. He and his nauseous alien
brandy had restored the future.
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