Instantly he was awake, and, springing from his bed, he rushed frantically to the window, discharged his pistol several times in succession, at the same time calling loudly for help.
His cries alarmed his valet, who slept in a room communicating with that of his master, and who hastened at once to his assistance.

It was too dark to discover anything of the cause of the breaking of the glass, and as no further demonstration occurred, he succeeded in quieting the fears of his master, and restoring him to tranquillity.
As soon as it was daylight, he made an investigation into the cause of this seeming attack, and an examination of the outside of the premises disclosed the fact that the alarm had been occasioned by the falling of the branch of an old tree that stood near to the house, and on which some of the limbs were withered and dead.
This discovery, however, by no means allayed his fears or dissipated his suspicions, but, on the contrary, he became so fixed in the insane idea that he would be assassinated, that his life in the old home became a burden to him, and he longed for a change of scene that would ensure ease for his mind, and safety for his body.
Henry Schulte was at this time an old man--the sixty years of his life had passed away slowly, but eventfully to him, and his whitened hair and wrinkled face betokened that age had left its indelible mark upon the once stalwart form of the Henry Schulte of days gone by.

His head was generally bowed as though in deep thought, whether at home or abroad, and the broad shoulders seemed to have yielded to the weight of trouble which had come upon him in those early days.

He was never seen to smile, and the hard, set lines about the mouth never relaxed, however mirthful was the scene before him, or however pleasurable the association in which he might accidentally find himself placed.

His violin was his only companion during the long evening hours, and almost every night the harmonious strains of the music which he evoked from that instrument could be heard by those who journeyed upon the lonely road which passed in front of his house.
In the early fall of 1877, an incident occurred, which, in the disordered state of his mind, rendered it impossible for him to remain any longer in fancied peace and security.
One morning about daybreak a party of gunners, who were in search of game, were passing the premises occupied by Henry Schulte, when one of their number, a nephew of the old man, being the son of his elder brother, knowing his weakness in regard to being assassinated, and from a spirit of mischief which prompted him, took careful aim and fired directly through the window of the sleeping apartment of his uncle, and then quickly and laughingly passed on.