ow Florian
Hausbaum was carting the seasoned beverage up to Voelkermarkt in two
casks, one of them tremendous, the other of very respectable size.

But while he was dreaming thus, his horses had already turned down
the hill. The cart exerted enormous pressure and took the horses off
their feet; at this moment the Styrian wine-carter started into
wakefulness, and while the wagon was thundering downhill with more and
more terrifying speed, he loosened the drag and threw it under the hind
wheel, and at this abrupt braking the wagon leaped mightily into the
air, like a startled rhinoceros. One of the poles on the side cracked,
and the smaller cask toppled over and fell from the cart with a heavy
bum-bum-bum-bum. Florie had tried to throw his weight against it, but
the cask gave his head a severe slanting blow before dropping full
weight into the road.

A stave had sprung, and the pressure made the deep-red fluid gurgle out
in a flood. The white dust of the road, became ruddy. The young carter
had just enough presence of mind to roll the heavy wine-cask into the
grass, and then increasing faintness reeled about him. But with his
last thought he clung to his wine. As he sank down he pressed his body
against the crack from which the wine was streaming out, the cask
leaned heavily against him and crushed him against the ground--and then
he knew nothing more.

Many voices wakened him. A girl was crying, an old woman was storming,
the inn-keeper called him by name, the heavy scent of new wine hung
about him. A crowd of people stood around, and the cart was gone, and
the cask resting on him the men pulled away, so that the wine at once
leaped forth again. So they turned the damaged spot up. But he still
lay there as formerly in his delight he had gone along the road, with
his jacket torn open to let the air of spring cool his heart. Only his
festive white shirt had become spotted with red from the spilled wine.

The keeper of the Ox Inn at Voelkermarkt, however, nearly fell upon him
and kissed him. He had already been waiting on the hill-top when he saw
the masterless cart, with the one cask, arrive at the bottom of Steil
Valley and stand there; for of themselves the horses would not climb
the hill. Then he had run for aid, and with him everybody that had been
waiting for wine and Florie, and two score people had seen how the
faithful Florian, in spite of unconsciousness and pain, had with his
own body guarded the wine and pre