The agitation began to decrease. As the sky became grayer the people recognized each other. "Ah, it is Cousin Daniel of Soldatenthal. You have come too?" "Yes, as you see, Heinrich, with my wife also." "What, Cousin Nanette! Where is she?" "Down there, near the old oak, by Uncle Hans' fire." They shook hands. Many could be heard yawning loudly: others threw on the fire bits of planks. The gourds went round; some retired from the circles to make room for their shivering neighbors. Meanwhile the crowd began to grow impatient. "Ah," cried some, "we did not come here only to get our feet warmed. It is time to see and come to an understanding." "Yes, yes! Let them hold a council, and name the chiefs." "No; everybody is not yet arrived. See, there are more coming from Dagsburg and St. Quirin." Indeed, the lighter it became, the more people could be seen hastening along all the mountain paths. At that time there must have been many hundreds of men in the valley--wood-cutters, charcoal-burners, raftsmen--without counting the women and children. Nothing could be more picturesque than that gathering in the midst of the snows, in the depths of the defile, closed in as it was by tall pines losing themselves in the clouds. To the right, the valleys opening away into each other as far as the eye could reach; to the left, the ruins of the Falkenstein rising into the sky. From a distance one would have said it was a flock of cranes settled on the ice; but, nearer, these hardy men could be distinguished, with stiff beards bristling like a boar, gloomy fierce eyes, broad square shoulders, and horny hands. Some few, taller than the rest, belonged to the fiery race of red men, white-skinned, and hairy to the tips of their fingers, with strength enough to pull an oak up by the roots. Among this number was old Materne of Hengst, with his two sons Kasper and Frantz. These sturdy fellows--all three armed with little rifles from Innsprück--having blue cloth gaiters with leathern buttons reaching above their knees, their loins girdled with goat-skin, and their felt hats coming down low over their necks--did not deign to approach the fire. For an hour they had been sitting on a trunk by the river-side, on the watch, with their feet in the snow. From time to time the old man would say to his sons, "What do they shiver for over there? I never knew a milder night for the season: it is nothing--the rivers are not even touched." All the forest-hunters of the country passing by came to shake hands with them, then congregated round them and formed a circle apart. These fellows spoke little, being used to silence for whole days and nights, for fear of frightening away their game.