ice, and heard distinctly the tread of horses and of many human
feet. He listened for a minute or more, but could not discover
whether the sound was coming any nearer. It occurred to him that
in all probability the people, being unarmed, would have no desire
to cope with a large pack of wolves, especially as to them there
could be no object in it. If they saw the barrel, how could they
know that there was anybody under it? He comprehended instantly
that his only chance of life was in joining those people before
they were too far away. And, quickly resolved, he lifted the boy
on his left arm, and grasped the hatchet in his disengaged hand.
Then, with a violent thrust, he flung the barrel from over him, and
ran in the direction of the sound. The wolves, as he had inferred,
were lacerating their bleeding comrades; but the moment they saw
him, a pack of about a dozen immediately started in pursuit. They
leaped up against him on all sides, while he struck furiously about
him with his small weapon. Fortunately, he had sharp steel pegs on
his boots, and kept his footing well; otherwise the combat would
have been a short one. His voice, too, was powerful, and his shouts
rose high above the howling of the beasts. He soon perceived that
he had been observed, and he saw in the bright moonlight six or
eight men running toward him. Just then, as perhaps in his joy his
vigilance was for a fraction of a second relaxed, he felt a pull in
the fleshy part of his right arm. He was not conscious of any sharp
pain, and was astonished to see the blood flowing from an ugly
wound. But he only held his boy the more tightly, while he fought
and ran with the strength of despair.
Now the men were near. He could hear their voices. But his brain
was dizzy, and he saw but dimly.
“Hello, friend; don’t crack my skull for my pains!” someone was
shouting close to his ear, and he let his hatchet fall, and he fell
himself, too, prostrate on the ice.
The wolves, at the sight of the men, had retired to a safe
distance, from which they watched the proceedings, as if uncertain
whether to return.
As soon as Tollef had recovered somewhat from his exhaustion and
his loss of blood, he and his boy were placed upon a sleigh, and
his wound was carefully bandaged. He now learned that his rescuers
were on their way to a funeral, which was to take place on the next
day, but, on account of the distance to the church, they had been
obliged to start during the night. Hence their solemn mood, and
their singing of funeral hymns.
After an hour’s ride they reached the cooper’s cottage, and were
invited to rest and to share such hospitality as the house could
afford. But when they were gone, Tollef clasped his sleeping boy
in his arms and said to his wife: “If it had not been for him, you
might have had no husband to-day. It was his little whip and toy
hatchet that saved our lives.”
Eleven wolves’ paws were found in Thor’s wallet, and, on Christmas
eve, he went to the sheriff with them and received a reward which
nearly burst his old savings-bank, and compelled his mother to buy
a new one.
MAGNIE’S DANGEROUS RIDE
I.
Magnie was consumed with the hunting fever. He had been away to
school since he was ten years old, and had never had the chance
of doing anything remarkable. While his brother, Olaf, who was a
midshipman in the navy, roamed about the world, and had delightful
adventures with Turks and Arabs, and all sorts of outlandish
people, Magnie had to scan Virgil and Horace and torment his soul
with algebraic problems. It was not at all the kind of life he
had sketched out for himself, and if it had not been his father
who had imposed it upon him, he would have broken away from all
restraints and gone to Turkey or China, or some place where
exciting things happened. In the meanwhile, as he lacked money
for such an enterprise, he would content himself with whatever
excitement there was in hunting, and as his brothers, Olaf and
little Edwin (who was fourteen years old), were also at home for
the vacation, there was a prospect of many delightful expeditions
by sea and by land. Moreover, their old friend Grim Hering-Luck,
who was their father’s right-hand man, had promised to be at their
disposal and put them on the track of exciting experiences. They
had got each a gun, and had practised shooting at a target daily
since their return from the city. Magnie, or Magnus Birk, as his
real name was, had once (though Olaf stoutly maintained that it was
mere chance) hit the bull’s-eye at a hundred yards, and he was now
eager to show his skill on something more valuable than a painted
target. It was, therefore, decided that Grim and the boys should go
reindeer-hunting. They were to be accompanied by the professional
hunter, Bjarne Sheepskin.
It was a glorious morning. The rays of the sun shot from the
glacier peaks in long radiant shafts down into the valley. The
calm mirror of the fiord glittered in the light and fairly dazzled
the eye, and the sea-birds drifted in noisy companies about the
jutting crags, plunged headlong into the sea, and scattered the
spray high into the air. The blue smoke rose perpendicularly from
the chimneys of the fishermen’s cottages along the beach, and the
housewives, still drowsy with sleep, came out, rubbed their eyes
and looked toward the sun to judge of the hour. One boat after
another was pushed out upon the water, and the ripples in their
wakes spread in long diverging lines toward either shore. The fish
leaped in the sun, heedless of the gulls which sailed in wide
circles under the sky, keeping a sharp lookout for the movements
of the finny tribe. The three boys could only stand and gaze in
dumb astonishment upon the splendid sights which the combined
heavens, earth, and sea afforded. Their father, who was much
pleased with their determination and enterprise, had readily given
his consent to the reindeer hunt, on condition that Grim should
take command and be responsible for their safety. They were now
mounted upon three sturdy ponies, while their provisions, guns,
and other commodities were packed upon a fourth beast--a shaggy
little monster named Bruno, who looked more like a hornless goat
than a horse. Bjarne Sheepskin, a long, round-shouldered fellow,
with a pair of small, lively eyes, was leading this heavily laden
Bruno by the bridle, and the little caravan, being once set in
motion, climbed the steep slopes toward the mountains with much
persistence and dexterity. The ponies, which had been especially
trained for mountain climbing, planted their hoofs upon the
slippery rocks with a precision which was wonderful to behold,
jumped from stone to stone, slipped, scrambled up and down, but
never fell. As they entered the pine forest, where the huge trunks
grew in long, dark colonnades, letting in here and there stray
patches of sunshine, partridges and ptarmigan often started under
the very noses of the horses, and Magnie clamored loudly for his
gun, and grew quite angry with Bjarne, who would allow “no fooling
with tomtits and chipmunks, when they were in search of big game.”
Even hares were permitted to go unmolested; and it was not until a
fine capercailzie[8] cock tumbled out of the underbrush close to
the path, that Bjarne flung his gun to his cheek and fired. The
capercailzie made a somersault in the air, and the feathers flew
about it as it fell. Bjarne picked it up quietly, tied its legs
together, and hung it on the pommel of Edwin’s saddle. “That will
make a dinner for gentlefolks,” he said, “if the dairy-maids up on
the _saeters_ should happen to have nothing in the larder.”
Gradually, as they mounted higher, the trees became more stunted in
their growth, and the whole character of the vegetation changed.
The low dwarf-birch stretched its long, twisted branches along
the earth, the silvery-white reindeer-moss clothed in patches the
barren ground, and a few shivering alpine plants lifted their
pale, pink flowers out of the general desolation. As they reached
the ridge of the lower mountain range the boys saw before them a
scene the magnificence of which nearly took their breath away.
Before them lay a wide mountain plain, in the bottom of which two
connected lakes lay coldly glittering. Round about, the plain was
settled with rude little log-houses, the so-called _saeters_,
or mountain dairies, where the Norse peasants spend their brief
summers, pasturing their cattle.
They started at a lively trot down the slope toward this highland
plain, intending to reach the Hasselrud _saeter_, where they
expected to spend the night; for it was already several hours past
noon, and there could be no thought of hunting reindeer so late in
the day. Judging by appearances, the boys concluded that fifteen or
twenty minutes would bring them to the _saeter_; but they rode on
for nearly two hours, and always the cottages seemed to recede, and
the distance showed no signs of diminishing. They did not know how
deceptive all distances are in this wondrously clear mountain air,
whose bright transparency is undimmed by the dust and exhalations
of the lower regions of the earth. They would scarcely have
believed that those huge glacier peaks, which seemed to be looming
up above their very heads, were some eight to twelve miles away,
and that the eagle which soared above them was far beyond the range
of their rifles.
It was about five o’clock when they rode in upon the _saeter_
green, where the dairy-maids were alternately blowing their horns
and yodelling. Their long flaxen braids hung down their backs,
and their tight-fitting scarlet bodices and white sleeves gave
them a picturesque appearance. The cattle were lowing against the
sky, answering the call of the horn. The bells of cows, goats, and
sheep were jangled in harmonious confusion; and the noise of the
bellowing bulls, the bleating sheep, and the neighing horses was
heard from all sides over the wide plain.
The three brothers were received with great cordiality by the
maids, and they spent the evening, after the supper was finished,
in listening to marvellous stories about the ogres who inhabited
the mountains, and the hunting adventures with which Bjarne
Sheepskin’s life had been crowded, and which he related with a
sportsman’s usual exaggerations. The beds in one of the _saeter_
cottages were given up to the boys, and they slept peacefully until
about four o’clock in the morning, when Grim aroused them and told
them that everything was ready for their departure. They swallowed
their breakfast hastily, and started in excited silence across the
plateau. Edwin and the horses they left behind in charge of the
dairy-maids, but took with them an old staghound who had some good
blood in him, and a finer scent than his sedate behavior and the
shape of his nose would have led one to suppose.
Light clouds hovered under the sky; the mist lay like a white
sheet over the mountain, and drifted in patches across the plain.
Bjarne and Grim were carrying the guns, while Olaf led the hound,
and Magnus trotted briskly along, stopping every now and then to
examine every unfamiliar object that came in his way. The wind blew
toward them, so that there was no chance that their scent could
betray them, in case there were herds of deer toward the north at
the base of the glaciers. They had not walked very far, when Bjarne
put his hand to his lips and stooped down to examine the ground.
The dog lifted his nose and began to snuff the air, wag his tail,
and whine impatiently.
“Hush, Yutul,” whispered Bjarne; “down! down, and keep still!”
The dog crouched down obediently and held his peace.
“Here is a fresh track,” the hunter went on, pointing to a hardly
perceptible depression in the moss. “There has been a large herd
here--one buck and at least a dozen cows. Look, here is a stalk
that has just been bitten off, and the juice is not dry yet.”
“How long do you think it will be before we shall meet them?” asked
Magnus, breathlessly. The hunting-fever was throbbing in his
veins, and he crawled cautiously among the bowlders with his rifle
cocked.
“Couldn’t tell; may be an hour, may be three. Hand me your
field-glass, Lieutenant, and I will see if I can catch sight of
’em. A gray beast ain’t easily seen agin the gray stone. It was fer
the same reason I wanted ye to wear gray clothes; we don’t want to
give the game any advantage, fer the sentinels be allers on the
lookout fer the herd, and at the least bit of unfamiliar color,
they give their warnin’ snort, and off starts the flock, scudding
away like a drift of mist before the wind.”
Crouching down among the lichen-clad rocks, all listened in eager
expectation.
“Down!” whispered Bjarne, “and cock rifles! A pair of antlers
agin the snow! Hallo! it is as I thought--a big herd. One, two,
three--five--seven--ten--fourteen! One stunnin’ buck, worth his
forty dollars at least. Now follow me slowly. Look out for your
guns! You, Grim, keep the dog muzzled.”
The boys strained their eyes above the edge of the stones, but
could see nothing. Their hearts hammered against their sides, and
the blood throbbed in their temples. As far as their eyes could
reach they saw only the gray waste of bowlders, interrupted here
and there by patches of snow or a white glacier-stream, which
plunged wildly over a precipice, while a hovering moke indicated
its further progress through the plain. Nevertheless, trusting
the experience of their leader, they made no remark, but crept
after him, choosing like him every available stone for cover.
After half an hour of this laborious exercise, Bjarne suddenly
stretched himself flat upon the ground, and the others, though
seeing no occasion for such a manœuvre, promptly followed his
example. But the next moment enlightened them. Looming up against
the white snow, some sixty or a hundred feet from them, they saw
a magnificent pair of antlers, and presently the whole body of a
proud animal was distinctly visible against the glacier. In the
ravine below a dozen or more cows with their calves were nibbling
the moss between the stones, but with great deliberateness, lifting
their heads every minute and snuffing the air suspiciously; they
presently climbed up on the hard snow and began a frolic, the like
of which the boys had never seen before. The great buck raised
himself on his hind-legs, shook his head, and made a leap, kicking
the snow about him with great vehemence. Several of the cows took
this as an invitation for a general jollification, and they began
to frisk about, kicking their heels against the sky and shaking
their heads, not with the wanton grace of their chief, but with
half-pathetic attempts at imitation. This, Magnus thought, was
evidently a reindeer ball; and very sensible they were to have
it early in the morning, when they felt gay and frisky, rather
than in the night, when they ought to be asleep. What troubled
him, however, was that Bjarne did not shoot; he himself did not
venture to send a bullet into the big buck, although it seemed
to him he had an excellent aim. The slightest turn in the wind
would inevitably betray them, and then they would have had all
their toil for nothing. He would have liked to suggest this to
Bjarne; but in order to do this, he would have to overtake him, and
Bjarne was still wriggling himself cautiously forward among the
stones, pushing himself on with his elbows, as a seal does with
his flippers. In his eagerness to impart his counsel to Bjarne,
Magnus began to move more rapidly; raising himself on his knees
he quite inadvertently showed his curly head above a bowlder. The
buck lifted his superb head with a snort, and with incredible speed
the whole herd galloped away; but in the same moment two bullets
whistled after them, and the buck fell flat upon the snow. The
cow which had stood nearest to him reared on her hind-legs, made
a great leap, and plunged headlong down among the stones. With
a wild war-whoop, the boys jumped up, and Magnus, who had come
near ruining the whole sport, seized, in order to make up for
his mishap, a long hunting-knife and rushed forward to give the
buck the _coup-de-grace_,[9] in accordance with the rules of the
chase. Bounding forward with reckless disregard of all obstacles,
he was the first down on the snow. In one instant he was astride
of the animal, and had just raised his knife, when up leaped the
buck and tore away along the edge of the snow like a gust of wind.
The long-range shot, hitting him in the head, had only stunned
him, but had not penetrated the skull. And, what was worse, in
his bewilderment at the unexpected manœuvre, Magnus dropped his
knife, seizing instinctively the horns of the reindeer to keep
from falling. Away they went with a terrific dizzying speed. The
frightened boy clung convulsively to the great antlers; if he
should fall off, his head would be crushed against the bowlders.
The cold glacier-wind whistled in his ears, and stung his face
like a multitude of tiny needles. He had to turn his head in order
to catch his breath; and he strained his eyes to see if anything
was being done by his companions for his rescue. But he could see
nothing except a great expanse of gray and white lines, which ran
into each other and climbed and undulated toward him and sloped
away, but seemed associated with no tangible object. He thought,
for a moment, that he saw Grim Hering-Luck aiming his gun, but
he seemed to be up in the sky, and to be growing huger and huger
until he looked more like a fantastic cloud than a man. The thought
suddenly struck him that he might be fainting, and it sent a thrill
of horror through him. With a vehement effort he mastered his fear
and resolved that, whatever happened, he would not give way to
weakness. If he was to lose his life, he would, at all events, make
a hard fight for it; it was, on the whole, quite a valuable life,
he concluded, and he did not mean to sell it cheaply.
Troubling himself little about the direction his steed was taking,
he shut his eyes, and began to meditate upon his chances of escape;
and after some minutes, he was forced to admit that they seemed
very slim. When the buck should have exhausted his strength, as
in the course of time he must, he would leave his rider somewhere
in this vast trackless wilderness, where the biting wind swept
down from the eternal peaks of ice, where wolves roamed about
in great hungry companies, and where, beside them, the reindeer
and the ptarmigan were the only living things amid the universal
desolation. When he opened his eyes again, Magnus discovered that
the buck had overtaken the fleeing herd, which, however, were
tearing away madly at his approach, being evidently frightened
at the sight and the scent of the unfamiliar rider. The animal
was still galloping on, though with a less dizzying rapidity, and
Magnus could distinguish the general outline of the objects which
seemed to be rushing against him, as if running a race in the
opposite direction. The herd were evidently betaking themselves
into the upper glacier region, where no foot less light and swift
than theirs could find safety among the terrible ravines and
crevasses.
Fully an hour had passed, possibly two, and it seemed vain to
attempt to measure the distance which he had passed over in this
time. At all events, the region did not present one familiar
object, and of Olaf and his companions Magnie saw no trace. The
only question was, what chance had they of finding him, if they
undertook to search for him, as, of course, they would. If he
could only leave some sign or mark by which they might know the
direction he had taken, their search might perhaps be rewarded with
success. He put one hand in his pocket, but could find nothing
that he could spare except a red silk handkerchief. That had the
advantage of being bright, and would be sure to attract attention.
The dog would be likely to detect it or to catch the scent of it.
But he must have something heavy to tie up in the handkerchief,
or it might blow “all over creation.” The only thing he could find
was a silver matchbox which he had obtained by a trade with Olaf,
and which bore the latter’s initials. He carefully emptied it,
and put the matches (which he foresaw might prove useful) in his
vest-pocket; then tied up the box securely and dropped it, with
the handkerchief, upon a conspicuous rock, where its bright color
might appear striking and unnatural. He was just on the ridge of
what proved to be a second and higher mountain plateau, the wild
grandeur of which far transcended that of the first. Before him lay
a large sheet of water of a cool green tint, and so clear that the
bottom was visible as far as the eye could reach. A river had made
its way from the end of this lake and plunged, in a series of short
cataracts, down the slope to the lower plain.
It made Magnus shiver with dread to look at this coldly glittering
surface, and what was his horror when suddenly his reindeer, in his
pursuit of the herd, which were already in the water, rushed in,
and began, with loud snorts, to swim across to the farther shore!
This was an unforeseen stratagem which extinguished his last hope
of rescue; for how could Bjarne track him through the water, and
what means would he find of crossing, in case he should guess that
the herd had played this dangerous trick on him? He began to dread
also that the endurance of the buck would be exhausted before he
reached dry land again, and that they might both perish miserably
in the lake. In this horrible distress nothing occurred to him
except to whisper the Lord’s Prayer; but as his terror increased,
his voice grew louder and louder, until he fairly shouted the
words, “And deliver us from evil,” and the echoes from the vast
solitudes repeated, first clearly and loudly, then with fainter and
fainter accents: “And deliver us from evil--and deliver us from
evil.” His despairing voice rang strangely under the great empty
sky, and rumbled among the glaciers, which flung it back and forth
until it died away in the blue distance. It was as if the vast
silent wilderness, startled at the sound of a human voice, were
wonderingly repeating the strange and solemn words.
A vague sense of security stole over him when he had finished his
prayer. But the chill of the icy water had nearly benumbed his
limbs, and he feared that the loss of heat would conquer his will,
and make him unconscious before the buck should reach the shore. He
felt distinctly his strength ebbing away, and he knew of nothing
that he could do to save himself. Then suddenly a daring thought
flashed through his brain. With slow and cautious movements he drew
his legs out of the water, and, standing for a moment erect on the
buck’s back, he crawled along his neck and climbed up on the great
antlers, steadying himself carefully and clinging with all his
might. His only fear was that the animal would shake him off and
send him headlong into the icy bath from which he was endeavoring
to escape. But, after two futile efforts, during which the boy had
held on only by desperate exertion, the buck would probably have
resigned himself to his fate, if he had not been in imminent danger
of drowning. Magnus was, therefore, much against his will, forced
to dip his limbs into the chilly water, and resume his former
position. It was a strange spectacle, to see all the horned heads
round about sticking out of the water, and Magnus, though he had
always had a thirst for adventures, had never expected to find
himself in such an incredible situation. Fortunately, they were now
approaching the shore, and whatever comfort there was in having
_terra firma_ under his feet would not be wanting to him. The last
minutes were indeed terribly long, and again and again the buck,
overcome with fatigue, dipped his nose under the water, only to
raise it again with a snort, and shake his head as if impatient to
rid himself of his burden. But the boy, with a spark of reviving
hope, clung only the more tenaciously to the antlers, and remained
unmoved.
At last--and it seemed a small eternity since he had left his
brother and companions--Magnus saw the herd scramble up on the
stony beach. The buck he rode was soon among the foremost, and,
having reached the land, shook his great body and snorted violently.
“Now’s my chance,” thought Magnus; “now I can slide off into the
snow before he takes to his heels again.”