The post to be contested was a bridge across the Eisach, which the enemy were resolved to pass, and the Tyrolese were resolved they should not. Father Joachim had prepared a tremendous barrier to their doing so. He had caused enormous larch-trees to be felled, on which were piled huge masses of rock, and heaps of brushwood and stones, the whole being held together by strong cords, and thus suspended over the precipice. At one end of this fearful avalanche he stationed Rudolf, knife in hand, ready to cut the ropes the moment he received instructions from a comrade named Heisel, who commanded a view of the scene of action far below. When the enemy began to enter the pass, they found themselves only opposed by small bodies of Tyrolese, who continued to fall back after desperate but short attacks; and they began to think that though many warnings had been given them of the danger of this pass, they should find its difficulties exaggerated, and clear it without much loss. Suddenly an old man, at least eighty years of age, with hair as white as snow, but with the fire of youth in his dark eyes, levelled his piece from behind an almost inaccessible crag, brought down his man, reloaded his piece, and continued his deadly fire, never wasting a bullet, yet without receiving the least hurt in return. His execution was so fatal, that a couple of Saxons were detached, and privately sent round by a circuitous path to seize him. As soon as they rushed upon him, he shouted "Hurra!" shot the first, seized the second in his arms, and, crying "In God's name!" precipitated himself with him into the abyss below. The combatants looked on for a moment aghast. The next instant, however, the word "Forward" was given in a voice of thunder, and the invaders impetuously advanced, eager to get out of this dreadful place. But there seemed to be fighting, or some other obstacle, in front; the van did not advance, and the body of troops, jammed together between those who came on from behind, and those who did not or could not proceed in front, came to a stand. Everything was so still at this awful moment, that a crow could be heard cawing in the air, high aloft. This dread pause was broken by a clear voice far up above, but immediately over them, crying-- "Heisel! shall I cut yet?" "Not yet," replied another voice, that came wildly through the air. The Saxons, who heard these ill-omened words, were occupying a little basin, about two hundred and fifty paces across, hemmed in by rocks, except where the narrow road crossed a bridge. The day was intensely hot, and they were almost stifling. Suddenly they beheld flames in advance; the covered bridge had been set on fire! "Shall I? Shall I?" cried the eager voice. "Now then!" shouted the other. "In the name of the holy Trinity!" "Forward!" almost shrieked the officer in command; but it was in vain.