The two boys and their little sister were having great fun up here. So

many queer things were concealed under the tufts of grass. Store-Hans

came running, and brought a handful of little flat, reddish chips of

stone that looked as though they had been carved out of the solid rock;

they were pointed at one end and broadened out evenly on both sides,

like the head of a spear. The edges were quite sharp; in the broad end

a deep groove had been filed. Ole brought more of them, and gave a

couple to his little sister to play with.... The mother sat for a while

with the stones in her lap, where the children had placed them; at last

she took them up, one by one, and examined them closely.... These must

have been formed by human hands, she thought.

Suddenly Ole made another rare discovery. He brought her a larger

stone, that looked like a sledge hammer; in this the groove was deep

and broad.

The mother got up hastily.

“Where are you finding these things?”

The boys at once took her to the place; in a moment she, too, was

standing beside the little hollow at the brow of the hill, which the

men had discovered the night before; the queer stones that the children

had been bringing her lay scattered all around.

“Ola says that the Indians made them!” cried Store-Hans, excitedly. “Is

it true, mother?... Do you suppose they’ll ever come back?”

“Yes, maybe—if we stay here long enough....” She remained standing

awhile beside the hollow; the same thought possessed her that had

seized hold of her husband when he had first found the spot—here a

human being lay buried. Strangely enough, it did not frighten her; it

only showed her more plainly, in a stronger, harsher light, how

unspeakably lonesome this place was.

The evening dusk had now almost deepened into night. It seemed to

gather all its strength around her, to close in on every side, to have

its centre in the spot where she stood. The wagons had become only

a dim speck in the darkness, far, far away; the tent at Hans Olsa’s

looked like a tuft of grass that had whitened at the top; Tönseten’s

sod house she was unable to make out at all.... She could not bring

herself to call aloud to the boys; instead, she walked around the

hollow, spoke to them softly, and said that it was time to go home....

No, no, they mustn’t take the stones with them to-night! But to-morrow

they might come up here again to play.

... Beret could not go to sleep for a long time that night. At last she

grew thoroughly angry with herself; her nerves were taut as bowstrings;

her head kept rising up from the pillow to listen—but there was nothing

to hear ... nothing except the night wind, which now had begun to stir.

... It stirred with so many unknown things!...

V

Per Hansa came home late the following afternoon; he had so many words

of praise for what she and the boys had accomplished while he had

been gone, that he fairly bewildered her. Now it had taken possession

of him again—that indomitable, conquering mood which seemed to give

him the right of way wherever he went, whatever he did. Outwardly, at

such times, he showed only a buoyant recklessness, as if wrapped in

a cloak of gay, wanton levity; but down beneath all this lay a stern

determination of purpose, a driving force, so strong that she shrank

back from the least contact with it.

To-day he was talking in a steady stream.

“Here is the deed to our kingdom, Beret-girl! See to it that you take

good care of the papers.... Isn’t it stranger than a fairy tale, that

a man can have such things here, just for the taking?... Yes—and

years after he won the princess, too!” He cocked his head on one side.

“I’ll tell you what, it seems so impossible and unheard of, that I

can’t quite swallow it all yet.... What do you say, my Beret-girl?”

Beret stood smiling at him, with tears in her eyes, beside the

improvised house that she had made; there was little for her to say.

And what would be the use of speaking now? He was so completely wrapped

up in his own plans that he would not listen nor understand. It would

be wrong, too, to trouble him with her fears and misgivings.... When

he felt like this he was so tender to her, so cheerful, so loving and

kind.... How well she knew Per Hansa!...

“What are you thinking about it all, my Beret-girl?” He flung his arm

around her, whirled her off her feet, and drew her toward him.

“Oh, Per, it’s only this—I’m so afraid out here!” She snuggled up

against him, as if trying to hide herself. “It’s all so big and open

... so empty.... Oh, Per! Not another human being from here to the end

of the world!”

Per Hansa laughed loud and long, so that she winced under the force

and meaning of it. “There’ll soon be more people, girl ... never you

fear.... By God! there’ll soon be more people here!”

But suddenly another idea took hold of him. He led her over to the

large chest, made her sit down, and stood in front of her with a

swaggering air:

“Now let me tell you what came into my mind yesterday, after I had got

the papers. I went right out and bought ten sacks of potatoes! I felt

so good, Beret—and you know how we men from Nordland like potatoes!” he

added with a laugh. “This is the point of it: we’re not going to start

right in with building a house. The others are just foolish to do it.”

His voice grew low and eager. “They’re beginning at the wrong end, you

see. For my part, I’m going over to Hans Olsa’s this very night and

borrow his plow—and to-morrow morning I shall start breaking my ground!

Yes, sir! I tell you those potatoes have got to go into the ground

at once. Do you hear me, Beret-girl? If the soil out here is half as

good as it’s cracked up to be, we’ll have a fine crop the very first

fall!... Then I can build later in the summer, you know, when I am

able to take my time about it.... Just wait, my girl, just wait. It’s

going to be wonderful; you’ll see how wonderful I can make it for you,

this kingdom of ours!” He laughed until his eyes were drawn out in two

narrow slits. “And no old worn-out, thin-shanked, pot-bellied king is

going to come around and tell me what I have to do about it, either!”

He explained to her at great length how he intended to arrange

everything and how success would crown his efforts, she sitting there

silently on the chest, he standing in front of her, waving his arms;

while about them descended the grandeur of the evening. But with all

his strength and enthusiasm, and with all her love, he didn’t succeed

in winning her heart over altogether—no, not altogether. She had heard

with her own ears how no bird sang out here; she had seen with her own

eyes how, day after day as they journeyed, they had left the abodes of

men farther and farther behind. Wasn’t she sitting here now, gazing off

into an endless blue-green solitude that had neither heart nor soul?...

“Do you know,” she said, quietly, as she got up once more and leaned

close against him, “I believe there is a grave over there on the hill?”

“Why, Beret! Did you find it? Have you been going around brooding over

that, too?... Don’t worry, girl. He’ll bring us nothing but good luck,

the fellow who lies up there.”

“Perhaps.... But it seems so strange that some one lies buried in

unconsecrated ground right at our very door. How quiet it must be

there!... The children found so many things to play with, while we were

up on the hill last night, that I let them go again to-night. Come, we

had better begin to look for them.... It is beautiful up there.” She

sighed, and moved away.

They climbed the hill together, holding each other’s hands. There was

something in that sad resignation of hers which he was powerless

against. As he walked beside her and held her hand, he felt as if he

could laugh and cry in the same breath.... She was so dear, so dear to

him. Why could he never make her understand it fully? It was a strange,

baffling thing! But perhaps the reason for it lay in this: she was not

built to wrestle with fortune—she was too fine-grained.... Oh, well—he

knew one person, at any rate, who stood ready to do the fighting for

her!

* * * * *

Per Hansa had so much to think about that night that a long time passed

before he could get to sleep. Now was a good chance to make his plans,

while Beret lay at his side, sleeping safe and sound; he must utilize

every moment now; he didn’t feel very tired, either.

There seemed to be no end to the things he needed. But thirty dollars

was all the money he had in the world; and when he thought of what

would have to be bought in the near future, and of everything that

waited to be done, the list grew as long as the distance they had

travelled.... First of all, house and barn; that would need doors and

windows. Then food and tobacco; shoes and clothing; and implements—yes,

farming implements! If he only had horses and the necessary implements,

the whole quarter-section would soon blossom like a garden.... The

horses he would have to do without, to begin with. But he ought to

get at least one more cow before fall came—no dodging that fact....

And pigs—he absolutely had to have some pigs for winter!... If the

potatoes turned out well, there would be plenty to feed them on....

Then he would buy some chickens, as soon as he could run across any

folks who had chickens to sell. Things like that would only be pleasant

diversions for Beret.... There certainly seemed to be no end to all

that he needed.

... But now came the main hitch in his calculations: Beret was going

to have a baby again.... Only a blessing, of course—but what a lot of

their time it would take up, just now!... Oh, well, she would have to

bear the brunt of it herself, as the woman usually did. A remarkably

brave and clever wife, that she was ... a woman of tender kindness,

of deep, fine fancies—one whom you could not treat like an ordinary

clod.

... How hard he would strive to make life pleasant for her out here!

Her image dominated all the visions which now seemed to come to him

of their own accord.... The Whole farm lay there before him, broken

and under cultivation, yielding its fruitful harvests; there ran many

horses and cows, both young and grown. And over on the location where

to-day he was about to build the sod hut should stand a large dwelling

... a _white_ house, it would be! Then it would gleam so beautifully in

the sun, white all over—but the cornices should be bright green!...

When, long ago, Per Hansa had had his first vision of the house, it had

been painted white, with green cornices; and these colours had belonged

to it in his mind ever since. But the stable, the barn, and all the

rest of the outhouses should be painted red, with white cornices—for

that gave such a fine effect!... Oh yes, that Beret-girl of his should

certainly have a royal mansion for herself and her little princess!...

VI

As Per Hansa lay there dreaming of the future it seemed to him that

hidden springs of energy, hitherto unsuspected even by himself, were

welling up in his heart. He felt as if his strength were inexhaustible.

And so he commenced his labours with a fourteen-hour day; but soon,

as the plans grew clearer, he began to realize how little could be

accomplished in that short span of time, with so much work always ahead

of him; he accordingly lengthened the day to sixteen hours, and threw

in another hour for good measure; at last he found himself wondering

if a man couldn’t get along with only five hours of rest, in this fine

summer weather.

His waking dreams passed unconsciously into those of sleep; all that

night a pleasant buoyancy seemed to be lifting him up and carrying

him along; at dawn, when he opened his eyelids, morning was there

to greet him—the morning of a glorious new day.... He saw that it

was already broad daylight; with a guilty start, he came wide awake.

Heavens! he might have overslept himself—on _this_ morning!... He

jumped into his clothes, and found some cold porridge to quiet his

hunger for the time being; then he hurried out, put the yoke on the

oxen, and went across to Hans Olsa’s to fetch the plow.... Over there

no life was stirring yet. Well, maybe they could afford to sleep late

in the morning; but he had arrived five days behind the others, and

had just been delayed for two days more; they had a big start over him

already. His heart sang as he thought how he would have to hurry!... He

led the oxen carefully, trying to make as little noise around the tent

as possible.

Dragging the plow, he drove out for some distance toward the hillock,

then stopped and looked around. This was as good a place as anywhere

to start breaking.... He straightened up the plow, planted the share

firmly in the ground, and spoke to the oxen: “Come now, move along, you

lazy rascals!” He had meant to speak gruffly, but the thrill of joy

that surged over him as he sank the plow in his own land for the first

time, threw such an unexpected tone of gentleness into his voice that

the oxen paid no attention to it; he found that he would have to resort

to more powerful encouragement; but even with the goad it was hard to

make them bend to the yoke so early in the morning. After a little,

however, they began to stretch their muscles. Then they were off; the

plow moved ... sank deeper ... the first furrow was breaking....

It would have gone much easier now if Ole had only been there to drive

the oxen, so that he could have given his whole attention to the plow.

But never mind that!... The boy ought to sleep for at least another

hour; the day would be plenty long enough for him, before it was

through.... Young bulls have tender sinews—though for one of his age,

Ole was an exceptionally able youngster.

That first furrow turned out very crooked for Per Hansa; he made

a long one of it, too. When he thought he had gone far enough and

halted the oxen, the furrow came winding up behind him like a snake.

He turned around, drove the oxen back in the opposite direction, and

laid another furrow up against the one he had already struck.... At the

starting point again, he surveyed his work ruefully. Well, the second

furrow wasn’t any _crookeder_ than the first, at all events!... When he

had made another round he let the oxen stand awhile; taking the spade

which he had brought out, he began to cut the sod on one side of the

breaking into strips that could be handled. This was to be his building

material.... Field for planting on the one hand, sods for a house on

the other—that was the way to plow!... Leave it to Per Hansa—he was the

fellow to have everything figured out beforehand!

By breakfast time he had made a fine start. No sooner had he swallowed

the last morsel than he ordered both the boys to turn to, hitched the

oxen to the old homemade wagon, and off they all went together toward

the field, Per Hansa leading the way.... “You’d better cook the kettles

full to-day!” he shouted back, as they were leaving. “We’re going to

punish a lot of food when we come in!”

Now Per Hansa began working in real earnest. He and Store-Hans, with

plow and oxen, broke up the land; Ole used the hoe, but the poor fellow

was having a hard time of it. The sod, which had been slumbering

there undisturbed for countless ages, was tough of fibre and would

not give up its hold on the earth without a struggle. It almost had

to be turned by main strength, piece by piece; it was a dark brownish

colour on the under side—a rich, black mould that gave promise of

wonderful fertility; it actually gleamed and glistened under the rays

of the morning sun, where the plow had carved and polished its upturned

face.... Ole toiled on, settling and straightening the furrows as best

he could, now and then cutting out the clods that fell unevenly. When

Per Hansa had made a couple of rounds, he let the oxen stand awhile to

catch their breath, and came over to Ole to instruct him. “This

is the way to do it!” he said, seizing the hoe. “Watch me, now—_like

this_!” He hewed away till the clods were flying around him.... When

they quit work at noon a good many furrows lay stretched out on the

slope, smiling up at the sun; they were also able to bring home with

them a full wagonload of building material; at coffee time they brought

another; at supper another. But when, arriving home at the end of the

day, they found that supper was not quite ready, Per Hansa felt that

he must go after still another load; they had better make use of every

minute of time!

VII

He began building the house that same evening.

“You ought to rest, Per Hansa!” Beret pleaded. “Please use a little

common sense!”

“Rest—of course! That’s just what I propose to do!... Come along,

now, all hands of you; you can’t imagine what fun this is going to

be.... Just think of it—a new house on our own estate! I don’t mean

that you’ve got to work, you know; but come along and watch the royal

mansion rise!”

They all joined in, nevertheless ... couldn’t have kept their hands

off. It gave them such keen enjoyment that they worked away until

they could no longer see to place the strips of sod. Then Per Hansa

called a halt—that was enough for one day. They had laboured hard and

faithfully; well, they would get their wages in due time, every last

one of them—but he couldn’t bother with such trifles just now!

... That night sleep overpowered him at once; he was too tired even to

dream.

From now on Per Hansa worked on the house every morning before

breakfast, and every evening as soon as he had finished supper. The

whole family joined in the task when they had nothing else to do; it

seemed like a fascinating game.

To the eyes of Tönseten and Hans Olsa, it appeared as if nothing

short of witchcraft must be at work on Per Hansa’s quarter section; in

spite of the fact that he and his entire family were breaking ground

in the fields the whole day long, a great sod house shot up beside the

wagon, like an enormous mushroom.

Per Hansa plowed and harrowed, delved and dug; he built away at the

house, and he planted the potatoes; he had such a zest for everything

and thought it all such fun that he could hardly bear to waste a moment

in stupid sleep. It was Beret who finally put a check on him. One

morning, as he threw off the blanket at dawn, on the point of jumping

up in his reckless way, she lay there awake, waiting for him. The

moment he stirred, she put her arms lovingly around him and told him

that he must stay in bed awhile longer. This would never do, she said;

he ought to remember that he was only a human being.... She begged him

so gently and soothingly that he gave in at last and stayed in bed with

her. But he was ill at ease over the loss of time. It wouldn’t take

long to lay a round of sod, and every round helped.... This Beret-girl

of his meant well enough, but she didn’t realize the multitude of

things that weighed on his mind—things that couldn’t wait, that had to

be attended to immediately!

... Yes, she was an exceptional woman, this Beret of his; he didn’t

believe that her like existed anywhere else under the sun. During the

last two days she had hurried through her housework, and then, taking

And-Ongen by the hand, had come out in the field with them; she had

let the child roam around and play in the grass while she herself had

joined in their labour; she had pitched in beside them and taken her

full term like any man. It had all been done to make things easier for

him ... and now she was lying awake here, just to look after him!

... He thought of other things that she had done. When they had

harrowed and hoed sufficient seed ground, Beret had looked over her

bundles and produced all kinds of seeds—he couldn’t imagine how or

where she had got them—turnips, and carrots, and onions, and tomatoes,

and melons, even!... What a wife she was!... Well, he had better stay

in bed and please her this time, when she had been so clever and

thoughtful about everything.

However it was accomplished, on Per Hansa’s estate they had a field

all broken and harrowed and seeded down, and a large house ready for

thatching, by the time that Hans Olsa and the Solum boys had barely

finished thatching their houses and started the plowing. Tönseten,

though, was ahead of him with the breaking—Per Hansa had to accept

that—and was now busy planting his potatoes. But Syvert had every

reason to be in the lead; his house had been all ready to move into

when they had arrived. That little stable which he had built wasn’t

more than a decent day’s work for an able man. And he had horses,

too.... Of course, such things gave him a big advantage!

They finished planting the big field at Per Hansa’s late one afternoon;

all the potatoes that he had brought home from Sioux Falls had been

cut in small pieces and tucked away in the ground.... “Only one eye to

each piece!” he had warned Beret as she sat beside him, cutting them

up. “That’s enough for such rich soil.” ... The other seed, which she

had provided with such splendid forethought, had also been planted. The

field looked larger than it really was. It stood out clearly against

the fresh verdure of the hillside; from a little distance it appeared

as if some one had sewn a dark brown patch on a huge green cloth....

That patch looked mighty good to Per Hansa as he stood surveying the

scene, his whole being filled with the sense of completed effort. Here

he had barely arrived in a new country; yet already he had got more

seed into the ground than on any previous year since Beret and he had

started out for themselves.... Just wait! What couldn’t he do another

year!

“Well, Beret-girl,” he said, “we’ve cleaned up a busy spring season,

all right! To-night we ought to have an extra-fine dish of porridge, to

bless what has been put into the ground.” He stood there with sparkling

eyes, admiring his wonderful field.

Beret was tired out with the labour she had undergone; her back

ached as if it would break. She, too, was looking at the field, but the

joy he felt found no response in her.

... I’m glad that he is happy, she thought, sadly. Perhaps in time I

will learn to like it, too.... But she did not utter the thought; she

merely took the child by the hand, turned away, and went back to their

wagon-home. There she measured out half of the milk that Rosie had

given that morning, dipped some grits from the bag and prepared the

porridge, adding water until it was thin enough. Before she served it

up she put a small dab of butter in each dish, like a tiny eye that

would hardly keep open; then she sprinkled over the porridge a small

portion of sugar; this was all the luxury she could afford. Indeed, her

heart began to reproach her even for this extravagance. But when she

saw the joyful faces of the boys, and heard Per Hansa’s exclamations

over her merits as a housekeeper, she brightened up a little, cast

her fears to the wind, and sprinkled on more sugar from the bag....

Then she sat down among them, smiling and happy; she was glad that she

hadn’t told them how her back was aching....

... They all worked at the house building that night as long as they

could see.

VIII

Per Hansa’s house certainly looked as if it were intended for a royal

mansion. When Tönseten saw it close at hand for the first time he

exclaimed:

“Will you please inform me, Per Hansa, what the devil you think you’re

building? Is it just a house, or is it a church and parsonage rolled in

one?... Have you lost your senses altogether, man? You won’t be able to

get a roof over this crazy thing in a month of Sundays!... Why, damn it

all, there aren’t willows enough in this whole region to thatch a half

of it! You might just as well tear it down again, for all the good it

will do.”

“The hell you say!” cried Per Hansa, genially. “But there it stands, as

big as Billy-be-damned, so what are you going to do about it?...

The notion I had was this: I might as well build for my sons, too,

while I was about it. Then when they got married and needed more room

they could thatch a new section any time.... What ails you, Syvert?

Isn’t there plenty of sod for roofing, all the way from here to the

Pacific coast?”

But Tönseten took a serious view of the affair:

“I tell you, Per Hansa, there’s no sense in such a performance. It

isn’t the sod, it’s the poles—you know it damned well!... You’d better

go right ahead and tear it down as fast as ever you can!”

“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to, then,” said Per Hansa, dryly.

As a matter of fact, it was hardly to be wondered at that Tönseten grew

excited when he saw this structure; it differed radically from the one

he had built and from all the others that he had ever seen. He wondered

if such a silly house as this could be found anywhere else in the whole

country.... His own hut measured fourteen by sixteen feet; the one that

the Solum boys were building was only fourteen feet each way; Hans Olsa

had been reckless and had laid his out eighteen feet long and sixteen

feet wide.... But look at this house of Per Hansa’s—_twenty-eight_ feet

long and _eighteen_ feet wide! Moreover, it had _two_ rooms, one of

them eighteen by eighteen, the other eighteen by ten. The rooms were

separated by a wall; one had a door opening toward the south, the other

a door opening toward the east. Two doors in a sod hut! My God! what

folly! In the smaller room the sod even had been taken up, so that the

floor level there was a foot below that of the larger room. What was

the sense of that?... If we don’t look out, thought Tönseten, this

crazy man will start building a tower on it, too!

Things surely looked serious to Tönseten. In the first place, Per Hansa

plainly was getting big-headed; heavens and earth, it was nothing

but an ordinary sod hut that he was building! In the second place,

it wasn’t a practical scheme. If he were to search till doomsday, he

wouldn’t be able to find enough willows for the thatching. Why, he

might just as well thatch the whole firmament, and be done with it!...

As soon as he had looked his fill, Tönseten trotted right over to Hans

Olsa’s, told him all about it, and asked him to go and reason with the

man.... But, no, Hans Olsa didn’t care to meddle in that affair. Per

Hansa had a considerable family already; it might grow in the next

few years; at any rate, he needed a fairly large house. Above all, he

wasn’t the man to bite off more than he could chew.

“But that’s just it—he doesn’t know what he’s bitten off! He doesn’t

know anything at all about building a house!” With these drastic

words, Tönseten went directly to the Solum boys; they had been born

and brought up in America, and knew what was what. Now they must go,

right away, and talk to Per Hansa about this crazy building that he was

putting up! The only way out of it that he could think of was for them

and himself—and maybe Hans Olsa—to go in a body and show him what to

do, and help him to build a house then and there. The thing that he had

put up was frankly impossible; the poor man would ruin himself before

he got a decent start!...

To his great disappointment, the Solum boys wouldn’t go, either. It was

Per Hansa’s own business, they said, what sort of a house he wanted to

build for himself. So Tönseten had to give it up as a bad job. He shook

his head solemnly.... A damned shame, that a perfectly good man had to

go to ruin through sheer folly!

Per Hansa had put a great deal of thought into this matter of building

a house; ever since he had first seen a sod hut he had pondered

the problem. On the day that he was coming home from Sioux Falls a

brilliant idea had struck him—an idea which had seemed perhaps a little

queer, but which had grown more attractive the longer he turned it over

in his mind. How would it do to build house and barn under one roof? It

was to be only a temporary shelter, anyway—just a sort of makeshift,

until he could begin on his real mansion. This plan would save time and

labour, and both the house and the barn would be warmer for being

together.... He had a vague recollection of having heard how people

in the olden days used to build their houses in that way—rich people,

even! It might not be fashionable any longer; but it was far from

foolish, just the same.

It will go hard with Beret, he thought; she won’t like it. But after a

while he picked up courage to mention his plan to her.

... House and barn under the same roof?... She said no more, but fell

into deep and troubled thought.... Man and beast in one building? How

could one live that way?... At first it seemed utterly impossible to

her; but then she thought of how desolate and lonesome everything

was here and of what a comfortable companion Rosie might be on dark

evenings and during the long winter nights. She shuddered, and answered

her husband that it made no difference to her whichever way he built,

so long as it was snug and warm; but she said nothing about the real

reason that had changed her mind.

This answer made Per Hansa very happy.

“Beret-girl, you are the most sensible woman that I know!... Of course

it’s better, all around, for us to build that way!”

He, too, had reasons that he kept to himself.... Now he would get ahead

of both Hans Olsa and the Solum boys! None of them had even begun to

think of building a barn yet; while according to his plan, his barn

would be finished when his house was done.

IX

One evening Per Hansa came over with his oxen to Hans Olsa’s to borrow

his new wagon; the time had come to get his poles for the thatching.

The others had been able to gather what they needed along the banks of

a creek some ten miles to the southward, where a fringe of scattering

willows grew; but it was small stock and a scanty supply at that; their

roofs were certainly none too strong, and might not hold up through

the next winter.... Per Hansa had a bigger and more original scheme in

mind. If conditions were really as bad as Tönseten had made out, he’d

have to find something besides willow poles for rafters on that house

of his. The busy season of spring was over; now he proposed to rest on

his oars awhile ... take a little time to nose around the prairie at

his leisure. He had been told that the Sioux River was only twenty-five

or thirty miles away; big stands of timber were reported to lie in that

direction, and several settlements of Trönders,[7] who had lived there

for a number of years; many other interesting things would turn up,

of course—things that he hadn’t heard about; he wanted to see it all

and get a running idea of the whole locality. He confided to Hans Olsa

where he was going, but asked him not to mention it to anyone else....

“We might as well keep this matter to ourselves, you know. Besides,

something has got to be done about getting fuel for the winter.”

[7] People from the district of Trondhjem, Norway.

He brought the wagon home that evening, merely explaining that he and

Store-Hans were going out to gather wood. Ole would have to look after

the farm while they were away, and take the full responsibility on

his shoulders. Store-Hans, who had been chosen to go on the trip, was

overjoyed at the news; but his brother was reduced to the verge of

tears at such an outrageous injustice. The idea of taking that _boy_

along, and letting a grown man loaf around the house with nothing

to do! For the first time his faith in his father’s judgment was

shattered.... And the situation grew worse and worse as Ole watched

the extensive preparations for the trip; it looked for all the world

as if they intended to move out West! The father was taking along a

kettle, and was measuring out supplies of flour, and salt, and coffee,

and milk, besides a big heap of _flatbröd_ and plenty of other food.

But, heaviest blow of all, the rifle—Old Maria—was brought out from

the big chest! Ole wept at that in sheer anger. Ax, rope, and sacks,

too—everything was going!... And on top of it all, this youngster who

wasn’t dry behind the ears yet had grown so conceited that he

wouldn’t deign to talk to his brother; he kept fussing and smirking

around his father all the time, speaking to him in low, confidential

tones, and pushing himself to the front on every occasion! He seemed

to be bubbling over with foolish questions. Shouldn’t they take this

along, and _this_, and _this_?... But when at last he came dragging a

piece of chain, even Per Hansa had to laugh outright. “That’s the boy,

now! I might have forgotten the chain. And how could we go to the woods

without a chain, I’d like to know?”

Beret got the food ready for the journey. Her face wore a sad, sober

expression.... Yes, of course, the house must have a roof; she knew

that perfectly well. How could they live in a house without a roof?...

But now he was going to be away for another two-day stretch—two whole

days and a night!... It wasn’t so bad in the daytime ... but at

night...!

“You’d better take the children with you and go over to Mother

Sörrina’s to-morrow evening,” Per Hansa advised her, cheerfully. “You

can spend the whole evening there, you know, visiting and talking.

It’ll make the time pass quicker, and you won’t be so lonesome.... You

do that, Beret!”

To this suggestion she answered neither yes nor no. In her heart she

knew very well that she wouldn’t follow his advice. She never could

forget that evening of his trip to Sioux Falls, when she and the

children had come down the hill toward the wagons; the air of the place

had suddenly filled with terror and mystery. The wagons had floated

like grey specks in the dusk; and all at once it had seemed as if the

whole desolation of a vast continent were centring there and drawing a

magic circle about their home. She had even seen the intangible barrier

with her own eyes ... had seen it clearly ... had had to force herself

to step across it.... Now she went on getting the food ready for them

as well as she could; but from her sad lips there came not a word.

This was destined to be a memorable journey, both for those who

went and for those who stayed at home.... Before it was over the latter

were in a panic of apprehension and fear. The second day passed as the

first had done; the second night, too; the third day came ... noon, but

no one in sight.

Beret had not really begun to expect them until sometime during the

second day; Per Hansa had told her not to begin looking before they

came in sight. Nevertheless, she had found herself unconsciously doing

it shortly after dinner on the very first day. She knew that it was

foolish—they hadn’t even got there yet; but she couldn’t refrain from

scanning the sky line in the quarter where they had disappeared.... She

went to bed with the children early that evening.

The following evening she took them up on the hill; they sat there

silently, gazing eastward over the plain. From this elevation her

sight seemed to take flight and carry a long, long distance.... In the

eastern sky the evening haze was gathering; it merged slowly into the

purple dusk, out of which an intangible, mysterious presence seemed to

be creeping closer and closer upon them. They sat trying to pierce it

with their gaze; but neither wagon nor oxen crossed the line of their

vision.... Ole took no interest in keeping watch; it was more fun for

him to look for queer stones around the grave.... When the day was

well-nigh dead and nothing had appeared, Beret suddenly felt that she

must talk to some one to-night ... hear some human voice other than

those of the two children. Almost in spite of herself, she directed her

steps toward Hans Olsa’s.

—Hadn’t Per Hansa returned yet?

—No. She couldn’t imagine what had become of him! He surely ought to

have been home by this time.

—Oh, well, she mustn’t worry; he had probably travelled a long way on

this trip; no doubt he had made use of the opportunity to look around

for winter fuel.

—Winter fuel?... She had never given a thought to that before; but of

course they would need wood if they were going to stay through the

winter. It suddenly occurred to her how much there was for Per

Hansa to plan about and worry over; but she also felt a twinge of

jealousy because he had not confided in her.... Winter fuel? Of course;

it was the thing they needed most of all!

Mother Sörine was well aware that her neighbour did not have any

courage to spare. She realized, too, how lonesome it must be for

Beret, to sleep over there in the wagon with only the children. As the

visitors were leaving she got up, called her daughter, and insisted on

accompanying them back to the wagon. They chatted gaily and freely all

the way ... and that night there was no magic circle to step across!

Some time after noon on the third day Per Hansa and Store-Hans came

home with a load so big that the oxen were just barely able to sag up

the slope with it. It was like an incident out of a fairy tale, that

famous load. There was a stout timber for the ridgepole, there were

crossbeams and scantlings, and rafters for the roof; but Ole only

sneered at such prosaic things. Was _that_ all they had gone for, he’d

like to know? Farther down in the load, however, lay six bundles of

young trees; their tops had been trimmed off, and the soil had been

carefully wrapped around their roots with strips of bark.... “Those

are to be planted around the house!” Store-Hans explained. “Would

you believe it. Mother—in this bundle there are twelve plum trees!

They grow great big plums! We met a man who told us all about them.”

Store-Hans caught his breath from sheer excitement.... There were still

stranger things in that load. In the back of the wagon, as the father

unloaded, an opening almost like a small room was gradually revealed.

Here lay two great bags—two bags brimful of curious articles. One of

them evidently contained fish; the other seemed to hold the flayed

carcass of a calf; at least, Ole thought so, and wanted to know where

it had come from.

“_Calf!_” exclaimed Store-Hans. “What makes you think it’s a calf?” ...

Per Hansa winked slyly at his travelling companion; the wink warned

him that he’d better say no more—for a little while!... Store-Hans

assumed a knowing silence; but it could be seen with half an eye that

he was bursting with important secrets. At last he was no longer able

to contain himself.

... “_Antelope!_” he burst out, ecstatically.

Beret watched with speechless admiration the unloading of all the

wonderful things that they had brought; she was so overjoyed to have

her dear ones with her again that she could have burst into hysterical

tears; as she stood beside the oxen she stroked their necks fondly,

murmuring in a low voice that they were nice fellows to have hauled

home such a heavy load.

... “Well, there!” said Per Hansa at last, when he had cleared the

wagon. “Now, this is the idea: Store-Hans and I have figured on having

fresh fish to-day, cooked in regular Nordland fashion, with soup and

everything. We nearly killed ourselves, and the beasts, too, to get

here in time.... Beret, what the devil have we got to put all this meat

and fish into?”

Store-Hans ate that day as if he could never get enough; there seemed

to be no bottom to the boy.... When he had finished the father chased

him off to bed at once; and strange to say, he wasn’t at all unwilling

though it was only the latter part of the afternoon. When evening came

the mother tried to shake life into him again, but without success;

once he roused enough to sit up in bed, but couldn’t get so far as to

take off his clothes; the next moment he had thrown himself flat once

more and was sleeping like a log.

As time went on this first expedition of Per Hansa’s came to be of

great consequence to the new settlement on Spring Creek.... In the

first place, there were all the trees that he had brought home and

planted. This alone excited Tönseten’s enthusiasm to such a pitch

that he was for leaving at once to get a supply of his own; but Hans

Olsa and the Solum boys advised him to wait until the coming fall, so

Tönseten reluctantly had to give up still another plan.

... But there were other things to do when fall came, and several

years went by before the others had followed Per Hansa’s lead. This is

the reason why, in the course of time, a stout grove of trees began to

grow up around Per Hansa’s house before anything larger than a bush was

to be seen elsewhere in the whole neighbourhood.

But the most important result of all, perhaps, was the acquaintance

with the Trönders eastward on the Sioux River, which sprang out of this

journey. Amid these strange surroundings, confronted by new problems,

the two tribes, Trönder and Helgelander, met in a quite different

relationship than on the Lofoten fishing grounds. Here they were

glad enough to join forces in their common fight against the unknown

wilderness....

... The Great Plain watched them breathlessly....

III. “Rosie!—Rosie!”

I

The food supply was steadily vanishing. Bags and sacks yawned empty and

had nothing to yield. The settlers shared freely with one another as

long as they had anything left; but even at Hans Olsa’s, where plenty

usually reigned, the food at last began to give out. Among the menfolk

a crumb of tobacco was as rare as gold.... High time that they took the

situation in hand and did something about it! Besides, the season was

getting so far advanced that they would soon have to start in haying.

No two ways about it—they must make a trip to town.

All the men, accordingly—Per Hansa, and Tönseten, and Hans Olsa, and

the two Solum boys—met together one Sunday to discuss the matter.

A trip to town in those days was a serious affair, which had to be

planned carefully from beginning to end. The seventy or eighty miles

through desolate country was in itself no trifle; one couldn’t expect

to be back in less than four days, even with horses. And under pressure

of time, it was hard to accomplish everything that one wanted to do.

Provisions of all sorts must be replenished for the next season; first

of all came food, and after that clothing; then tools and farming

implements, as far as their money would go. If it wouldn’t go far

enough they would have to find some other way out of the fix, but they

must hold down to essentials in order to keep alive.... As yet, no one

in the Spring Creek settlement was in a position to carry any produce

along, to be sold for cash or given in exchange for wares. But they all

looked forward to the time when this would be possible; it would be

harder work to haul a load both ways, of course; but what a help it

would be—and what a satisfaction—to have their own products to barter!

They at once agreed that some of the menfolk would have to stay at

home, in case anything untoward happened.... It was a singular thing,

not a soul in this little colony ever felt wholly at ease, though no

one referred to the fact or cared to frame the thought in words. All of

a sudden, apparently without any cause, a vague, nameless dread would

seize hold of them; it would shake them for a while like an attack of

nerves; or again, it might fill them with restless apprehension, making

them quiet and cautious in everything they did. They seemed to sense an

unseen force around them.... The men grew taciturn under the strain;

they would cast about for some task or other on which they could

work off the spell. With the women it found an outlet in talk; they

often became extravagantly loud and boisterous over nothing at all.

Few realized what this strange feeling was; none of them would have

admitted that he was afraid.

... Yes, God defend them! Man’s strength availed but little out here.

They had already experienced it more than once. Terrible storms would

come up—so suddenly, with such appalling violence!... Mother Sörine had

reason to be frightened of these storms. Less than a week ago their

tent had been carried away in one of them; Sörine, trapped inside and

half choked, had been swept along with the canvas. Hans Olsa had laid

the tent rope across his shoulder, planted his feet solidly in the

ground, and summoned all his giant strength; but he had been whirled

away like a tuft of wool. It had turned out all right, however; no one

was seriously hurt ... this time.

And then, the Indians!... “_Injuns_,” as the red children of the great

plain were called in common speech. Kjersti, Tönseten’s wife, didn’t

mind the storms so much; they never committed inhuman outrages ...

weren’t out for your scalp, at any rate! But fear of the Indians was

ever vividly present in her mind. Not a day passed that she didn’t

search the sky line many times.... Why, one of the savages actually

lay buried over on Per Hansa’s land! And where the dead had their

abode, the living were sure to come.... Since she had learned of the

grave she was always on the lookout....

Truth to tell, her fear of the Indians was very natural. She and Syvert

had heard the tale of the terrors of ’62 so often that they could have

repeated it word for word, as if from an open book. When they were

living in Fillmore County, Minnesota, two refugees from the Norway Lake

massacre had drifted into the place; the story of the horrors they

had undergone had taken on new and grewsome details as it passed from

mouth to mouth; out here now on the open prairie, where no hiding place

could be found, the form in which Kjersti remembered it had assumed the

fantastic proportions of a myth.

Tönseten, however, wasn’t a bit afraid of the Indians—not he! Who

ever heard of such nonsense? Why should he or anyone else fear them,

now that they had become peaceful and civilized? He tried his best to

instill this idea into the others.... Per Hansa would sit listening to

Tönseten with a quizzical smile on his face. “That’s right, Syvert—go

on,” he would agree. “All the Indians have turned into honest-to-God

gentlemen these last ten years, with red skullcaps, and wooden shoes,

and long pipes, and everything else they need. It’s no trick at all,

you know, for a savage to learn fine manners, as crowded with folks to

teach him as it is out here!” ... From the Trönders on the Sioux River,

Per Hansa had learned a great deal of valuable information about the

Indians; he had heard of a place, not very far away, called Flandreau

or some such outlandish name, where they had a permanent colony; west

from this place an Indian trail ran all the way through to Nebraska,

and along this route the red man was said to make his yearly journeys.

More than likely, Per Hansa thought, his own quarter-section lay

directly in their path; he inferred this from the grave on the hill and

from what he had heard.... If it were true, the fact would be certain

to come to light before the summer was over. In the meanwhile—well, no

use to cross a bridge until you came to it.

The men never spoke of the Indians while the womenfolk were around.

But at other times, whenever the subject came up for discussion, Ole

and Store-Hans stood listening with open mouths.... The grave where

they found the stones had now begun to strike a chill into their

hearts; but it also exerted a strange and irresistible fascination.

... So here they all were, afraid of something or other. But the women

were the worst off; Kjersti feared the Indians, Sörine the storms; and

Beret, poor thing, feared both—and feared the very air.

The outcome of their deliberations that Sunday was only what might have

been expected; it seemed the logical thing for Hans Olsa and Tönseten

and Henry Solum, each of whom owned horses and wagon, to make up the

party for the journey. That would give three men and three separate

teams; such a caravan ought to be able to haul home on one trip

whatever the settlement could afford to buy.

Per Hansa was badly out of sorts that day; every word that he let fall

had a bitter sting to it; he said little and sat morose and silent

most of the time. In his eyes, the whole affair had the appearance of

having been settled beforehand. He and the other Solum boy were to

stay at home and look after the settlement; that was the plan, though

it hadn’t been stated in outright terms. It looked to Per Hansa like a

pretty mean piece of business.... For his part, he took it as a matter

of course that he was a better man for the trip to town than Syvert

Tönseten or Henry Solum—neither of whom, God knows, had any more wits

than he could get along with!... In all their talk, no one had even

hinted at that side of the question. And certainly Per Hansa wasn’t the

sort of man to force himself down anybody’s throat.... But, by God!

it was disgusting to have to lie around the house with the womenfolk

while the others were off on such a fine expedition!... The thirst for

adventure was burning in his blood.

When the party left on Monday morning Per Hansa was in a towering ill

humour; he rose with the others at dawn, woke Ole, and hitched the oxen

to the plow. On that day he broke up an acre and a half of prairie,

with only the crude implements at hand—a record that stood for many

years in that part of the country.

But at quitting time that night, when he paced around the field and

discovered what an enormous day’s work he had done, he felt so elated

that he began to whistle the tune of an old ballad.... Just look at

that! If they didn’t hurry back, he’d have the whole farm broken up

before they arrived.... By God! he’d show them! He’d give them a chance

to see for themselves who was the better man!

II

The next day he did not drive himself so hard; but he turned off a good

day’s work, just the same.

Per Hansa was again in a good humour that afternoon as he and Ole

sauntered home from the field; he felt that during this interval he

would easily get ahead of Tönseten. Ole’s tired feet dragged at every

step; his voice was hoarse from steadily shouting at the oxen.

They had not got far on their way home when Store-Hans came running out

to meet them; he began shouting as soon as he caught sight of them, and

arrived all out of breath.

“Dad ... quick ... people are coming!” ...

The news sounded so incredible that Ole stopped short in his tracks and

stared at his brother with his mouth wide open, but the father only

laughed as he looked indulgently at the boy.

“Of course people are coming!” he said with a chuckle.... “And you’ll

grow up to be a man, too, some day—at about the same rate, I guess!

You’ve both got a long distance yet to travel.”

But Store-Hans was too excited to be thrown off the track by his

father’s kindly sarcasm.

“Look!... _look there_!” he cried, pointing toward the southwest....

“Mother thinks they may be Indians!” ...

Per Hansa took in the whole western horizon in one swift glance....

“Huh!” he grunted ... and immediately began to walk faster. The longer

he looked, the more haste he made. At last he was taking such mighty

strides that the boys had to run in order to keep up with him.

Beret was standing just beyond the wagon, holding And-Ongen in her arms.

“They have come,” she said in a calm voice; but her sad, resigned face

was pale and drawn.

“Well, don’t stand there!... Go and look after the cooking as if

nothing had happened!” ... He spoke rapidly, with a metallic ring in

his voice.

In an instant he was over at the new house, which as yet was only half

thatched. The boys followed close at his heels; he spoke to them in

quick, low tones; all his words had the same hard, metallic ring.

“Hans, run over to Sam’s and tell him what’s up.... Hurry, now!”

“Yes.” ... The boy hesitated.

“_Hurry_, I said!”

“Yes, sir!” ... Store-Hans found his legs and was off like lightning.

Per Hansa turned to Ole. “You go and get Old Maria. You’ll find her in

the big chest—and something to load her with in the till. Stand the

gun and everything just inside the door here.... And listen”—his face

was hard set—“when I _whistle_, I want her—but not before!... Are you

afraid?”

“N-n-no.” ... Ole ran to execute the order.

Per Hansa began to work away at the thatching as if nothing unusual

were going on; but his eyes were steadily fixed on the approaching

train. Little by little, as he watched, he grew calmer; the look of

anxiety slowly faded away from his features, to be replaced by the

half-sly, half-roguish expression of his lighter moods.... No war

party, this—nothing but harmless families roaming over the plain!

Just then Ole arrived with the rifle.

“Never mind,” said Per Hansa. He was laughing now. “Go back and hide

those things where you found them.... That fellow Store-Hans is a

regular little rascal—the way he nearly scared us out of our wits!”

“But don’t you want the gun, Father?”

“No, I guess not.... Go and put her back—then come and run an errand

for me.”

The boy ran inside, and returned in a moment empty-handed. Per Hansa

was sitting on the edge of the roof; he kept looking off to the

westward as he gave his orders:

“Run over and tell Sörrina that the Indians are coming, but don’t

frighten the life out of her. Tell her it’s only a wandering tribe—just

peaceful people like ourselves.... And tell her they are likely to camp

for the night over here on the hill; if she is afraid, she can stay

with us.... Don’t get off a lot of wild talk, now. Be sensible!”

Almost before he had heard the words, Ole was gone.... Per Hansa came

down to the ground, heaved an armful of sod up on the roof, and then

climbed back unconcernedly to his work.

The band of Indians crawled slowly toward them out of the west. Per

Hansa counted the teams—fourteen in all, he made it—but he couldn’t be

certain of the exact number; they drove close together and were headed

straight in the direction of the settlement.... No doubt about it any

longer—here lay an old Indian trail!

He was kneeling on the roof awhile later, trying to fit a strip of

sod in place, when suddenly a figure stood below him; it had appeared

so swiftly and silently that Per Hansa was startled in spite of

himself.... The next moment he saw that it was Sam Solum, frightened

and excited, gun in hand. He had run so fast that Store-Hans had been

left far behind.

“You must be going hunting to-night,” Per Hansa observed, dryly.

“Haven’t you seen ’em?... Don’t you know...?” Sam had to stop to catch

his breath.

“Seen who?”

“The Indians!... They’re right on top of us!”

“I see you look like the scared fool you are, all right!... What

are you ramming around with that rattletrap of a gun of yours for? Put

it out of sight as quick as you can! Then come here and help me with

the thatching.... Store-Hans, you’d better go and stay with mother.”

Sam did as he was bid, without half understanding; he took his gun

inside the house, stood it against the wall, and came out again; in

front of the door he paused, staring open-mouthed at the approaching

train.... Seated above him on the roof, Per Hansa glanced alternately

westward and down at the puzzled youth.

“I suppose we ought to warn Kjersti—she’s always so skittish,” he

said with a grin. “Why don’t you go down and tell her that our red

neighbours are coming?... But don’t scare the wits out of the poor

woman!”

Sam hesitated; the task obviously wasn’t to his liking.

... “Or should we wait, and let the Indians take her scalp?”

At these words Sam jumped, then suddenly broke into a run.

Per Hansa laughed heartily as he watched him go.

“Hey, there! Don’t tear off as if your pants had caught fire!” he

shouted. “You needn’t be in such an awful sweat about Kjersti, either!”

But Kjersti herself had seen the enemy; she must have been on the

lookout, as usual.... At that moment she hove in sight on the slope of

the hill, leading her cow.

At the same time Ole arrived, with Sörine and the girl close behind

him; but Sörine, unfortunately, hadn’t thought of her cow, which was

grazing off on the prairie to the westward, some distance from Hans

Olsa’s house.

Soon they were all gathered in a little knot—the three women, Ole, and

the Solum boy; but Store-Hans felt that it would be safer with his

father, and had gone over to where Per Hansa was still working....

Kjersti was moaning and wailing because her Syvert was away at a time

when the Lord sent such tribulations upon her; Mother Sörine was

comforting her as best she could, saying that, after all, Indians

were only people—human beings ... just human beings!... Beret listened

in stony silence to it all.

At last Per Hansa took a quick slide down from the roof and went over

to the agitated group.

“What have we here—a sewing circle?... By George! It seems to me that

three nice modest girls like you oughtn’t to be standing around and

making eyes at strange menfolk. They’ve got their own women with ’em,

too.... Maybe the squaws would have a word or two to say about that!”

Per Hansa’s sally broke the tension; Beret immediately resumed her

preparations for supper, and Mother Sörine began to help her; Kjersti

found a pail and milked her cow; and Per Hansa himself went back to his

roof and laid a few more strips of sod before supper was ready.

III

... While they sat waiting for the porridge to cool, they watched with

anxious attention the Indian band as it crept up the slope of the hill

toward the crest. The foremost team reached the summit, passed some

distance beyond it on the other side, and came to a halt; at that they

all drew up, the whole train forming a crescent around the brow of

the hill, facing the house of Per Hansa. One by one the horses were

unhitched from the rickety wagons and turned loose on the prairie....

Per Hansa’s face brightened still more as he noticed this move. People

who did a thing like that could have no evil intentions!

Just then, however, Sörine’s cow, which was still grazing some distance

off on the prairie, suddenly seemed to go crazy. She bellowed loud

and long, lifted her head and tail high in the air, and galloped away

toward the wagons of the newcomers. All watched her in amazement.

Sörine burst out crying, blaming herself for being so shortsighted as

to forget all about her precious cow.... As he saw the beast gallop

away, Per Hansa cursed it from the bottom of his heart.

In an instant, before the little company sitting there had found

time to gather their scattered wits, all the rest of their cattle were

smitten by the same craze. At the first bellow of Sörine’s cow they had

looked up inquiringly, had caught sight of the new arrivals, and at

once had started off behind their leader—Rosie first, then Kjersti’s

Brindlesides—both rearing their tails on high and galloping straight

toward the camp of the Indians.

... “Damn the luck!” muttered Per Hansa between his teeth. “There goes

the milk for our porridge!... The devil salt and burn their blasted

tails!”

A far-away “moo-o-o” drifted in from the north, and there the Solum

boys’ Daisy came running at full speed, to join the deserters![8]

[8] The cattle of the first settlers, from the wandering habits they

had formed during the outward journey, had to be watched, for they

wanted to join every caravan that came along.

At that Per Hansa burst into a loud laugh.... “You’d better go after

your cow,” he said to Sam, “unless you want to munch dry porridge all

winter!”

The women took the matter each in her own way, according to her feeling

for her particular cow. Kjersti wept and took on, vowing that this

was the worst thing that had ever happened to her—it was just awful;

Sörine’s eyes were moist, but she believed that her cow would come

back, just the same; she had never seen a better cow than Dolly and had

tended her like a mother.... But Beret remained quite calm; she seemed

more annoyed than frightened. Why didn’t one of the men go after the

cows?... When they remained sitting and made no move, she rose and laid

her spoon aside.

“We must get them at once,” she announced, firmly. “If the Indians were

to leave to-night, the cows would follow—that is perfectly plain!” ...

She took And-Ongen in her arms and started for the hill.

“Good Heavens, Beret,” cried Kjersti in despair. “You must be crazy!”

Per Hansa gazed fondly at his wife; across his face came a light that

almost made him handsome.... _There_ was a woman for you!... He got

up before she had gone many steps, and ran to her side.

“Go back and eat, Beret-girl! There isn’t anything to worry about,

really and truly.... Leave the cows to me. It can just as well wait

till after we have eaten.... We must behave like well-mannered folk,

you know.”

As they sat over the last of their porridge Per Hansa drew such ghastly

pictures to Sam of the cruelty with which the Indians would probably

treat the cows, that the women shuddered at his words.... “I’ve often

heard—have read it in books, too—that Indians would rather take the

scalp of a cow any day, than of a man.... Haven’t you ever read about

it? Huh! that’s strange!... Well, they’re just crazy, you see, for the

scalp of a cow. They dry them out and use them for winter caps!” ...

Beret looked at him reproachfully. It seemed to her that it ill

behooved him to talk in this fashion; if they were all afraid, they

couldn’t help it; the words sounded coarse in his mouth, and seemed to

coarsen him also.... “Can’t you shut up with that talk!” she said in

her quiet, cutting way, without looking up. “It isn’t such a brave and

manly thing, to terrorize poor womenfolk who are frightened already.”

Per Hansa fell suddenly silent; his face grew burning red. In all the

years that they had lived together it had never happened till now that

she had shamed him before others. And she had spoken so quietly—hadn’t

even looked up!... He ate his porridge slowly and thoughtfully. What

she had said kept repeating itself in his mind, and cut deeper each

time.

At last he laid his spoon aside and got to his feet; he stuck his pipe

in his mouth—the pipe that had been empty and cold so long now, for

lack of fuel—and began sucking the stem.

“I suppose in all fairness, Sam, you ought to go chasing your own

damned beast—you who are such a sharper in both the American and Indian

languages!” he snapped out.... “But—oh, well, there might be some women

over there who were worth having a look at!” he muttered with plain

insinuation. “I guess I’d better go myself and make it a good

_job_!”

Store-Hans jumped up like a flash and put his hand in his father’s....

Per Hansa glanced down into the beaming, ruddy face that smiled up at

him and begged so earnestly.... But the boy uttered never a word.

“Come along, then,” said the father. Still holding the outstretched

hand, he began to walk away.

“Hans, come here!” his mother cried out, sharply. A wild anxiety had

come into her voice—a note of desperate pleading.

“No,” said Per Hansa, shortly. “Hans is going with me.” ... He waited

for no answer, but grasped the boy’s hand firmly and started off.

IV

Store-Hans had been too absorbed in what was going on to notice the

clash between his parents. As they went along, his whole being was

athrill with excitement; he took long, manly strides, and chattered on

in a low, rapid voice, but always returned to the same question:

—What was his father going to do to the Indians?

—Do?... Per Hansa’s mind refused to act any further. The biting words

of his wife, spoken in the plain hearing of all, kept ringing in his

ears.

“Yes, Dad, what are you going to do?”

“We’ll see about that later.” ... He tried to wrench himself out of his

abstraction, repeating in a loud tone: “We’ll see later—when the time

comes!”

“Are you ... are you going to fight them, Dad?”

Per Hansa gave the boy’s hand a good squeeze. “I guess we’ll have to be

satisfied with a scalp or two!”

The only thing Store-Hans knew about scalping was that it was the most

dreadful thing in the world; as to the actual process, he had only a

hazy idea. Now he asked, fearfully, what did it mean, anyway—to scalp

some one?

—Oh, nothing much.... Didn’t he know how it was done?

“No.... Please tell me, Dad?”

Per Hansa shifted the empty pipe to the other corner of his mouth; he

laughed as he said:

“You see, Store-Hans, when the hide begins to get good and dry on the

heads of some people, then the Indians peel it off.”

“Does it grow out new again?” Store-Hans gave a sidewise glance at the

top of his father’s head; before he realized it, his hand had gone up

under his own cap.

“Oh, I suppose so.”

“But ... but doesn’t it hurt awfully?”

“No, not at all ... that is, when the skin is good and dry.”

That seemed quite logical; Store-Hans grasped it immediately.

“But what do they do with the scalp?”

“What do they do with the scalp?” Per Hansa spoke slowly, as if his

mind were elsewhere.... “They use it, I guess ... for mittens, and

things like that.... They turn the hair side in, you see.” ...

“Oh, you’re only fooling!” cried Store-Hans, lengthening his stride in

order not to fall behind.

“Maybe I am fooling.... I thought you knew all about it, though.”

The boy was dying to ask about other things; but he was getting afraid

to raise his voice now—his throat, too, seemed very dry.... And,

besides, they were drawing so near to the Indian camp now, that his

eyes kept him fully occupied.

There was a good deal to see, up there on the hill.... A big tent,

or wigwam, had been pitched in the centre of the crescent, with four

smaller ones on each side. A troop of brown, half-naked children were

running around among the tents.... They seemed to be playing games,

thought Store-Hans; and immediately he picked up courage. He saw women

moving about, too.... There couldn’t be any real danger here!

The rough tents, constructed of poles and hides, stood some

distance back of the semicircle of oddly-assorted vehicles. Halfway

between, a group of dusky squaws were busy at a fire, carrying wood

from the wagons and throwing it on; around the fire several bronzed

men were sitting motionless, with their legs crossed under them....

These men were smoking—that was the first thing that caught Per Hansa’s

eye. The flames of the camp fire threw a lurid glare over the figures

sitting around it, turning their copper-coloured faces to a still

deeper hue, their raven hair to a more intense and glistening black.

They smoked on in silence.

When the two visitors had arrived within the illuminated circle, one

of the Indians pointed to them with his pipe; a few words were spoken

among them in a guttural tongue; beyond this the coming of Per Hansa

and his son created not a ripple of excitement.

Per Hansa stepped forward and greeted them in English—he had picked

up enough words for that. The greeting was returned in the same

language.... One of the braves put something that sounded like a

question; two of the others, sitting beside him, added to it.... Per

Hansa stood helpless for a moment; he could not understand a word.

But in this crisis Store-Hans, who had been half hiding behind his

father, came to his aid; he whispered, rapidly:

“They want to know if we live here.”

“How the devil could you tell that?... By God! I guess we do!” Per

Hansa nodded emphatically toward the Indians. “Tell them there isn’t

any doubt of it—not the least doubt in the world—but say it nicely,

now!”

Store-Hans stepped out in front, facing the seated redskins; he tried

his best to make them understand, using what little English he had

learned during the past winter.

* * * * *

The visit was soon over; after that strange, impassive meeting there

seemed to be nothing else for Per Hansa to say or do. The stray cows,

all four of them, had finally lain down beside the Indian wagons; he

would only need to round them up and drive them home.... Yet there

was something that made it almost impossible for him to tear himself

away. The odour from the pipes wafted to him so enchantingly on the

evening breeze, enthralled and held him captive. He hadn’t had a decent

smoke for over two weeks, and he could smell that this was good strong

tobacco.

At last the temptation grew altogether too powerful; he simply couldn’t

resist it any longer. He glanced around the circle, picked out the face

that looked to him the most approachable, then took the empty pipe from

his mouth and indicated by signs that he needed something to fill it

with.

The man he had chosen understood him perfectly. He gave a laugh,

remarked something to the others, pulled a large leather pouch from his

shirt, and held it out with a dignified gesture. Per Hansa grasped the

pouch with an eager hand, took a deep dive into it, and gave his pipe

a good fill.... “Many thanks, good friend! If Hans Olsa happens to get

back before you’re gone, I’ll see that you are well repaid!... Hans,

translate that to him the best way you know how.... What a thundering

shame that we can’t talk with such good folks!” ... Per Hansa went over

to the fire, raked out a glowing ember, lit his pipe, and pulled at it

long and deeply, while an expression of rare contentment passed over

his face.

V

Turning away from the fire, as he stood there enjoying his smoke, he

noticed a face on the ground at his side—a face that peered out of

the folds of a gaudily coloured blanket, so close to the fire that it

startled him.... Good Lord! was the man trying to singe himself?

Per Hansa stared down into the face incredulously; the form in the

blanket gazed up as fixedly at him in return. It struck him at once

that the Indian must be suffering terrible pain; his features were

distorted in agony.

“Store-Hans!” he called, hastily. “Come here and ask this fellow

what’s the matter with him. It looks to me as if he were fighting death

itself!”

Again Store-Hans had to try out his meagre stock of newcomer English

on the Indians. The face moaned; in a moment it gave answer. The boy

repeated his question; a second answer came, and then another long moan.

“He says his hand is hurt,” Store-Hans reported.

“Is that it? Too bad!... Tell him I’d like to take a look at that hand

of his.”

But Store-Hans didn’t have to repeat the request. The man had been

lying there watching them as they spoke together, looking closely and

intently at Per Hansa. Now he got up beside him without a word; first

he removed the blanket from his arm, and then unwound a bundle of dirty

coloured rags that were wrapped around his hand.

When this was done, he held out an ugly-looking claw, swollen to the

size of a log; not only the hand, but the wrist and a large part of the

arm as well were badly swollen and infected. The evil seemed to have

its source in a festering wound in the palm of the hand.... Per Hansa

examined the hand, felt of it, squeezed it, and turned it over, as if

he had done nothing else all the days of his life but tend to such

cases. The flesh was as hard to the touch as a block of wood; but the

wound itself didn’t look serious.

“Sure enough!” he observed, wisely. “If this doesn’t end up with blood

poisoning my name isn’t Per! Maybe it’s come to that already.... Tell

him”—he turned to Store-Hans—“tell him we’ve got to have some warm

water at once—and more rags. But they must be clean—_clean white rags_,

tell him!... See what a good job of talking you can do, now!” With

these words, he went back to his examination.

The job of talking, however, was more than Store-Hans could handle—he

stuck in it halfway. That his father wanted warm water he could make

them understand; but the other request for clean white rags was either

beyond his English or a little too much for their comprehension.

The sick Indian had kept his eyes intently fixed on the man who was

examining his hand with all the assurance of an expert. Others had

now risen and come up to them, one by one. A close circle had formed

about the little group. The women were also joining it; the children

stopped playing and slipped in among their elders; at last the whole

camp had gathered in a silent ring around the three.... Per Hansa’s

face wore a sober expression, but all the while he kept drawing long,

deep puffs from his pipe.

“Seventeen devils of a claw you’ve got, man!” he exclaimed at last,

when he had finished his diagnosis.... “I can’t see any way out of

it, Store-Hans. You’ll have to run home and get mother. Tell her an

old chief is lying over here almost ready to die—tell her it’s blood

poisoning. She must bring the small kettle, and all the clean rags she

can spare. Can you remember to say _white_ rags?... And she must bring

a pinch of salt, too.... The man has got to have help this very night,

tell her.... Now run along. You aren’t afraid, are you?”

Certainly Store-Hans wasn’t frightened any longer; this was the

greatest experience he had ever had or ever expected to have.... He had

already pressed his way through the throng when his father thought of

something which he had forgotten, and called him back.

... “Tell Sörrina to go home and see if there isn’t a drop left in Hans

Olsa’s bottle. Even if it isn’t more than a thimbleful, we ought to

have it; it’s a matter of life or death here.... And mother must bring

some pepper.... Let’s see, now, how well you can remember everything!”

The boy was off like a flash. As soon as he had gone, Per Hansa began

treating the hand. First of all, he made them understand that he needed

water to wash his own hands.... “Yes, water, _water_!” he said, going

through the motion of dipping his hands and rubbing them. They caught

his meaning at once; the word was passed among them, and a woman

immediately brought some water in a tin bucket.

Per Hansa washed his hands very carefully; then he poured out the

water and motioned for more.... “Yes, yes—more, more!” ... He got it

at once and began to wash the wound—first the hand, and then the wrist

and the arm, but particularly the hand, and the wound itself most

of all.... Brown it had been in the beginning, that skin—and brown it

remained; Per Hansa couldn’t be certain whether he had got it clean.

But now he led the man as close to the fire as the heat would allow;

there he sat down with him, and began to draw on the great store of

experience he had gathered as a fisherman on the Lofoten seas. First

he massaged the flesh around the wound for a long time; then he moved

upward to the wrist, and afterward to the arm. He rubbed with the palm

of his hand, making circular motions, gently for a while, then stronger

and firmer; from time to time he bent over the hand, breathed heavily

on the wound, and continued the rubbing.

At last Store-Hans returned, bringing his mother, who carried all the

articles his father had sent for. Per Hansa noticed that she had put on

her Sunday clothes; for some reason, this pleased him. When she stepped

within the circle of the camp fire, she paused, greeted the strangers

quietly, and dropped a curtsy.

“What do you think you are doing here?” she asked in a low voice;

the words seemed to carry more of reproach than fear.... He suddenly

remembered the incident at supper awhile ago; the wave of bitterness

rose again in his heart.... What a silly question for a grown woman to

ask!

When she received no answer, she continued:

“Kjersti is crying her eyes out—and the rest aren’t much better off....

These people have got to look after themselves. You must come home at

once!”

Per Hansa still remained silent.... This speech was so unlike the Beret

that he knew, that he glanced up at her quickly.

“Give me that kettle!... Yes—water, _water_!” he shouted at them,

pointing to the kettle. But then he remembered Store-Hans.... “Tell

them that I want clean water—yes, clean, that’s it! And it must be hot,

too!”

Now he found time to turn to his wife.... “Oh, well, Kjersti isn’t

going to miscarry to-night!... But if you don’t want to stay here, to

help save a human life in dire distress, you’d better go home....

Here, give me the rest of the things!” Her words of an hour before were

again ringing loud in his ears; his own voice had taken on an added

harshness; he knew it and felt glad.

Beret said no more; she stood looking silently at him, flushed and

confused.

The kettle had now been placed on the fire.

“Where is the salt?... We need salt in the water.”

He took the antique whisky bottle that Sörine had sent; it was still

a good half full. The pepper, done up in a little package, had been

brought over in a cup. Per Hansa looked at it for a moment in grave

doubt.... “No, it’s too much—never in the world can he stand all

that!... Hold out your apron, Beret, to catch this.... There’s too much

pepper.”

“Now, don’t be so hasty!” she said. She took the pepper from him, made

a funnel of the bag, and held it out for him to pour in as much as he

wanted.

Then Per Hansa concocted for the sick Indian that “horse cure” which is

famous among all the inhabitants of Nordland. A goodly tablespoonful of

pepper lay in the cup; he filled it up with whisky, stirred it around,

put the bottle down on the ground, and motioned to the Indian to drink.

The man took the cup, sniffed at it, and smiled; then he put it to

his mouth and took a draught, smacking his lips and making a fearful

grimace.

“Tell him to drain it off at once, Store-Hans!... He’ll live through

it—though it does kick powerfully to begin with!”

The Indian downed the rest of the mixture without wincing.

As Per Hansa was pouring the whisky from the bottle a couple of the

others had suddenly grown restless; as soon as he set it down, one of

these rose to his feet with a jerk and sauntered in their direction;

the other followed close at his heels.

“They’re taking the bottle!” whispered Beret, frightened at their

manner.

Per Hansa whirled like a flash and caught hold of a brown arm; he

grasped it firmly and gave it a violent twist. A howl of pain echoed

through the camp.... “What the hell are you doing!” cried Per Hansa,

wrenching loose the bottle with his other hand. “That bottle belongs to

Hans Olsa. Don’t you dare to touch it!” He looked so fiercely at the

pair that they slunk off, afraid.

“Now come here and help me, woman!... Hold this bottle, and let the

liquor drip down on his hand while I rub it in.... Right on the

wound—only a drop at a time ... God! did you ever see a nastier-looking

hand?”

Beret did as he told her, but her own hand was shaking violently. He

looked at her closely. Her face was flushed; tears hung in her eyes....

And all at once the loud ringing of bitter words died away in his ears.

He massaged the hand of the Indian for a long while, pouring the whisky

on freely. Then he asked for the rags which she had brought. These he

dipped in the kettle, where the water was now boiling; he wrung them

out slightly and began swathing them around the hand—one rag over the

other. The man gasped and moaned in his great agony.

“Now, Beret, we ought to have a clean, dry cloth to wrap around the

whole business.... But probably you didn’t bring anything like that?”

She hesitated for an instant, then untied her apron and handed it over

to him. He knew that it was her very best apron. He could not bear to

take it, but he did not say so.

“That’s just it, Beret-girl—the very thing! If that doesn’t help him,

I don’t know anything in the wide world that would cure his hand!...

Now, take mother with you and go home, Store-Hans. You can see for

yourselves, there’s nothing to be afraid of here. I’ll bring the cows

back with me when I come.”

“But when will you come?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

“Oh, I shall have to stay here part of the night, at least. If we can’t

make the swelling go down, and that right quick, there’s nothing

under God’s heaven that can save him! I’ll have to change the rags

every half hour.... But you go right along, now, and don’t worry!”

Beret paused a moment; she gazed at him, saying not a word, but her

mouth quivered. Then she took Store-Hans by the hand and walked away.

VI

During the first part of the night Per Hansa kept constant vigil

over the sick man, frequently looking at his watch and changing the

bandages; every time the hand was exposed, he rubbed in a few more

drops from Hans Olsa’s bottle. It was evident from the man’s face that

the pain was growing no worse; he even slept at intervals.

Midnight passed. The whole camp was now asleep; the men lay around like

mummies, wrapped in their gaudy blankets, their feet towards the fire.

Occasionally one of them would rise and throw on more wood; Per Hansa

noticed that it was always the same man.... The night was vast and

still; the glow of the fire spread a strange light a little way around

... beyond hovered impenetrable darkness.

Per Hansa felt tired and drowsy; he realized that he would have to pull

himself together in order to keep going through the middle watch....

Suddenly he pricked up his ears; in an instant he was wide awake.

He had heard a sound like steps in the grass, off on one side—steps

that seemed to be hesitating as if in fear. They trod cautiously,

drawing closer and closer; then they stopped, as if the person were

listening.... He glanced around; the sick man slept at his side; all

the others seemed to be sleeping. Who could it be, reconnoitring so

quietly out there?... He got up abruptly, stepped closer to the fire,

and stood fully revealed against the glare. Now the steps were heard

again, firmly approaching.... The next moment Beret stood within the

circle of the camp fire, silently looking at him.

Per Hansa’s eyes leaped out and embraced his wife’s form: a great glow

of love and tenderness surged through him.... “Beret-girl, come

here!” he called in a low voice. “Don’t be frightened; the whole crew

is asleep!”

She advanced slowly to the side of the fire where he stood; but she did

not look at him. Her face was flushed and swollen with weeping.... “How

she must have been crying!” he thought; and the memory of his harsh

words filled him with deep remorse. He went up to her timidly, took her

by the hand, and led her nearer the fire.... “Beret, you ought to be

sleeping at this hour of the night!... Have you been frightened again?”

Her body shook with sobs; they tore her so convulsively that she could

not speak a word. Like a crushed thing she sank inertly to the ground.

He threw himself down beside her, put one arm around her waist, and

sought her hand.... Then she began to weep softly; he heard it, and

stroked the hand he had found. After a while he had tried to say,

lightly: “I guess the old fellow is going to pull through, all right.”

... But the moment the words were out of his mouth he felt that he

hadn’t said the right thing; in his confusion, he asked her how all the

others were at home.

She made no response to either of his attempts; then he heard the sick

Indian stir, and looked around at him. The man lay wide awake, staring

at them fixedly with his black, beady eyes.

For a while Per Hansa busied himself once more with the injured hand;

the man sat up as the treatment went on; Beret rose and stood close by,

watching the operation.

“If you had a string to tie around the rags, so that they wouldn’t

loosen when they got dry, they would keep the heat longer,” she said in

a low voice, but calm and clear.

“Oh yes!... If I only had it!”

She turned away for a moment and began fumbling at her clothes;

then, with a bashful but determined air, she handed him one of her

home-braided garters.... “Will this do?” she asked.

“_Do_?... My God! Beret, that’s exactly what we need!” ... He bound up

the sick hand tightly, and tied the garter around the bandage.... “The

fellow’s better already!” he cried. “I can see it in his eyes—and

his hand feels softer.... But it’s still bad enough; he isn’t over it

yet, by any means!”

When the bandage had been firmly fastened the Indian got up, went to

one of the wagons, and fetched three heavy blankets; these he gave to

Per Hansa, motioning that they should cover themselves and lie down.

“Now, doesn’t that show, Beret, what decent people they are?... I think

the fellow will be able to take care of himself for a while. We might

as well turn in!” ... He wrapped one blanket around her, another around

himself; then they both lay down with their feet to the fire, and

pulled the third blanket over the two of them. Per Hansa put his arm

around his wife and held her close in a fond, protecting embrace. “Now

try to sleep, my dear Beret-girl!” he whispered, reassuringly.... She

dropped off almost at once, and slept until the crimson dawn fell on

the eastern prairie.

* * * * *

The Indians remained for another day and night. During their stay

Per Hansa spent more time with them than he did at home. Store-Hans

practically lived on the hill, keeping an eye on things. And Ole, too,

strolled over to the Indian camp at odd times.... But Sam Solum let the

savages severely alone; and the women, though they were curious to see

the camp, felt too timid to venture near.

The Indians, for their part, kept strictly to themselves. They did not

once approach the houses of the settlement; neither, strange to say,

did they allow their women to come over.

It was noon of the third day before they broke camp, to continue the

journey northward. The hand of the sick man still looked very bad, but

the immediate danger seemed to be over. Per Hansa had made a sling for

him, in which he carried his arm. When the long train of queer-looking

teams had got well under way, they saw the sick Indian coming down the

hill toward the house, leading a fully saddled pony by the bridle; one

of the wagons stood waiting for him farther along the hill.

The fellow is probably coming to say good-bye, thought Per Hansa;

he got up and went to meet him. Beret and the children followed slowly

a little way behind. The man walked straight up to Per Hansa and

uttered a few unintelligible words; he laid in Per Hansa’s hand the

bridle by which he was leading the pony; then he said a few more words,

made a short, stiff bow, turned on his heel and stalked away.... He was

a tall, broad-shouldered savage, well built and handsome.

“Has the old boy gone stark crazy?” exclaimed Per Hansa. “Can you

imagine what he means?”

“He wants to give you the pony!” shouted Store-Hans, his eyes round

with wonder.

Per Hansa roared out an emphatic protest, and started after the

stranger.... “No, no!” he cried. “That will never do!” ...

But the Indian only strode to the waiting wagon, climbed in, and rode

away.

“I’ve never seen the beat of it in all my born days!” said Per Hansa,

solemnly. He stood as if dumfounded, holding the bridle over his

arm.... “Saddle and everything!” ...

Store-Hans gave a leap into the air, turned a somersault, which

immediately had to be repeated. Never in his life had he felt so

supremely happy.... Then he and his brother ran over to claim the prize.

VII

In the evening of the following day the loaded wagons arrived from

town; they brought great stores of curiosities, and the men who drove

them had many remarkable tales to tell.

Hans Olsa, who had carried fifteen dollars in cash from Per Hansa to

buy merchandise with besides going surety for him for a plow and a

horse rake, came first to their house to unload, before going home.

There was a great mountain of bags and packages, sacks and boxes; but

best of all were the plow and the rake. The latter, especially,—it

was painted in such beautiful, rich colours, red, blue, and green; it

looked so impressive standing there in the yard, with its seat reared

high in the air ... like a veritable throne! Nothing would do but

Store-Hans must climb up and try it at once; he was wondering if they

couldn’t hitch their new pony to this wonderful rig!... Still more

marvellous things than this had come from town; but Store-Hans was

fully occupied for a while and did not see them till later. Over at

Tönseten’s stood a mowing machine, which could cut both hay and wheat;

this also had a seat high up in the air; and at the Solum boys’ the

sights were equally remarkable.

There was a grand celebration at Hans Olsa’s house that night. Tönseten

and Per Hansa arrived long before the others to have a talk together.

They found much to do, and many important matters to discuss and

settle. Everything that had been borrowed during the past season must

now be paid back, and that was a complicated affair; for at one time

one kind of measure had been used, at another time another; they were

all in the same boat. Everyone owed everyone else—and now it was time

to square the accounts. Hans Olsa, who during the shortage had had the

most to lend, was now left with enough supplies to stock a good-sized

store.

But the goods were what interested Per Hansa least of all just now;

he was eaten up with curiosity, and only wanted to ask questions; he

had to hear every detail of their difficulties and adventures on the

way.... Had they run across many people? What news had they picked up?

Did there seem to be many settlers moving west? How did the prospects

look where they had been?... Was he a fair-minded man, this fellow

they had bargained with—the one who had trusted them for the plow

and the rake? Did he look like a chap who would extend still further

credit to a poor devil who had an honest face and came to him in a

straightforward way?... God knows, Per Hansa needed such a blessed lot

of things!

—Yes, Hans Olsa would say that the man seemed to be a pretty decent

sort of fellow; he spoke only English, however, so one couldn’t get

far with him in the way of talk; this was a bad piece of news for Per

Hansa. His goods were fairly expensive, too; but one couldn’t expect

anything better out here.... On second thought, Hans Olsa seriously

doubted whether it would be possible to get further credit from him.

At the start of their dickering, the man wouldn’t listen to a word of

extending credit; but Syvert had argued with him so long and sensibly

that he had finally yielded, on condition that they both sign their

names as security for the plow and the rake.... By this time, anyway,

he knew they were going to buy so much from him that it wouldn’t have

paid him to be unreasonable.

The returned voyagers, however, thought that the folks at home had

stranger tales than their own to tell. It seemed nothing short of a

miracle that Per Hansa had been able to bring back to life an Indian

chief with one foot in the grave—those were the very words Kjersti had

used to her husband. Tönseten swore that he had never heard anything

so strange; by George! it was more exciting than any storybook ever

written!

... “I declare, Per Hansa,” said Hans Olsa, looking at him in open

admiration, “it’s a queer thing about you! No matter how hard you’re

put to it, you always give a good account of yourself!... I was dead

set on having you go along with us this trip; we could have arranged

it somehow, you know. Syvert and I were speaking about it only the

night before we left; but then we both decided that we could feel so

much more comfortable about going away, knowing that you were here....

It was an act of Providence, I say, to leave you home this time!” ...

Tönseten nodded yes-and-amen to all that Hans Olsa had said.

Per Hansa accepted their homage very modestly; he drew a deep breath

and started to reply; but words failed him, and he had to begin all

over again.

... “Oh, well—so much for that, boys. Forget it, now! I didn’t do

anything out of the ordinary. But I might as well own up that when

I told Ole to get Old Maria I didn’t have any courage to spare!...

There came the band of Indians, thirty strong or more—and here I stood,

alone with three crazy women!... It looked like far from plain sailing,

I can tell you!” ...

“I don’t doubt it a bit!” agreed Hans Olsa. “It’s a wonder to me that

you didn’t take the women and try to run away!”

“Yes, but where could I run to? Besides, they had horses.... The women

were crying and carrying on, you know.... And just then it crossed my

mind, Hans Olsa, that if you were only near enough to sing out to—and

you, too, Syvert—I’d gladly have given my right hand, or both of them!”

“Sam wasn’t much use to you, eh?” asked Tönseten.

“No, Syvert, Sam isn’t quite equal to such a job.” But then Per

Hansa felt that he had been too harsh; he quickly added: “Let’s hope

that he, too, will have guts some day.... The boy has plenty of good

qualities....”

Meanwhile Beret and Kjersti had arrived; the Solum boys turned up at

last, and then they were all gathered. The women had gone with Sörine

into her new house; they were curious to see what her husband had

brought; she had to give both of them a taste from this bag and that.

The menfolk remained sitting behind the barn; they had many weighty

matters to discuss, and didn’t want to be interrupted; just now the hay

cutting seemed to be the all-absorbing topic.... Per Hansa’s boys and

Hans Olsa’s girl were chasing one another around the sod hut, playing

“Indian.”

It was a strange thing, however, the number of trips the men had to

make into the barn to look at the window and door which Hans Olsa had

brought. There must indeed be something very odd about that window and

that door. The men never seemed to be done looking at them; they went

in and came out—came out only to go in again; each time they reappeared

they were laughing and talking more glibly. The children sneaked close

to the walls whenever the men were inside.... It must be some very

secret business they were about! Their voices sank so low—most of the

time nothing but whispering could be heard.... And such a volley of

hawking and coughing and clearing of throats came from the interior

of the barn, such a smacking of lips, such a steady gurgling—like

water running out of a bottle—that the children pressed against the

wall outside couldn’t help laughing.... There, one of them had given a

tremendous sneeze!... “Hush!” whispered Sofie. “That was Syvert—he must

have swallowed wrong!”

... Something very strange, indeed, whatever it was.... Now they heard

Tönseten swear that it was his turn. He had forgotten himself and

spoken out loud: “Can’t I treat Per Hansa to an honest drink, when he

has saved both my wife and my cow from dire death and scalping!... Toss

it off, Per, old boy, and let the rest of us get a chance!”

Then more jolly laughter and smacking of lips.

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” whispered Sofie, making a wry face.

“Drinking, of course!” said Ole, curtly, furious because he was not

allowed to be in on this.... Surely he was grown-up enough to take a

drink or two! He could drive the oxen fully as well as his father.

Then Sörine appeared in the doorway, shouting to them that now they

must all come in. In one of the boxes which her husband had brought she

had found two bottles. As far as she could make out, it was neither

kerosene nor liniment; she felt pretty sure that it wasn’t syrup!... It

would do no harm to find out exactly what the stuff was—to-night they

had good reason for rejoicing. She brought a glass, treated both of the

neighbour women, took a wee drop herself, and then called in the men.

All five of the menfolk entered in a body and drew up in a close group

at the door; at sight of the whisky they had suddenly become bashful

and cautious.

“You shouldn’t be handing around costly Christmas treats in the middle

of the haying season!” said Tönseten, craftily.... “What sort of a

housekeeper is this that you’ve got, Hans Olsa?”

“Oh, come on, Syvert!” laughed Sörine.

—What, _he_? Good gracious! _no_—he wouldn’t have anything. He couldn’t

stand liquor right after supper, anyway.... She ought not to lead a

weak brother into temptation!

But he was chuckling, and his four companions were chuckling with him.

Per Hansa pushed Hans Olsa forward.

“Here, Hans Olsa, you are the boss of this house. Show us how the thing

ought to be done.... Syvert, you see, isn’t feeling well, poor devil!”

—Now, it would never do for him to be first—this was Hans Olsa’s

ruling. Where he had been brought up, that wasn’t considered proper.

“If you don’t come at once and take this glass,” said Sörine with mock

severity, “I’ll pour it back into the bottle.... Then you can stand

there wishing for it as much as you please!”

... “Hold on, there, Sörrina—not so hasty, not so hasty I Be careful

with the blessings of the Lord!... Of course I’ll sample it for you, if

you’ve got to have it done!” ... It was Tönseten, after all, who had

first spoken and come forward. But it seemed to take him an awful while

to swallow that dram; he hawked and grinned over every little sip, and

said the liquor burnt his throat so unmercifully that he could hardly

get it down.... “Tell me, Hans Olsa, where did you find this stuff?”

“Now, heave it in, Syvert, so that the rest of us can have a whack

before it gets too cold!” laughed Hans Olsa. “You’ve got to help me

with that window, you know, before you leave to-night.”

“Right you are!... Yes, right you are!” agreed Tönseten, solemnly, and

emptied the glass without more ado.

Sörine treated them all.... And now the menfolk were sorry, but they

really had no time to stay indoors; Hans Olsa needed all their help to

get that window in before it came dark; and out they trooped in a

body again, as soon as they had emptied their glasses.

When the celebration was over and they finally set out for home that

night, it seemed to Kjersti that Syvert walked very queerly. No matter

how she adjusted her own steps, he would either range ahead of her or

lag behind; when the latter took place, he would suddenly discover

it and lurch forward, struggling hard to keep his balance; once he

had caught up with her again, he would come to a stop and stand there

babbling.

“What in the name of common sense are you mumbling about? What ails

you, Syvert dear?... You act as if you were walking and talking in your

sleep on the open prairie!”

“Hic!... Don’t know!” he sighed.... “Feel awright ... Maybe li’l’

queer.... Sort o’ diz’ ... sort o’ dizzy, y’ know.... Feet don’t work

prop’ly!” He lurched ahead like a boat scudding down the slope of a

wave.... “You know, I think ... abs’lutely I do ... must be that stuff

... that damned stuff of Sörrina’s!”

“Oh, well,” said Kjersti, consolingly, laughing to herself, “if it

isn’t anything worse than that, you’ll soon be all right again.”

VIII

It was two days later that the great misfortune befell them. And

according to the manner of such events, it came while everything seemed

safe and serene and even the thought of ill luck was far away.

They had finished their afternoon lunch. Hans Olsa was cutting hay;

his new machine hummed lustily over the prairie, shearing the grass so

evenly and so close to the ground that his heart leaped with joy to

behold the sight.... What a difference, this, from pounding away with

an old scythe, on steep, stony hillsides!... All the men had gathered

around to see him start; Per Hansa had returned home from that send-off

firmly determined to get another cow for the winter, even if he had

to steal one; for with such a machine it would be nothing to cut the

hay.

Per Hansa was finishing his thatching that afternoon. Ole and

Store-Hans were helping; even Beret came out from time to time to lend

a hand. The father was chatting with the boys, who answered him gayly;

now and then they became so boisterous and laughed so heartily together

that little And-Ongen wanted to get up on the roof with them. Some

distance away the pony was tethered; the boys petted him constantly,

and already he seemed so tame that in a short while it would be safe to

turn him loose.

Tönseten was breaking some new land, with Sam as helper; from his high

lookout, Per Hansa had just noticed how well Syvert was getting along

with his field. But wait a bit, my good Syvert, wait a bit!... Per

Hansa simply didn’t feel like hurrying to-day. He shouted down once

more to Beret, asking her to see whether the roof would hold water;

that was one of his little jokes. The point was this: it had sounded so

pleasant to hear her voice in the room below while he had been working

on the roof; but now that the thatch was on, the low tone in which

she naturally spoke didn’t carry through the thickness of the sod; he

missed hearing her, and liked to make her shout now and then.... He

seemed to notice that she was growing better satisfied with things as

they were out here.

Henry Solum was digging a well down by the creek. Everyone was busy

with his own particular task; the little frontier settlement hummed

with the keen joy of labour.

... Then the blow fell upon them—suddenly!