Book II

FOUNDING THE KINGDOM

I. On the Border of Utter Darkness

I

An endless plain. From Kansas—Illinois, it stretched, far into the

Canadian north, God alone knows how far; from the Mississippi River to

the western Rockies, miles without number.... Endless ... beginningless.

A grey waste ... an empty silence ... a boundless cold. Snow fell; snow

flew; a universe of nothing but dead whiteness. Blizzards from out of

the northwest raged, swooped down and stirred up a greyish-white fury,

impenetrable to human eyes. As soon as these monsters tired, storms

from the northeast were sure to come, bringing more snow.... “The Lord

have mercy! This is awful!” said the folk, for lack of anything else to

say.

Monsterlike the Plain lay there—sucked in her breath one week, and the

next week blew it out again. Man she scorned; his works she would not

brook.... She would know, when the time came, how to guard herself and

her own against him!

But there was something she did not know. Had it not been for the tiny

newcomer, who by mysterious paths had found his way into the settlement

on Christmas morning, the monster might have had her way; but the

newcomer made a breach in her plans—a vital breach!

Most marvellous it was, a sort of witchery. A thing so pitifully

small and birdlike.... There was no substance to him, really nothing.

Only a bit of tender flesh wrapped in pink silk.... But life dwelt in

every fibre of it. Yet hardly life—rather the promise of it. Only a

twitching and pulling; something that stretched itself out and curled

up again—so fine and delicate that one was afraid to touch it with

rude hands.

Beret lay in bed with the newcomer beside her.... She should have been

stiff and cold long ago; she should be lying in another place, a place

where those fellows who howled at night could find fresh joints to

lick and gnaw.... But here she was, still in bed. The button-sized,

red-tipped nose dug itself into her breast, pushed in to find a good

hold, and then lay still with satisfied little gruntings. The movement

hurt her, but it gladdened her heart, too; for all the world she would

not have had it otherwise. Life was returning; instead of that stiff,

cold horror, Beret’s body grew warmer and stronger with every day that

passed. And the grunts at her side became more and more insistent....

Ah, well, she would have to shift him over, then, so that there might

be peace for a moment!

... “Thank God, you have food enough for him!” said Per Hansa.... “I

never saw a youngster with such an appetite!” ...

When Beret had finally awakened on that Christmas day, she had acted

exactly like the old woman in the fairy tale. She lay still, peeping

out at her surroundings and asking herself. “Am I still here? Is this

me?” ... She could not believe it, and she would not believe it,

either.... Hadn’t she finished with this place some time ago?

But here she was, after all. Daylight shone broadly through the window

and lit up the room; wood crackled in the stove; the very walls Per

Hansa had whitewashed—so different they were from other walls—rose

before her. She saw spots that she recognized; she had had endless

trouble with the spots on these white walls, and the boys always so

careless.... Clothes hung beside the stove, and above it stretched

diapers on a line. The smell of wet clothes drying was familiar, but

she could not understand where the diapers had come from.... Neither

Per Hansa nor the children were in sight.... Where could they be? A

quick thought crossed her mind: surely Per Hansa would not have let

And-Ongen go out without bundling her up?... There was a woman

working about the stove, but Beret could not see her face. Perhaps it

was Kjersti. Wasn’t she wearing Kjersti’s plaid Sunday skirt?... No,

no, Beret could not understand it at all. Had Kjersti gone with her,

then, when she had departed—Kjersti, who was such a good woman?...

... Beret quickly grew tired from puzzling over this unsolvable riddle.

Through the haze of half-consciousness a word and a number caught her

eye ... “Anno 16—” ... He had not used the big chest for her, then! Ah

no! he probably had felt that he could not do without it. But it hurt

her deeply to know it; she had so much wanted to lie in the old chest

that she loved.

At last she sank into a doze, hovering gently on the borderline

between sleep and waking.... For an instant she dropped off into

unconsciousness; then she awoke with a start and felt that things were

growing clearer. Everything in the house seemed to be in order. But

she felt a vague, troubled curiosity to know where Per Hansa was, with

And-Ongen and the boys.... Probably they had all gone over to Hans

Olsa’s?... Slowly the fragments of thought were finding one another in

her mind, meeting and coming together, and taking on natural shape and

form. A sense of well-being swept over her, so strong and healthy that

it gradually calmed her senses and carried her off into a sound sleep.

She was awakened awhile later by dreaming that she had been borne

upward in the midst of something soft and warm ... in an infinitely

large room.... “This cannot go on any longer,” she thought. “If I rise

any farther I cannot possibly reach home by evening time. I must get

back immediately. Olamand’s pants are almost worn out at the knees; I

must mend them to-night or the boy will freeze to death.” ... Making a

sudden exertion, Beret was instantly wide awake....

And there stood And-Ongen leaning over the bed, stroking her mother’s

cheek with a cool hand and stretching up on tiptoe to get a better view

of the little wrinkled red face in Beret’s arms. Store-Hans was hanging

over the foot of the bed, looking at them, while his father was

coming in with an armful of wood.

“What have you done with Olamand?” she asked in a natural voice,

turning her head and looking about the room.

“He’s off with Henry and Sam, hunting wolf tracks,” Store-Hans hastened

to answer, happy because his mother was awake again.... “Won’t you let

us see Permand?”[15]

[15] _Per_, contracted from Peder;—_mand_, diminutive ending like the

German _kin_; hence, _Permand_ is equivalent to _Pederkin_. _Olamand_

is formed in the same manner.

“Please let us see Permand,” begged And-Ongen; she left off stroking

her mother’s face and beamed down at her.

As soon as Per Hansa had brushed the bark and splinters from his

clothes he came over to Beret, took her hand, and held it silently a

long time.... It was difficult for him to speak, but he managed to wish

her a happy Christmas and to thank her for her gift.... He would not

let her hand go, although her arm was growing tired.

No, he would not let it go.

... “Ah, Beret, Beret!... you know how to choose your time. Here

you are with a great big boy at the very peep of day on Christmas

morning!... Who ever heard of such a woman?” ... He spoke with a tense

quietness; his eyes were nothing but tiny slits in his face, from the

great strain he was under.... She knew that his heart was crying.

The knowledge brought tears to her own eyes. She lay on her back,

and the tears rolled down over both temples. But she did not notice

them. A sweet, heavenly peace like summer enveloped her.... Warmth and

stillness.... Sunlight.... An Arctic night.... Carol of birds.... A

great sea was throbbing and singing close at hand.... Ah, it was good,

after all, to be alive!...

Per Hansa suddenly found himself; his voice boomed out in strong tones:

“Away from the bed, there, you brats. Can’t you see how tired mother

is?”

Of that day Beret remembered little else except that she was weak

and tired, that a mildness like summer seemed to remain hovering about

her, that songs rose over a quiet sea, that a tender sun shone down,

that everything was as it should be, that all the world was good....

During the next few days she slept and slept, and never could sleep

enough. She slept so much that there was no time left for thinking.

Life in the bundle at her side grew stronger, demanded its dues, and

would not be denied.... It was such a joy to tend him.... Per Hansa was

always kind now; his eyes were mere short lines in his face as he went

about his work; the children were full of happiness; all the people

in the world were so kind to her that she could only lie there and be

ashamed of herself!...

II

Ah, that newcomer!... Had the Prairie been possessed of the commonest

hobgoblin sense, she would have guarded herself first of all against

him. But this wisdom she had not. Glorying in her great might,

depending on the witchcraft that had never failed her, she lay there

unconcerned. And powerful though she was, the newcomer minded her no

more than she did him. Weak and insignificant, he yet bore within him

the talisman to set her direst magic at naught. For he beguiled the

heavy-hearted folk into laughing, and what can avail against folk who

laugh—who dare to laugh in the face of a winter like this one?... That

winter it was _he_ who saved people from insanity and the grave.

Beret began to worry and fuss, thinking they ought to have all the

neighbours over on the thirteenth day after Christmas. Hadn’t the good

neighbours cared for them throughout the holidays, and long before

Christmas, too, as if they had been their own kin? But, weak as she

felt, she did not know how she could manage the preparations. She

mentioned this matter the first time she was up.

Per Hansa thought it a splendid idea.... Couldn’t he and the neighbour

women manage the work? He went over to talk to them about it. Kjersti

burst out laughing and offered to come for two weeks if they

wanted her. Sörine was delighted, too. Yes, indeed, they would come, if

Beret would only promise to sit still and let them do all the work.

“Oh, there was a way of insuring that,” said Per Hansa, with a roguish

laugh. He had held Beret on his lap before now, and he was man enough

to do it again.... “Be sure you come early, all of you!”

And so they came for dinner on the thirteenth day of Christmas, every

one, and gathered in Per Hansa’s cabin. Tönseten had brought one of

the bottles which Per Hansa had carried home for him a generation or

two ago.... The bottle appeared suddenly on the table, and none of the

others knew where it had come from. But they soon guessed the secret;

for Tönseten blinked secretively, hinting that his rheumatism was not

so bad this winter. Marvellous climate here in the West! Had they

noticed it? He felt so much better that perhaps _he_ would dare to take

a little drink, too.... Then there was food; there was coffee; there

were the pipes; and much friendly chatting went on in Per Hansa’s cabin

that day. Time flew; the folks sat on into the night. At dusk the men

went out to do the chores, each to his own place; they worked quickly

that night. About the huts lay a thick, woolly darkness, black and

heavy, with snow drifting softly out of the heart of it. In their hurry

to get back to Per Hansa’s, the men hardly noticed the weather.

All felt closely drawn together that night. Their chatting became

singularly intimate and hearty. When the men returned, there was

another bottle on the table, not more than half full. None of them had

brought it, and none could guess where it had come from.

“Isn’t it remarkable,” marvelled Tönseten, “that such things can spring

up out of the very ground? This is truly the Promised Land!... Ah, that

is Beret’s work, now.... I know the bottle!”

As they sat there chatting through the long evening, they talked of the

newcomer—and again of the newcomer—the first newcomer who had found

his way to the Spring Creek settlement. Everyone was aware of the many

extraordinary things connected with his arrival.... Cunningly he

had chosen his time—the high and holy Christmas morn!... Besides, he

had the caul on when he came.... And his father had ventured to give

him that bold second name ... _Victorious_—that was not at all a human

name!...

Tönseten thought that Per Hansa had been reckless and had gone too

far in giving the boy that second name. Per Hansa must remember that

he himself was only a human being.... Where had he been on Christmas

night, for instance. That was a thing Tönseten would like to know! He

wasn’t outside, and he wasn’t inside.... Tönseten had said a good many

things like this to Kjersti when he had first heard about the name.

But that was one time when Tönseten should have kept still!... Kjersti

had been very angry with him and let him know that it was both right

and proper for an unusual child to have an unusual name. So much

Tönseten could stand; but what came next was harder to swallow. Kjersti

had talked herself into a fit of crying—all about how lonely it was to

sit there month after month without ever having anything to give a name

to! He was wise enough about other people’s children, but she hadn’t

seen him do much toward getting one himself. What did he think he was

made for, anyway?... Well, perhaps not, Syvert had said; and he had

added, viciously: Did she suppose that _he_ could bear children?... Oh,

he could talk like a fool ... he could ... she had cried, stamping her

foot on the floor. He could do anything but what he ought to! He was

good for nothing in the world, the weak-kneed loafer!

But that episode was forgotten. Now they sat there rejoicing over the

newcomer. They all felt themselves to be shareholders in him, but they

couldn’t agree over the division.... The boy undoubtedly belonged to

Beret and Per Hansa—that was true enough and as it should be. But it

didn’t follow from this that they possessed the sole and only rights

in him. Had not Sörine and Kjersti stood by while the ship sank?

Now, hadn’t they? Hadn’t they been the sponsors? Did not godmothers

have a strong claim on their godchildren?... And hadn’t Hans

Olsa been called out into the cold, grey Christmas morning to take

upon himself the holy duties of priesthood? It was he, indeed, who

had poured the baptismal water and read the words that should sound

over every Christian mortal!... All this was beyond dispute, and no

one grumbled over Hans Olsa’s prior right to the child.... But, just

the same, protested Tönseten, it was hardly fair play, either to him

or to the Solum boys. Not one of them had had a moment’s peace on

Christmas night; they had just been kept wading back and forth in

the snow, for the sake of that confounded baby. For his own part, he

hadn’t tasted a mouthful of food all day, and hadn’t taken his trousers

off all night!... Tönseten refused to be set aside; in the midst of

the company, with all his friends around him, he was less afraid of

Kjersti. A sudden fancy struck him—he began teasing Sörine about the

name. It was in his honour, of course, that the boy had been given that

second name, and not in her honour at all! But Tönseten should have

been more careful in raising this issue. Sam immediately struck in,

insisting that Per Hansa must have taken the name from _him_—he had

_two_ names beginning with “S”!

... No, they could not agree over their claims. Nor did they fare any

better when it came to determining the newcomer’s destiny.

Henry, with an idea of eventually getting rid of his job, wanted the

boy to be a schoolmaster.... But no, the godmothers wouldn’t listen

to the proposal. Schoolmaster! As if that were good enough for such a

boy! Besides, they already had a schoolmaster. At this point Kjersti

lifted up her voice and announced that he should be a minister. Then

Sörine laughed and winked at her husband. Minister?... Oh, they already

had a minister, too—one of a sort; the boy had been baptized quite in

the proper Christian manner!... As far as she could see, the newcomer

would have to be a doctor. But this proposal started Per Hansa up with

a new objection. Hadn’t they doctors enough already, too?... There was

Kjersti, and there was Sörine, and here he sat _himself_. Why, they

had nothing but doctors!... Sam made them all laugh with his two

suggestions: either a hymn writer or a general.... It must have been

the latter alternative that gave Tönseten his big idea. He had been

sitting there craftily pondering how he might outdo the whole of them.

Now he arose, knocked the ashes from his pipe, cleared his throat

mightily, and said, as if the thing were foreordained and altogether

beyond dispute:

“The boy will, of course, be President! He is born in the

country—everything points in that direction.”

This ridiculous fancy threw them into gales of laughter. But Hans

Olsa did not join in the merriment; he remained grave and sat gazing

thoughtfully at the wall. Now he stretched, and said, as soon as he

could be heard:

“I think we’ll be more in need of a good governor out here, Syvert;

these prairies will be a state some day.”

And there the discussion ended. All felt that at last Hans Olsa had

proposed something that bore the stamp of good sense.

Neither Beret nor Per Hansa had taken part in this discussion. They

sat listening to it, full of secret elation.... Beret’s cheeks burned;

Per Hansa was on the point, once or twice, of putting in his oar, but

managed to stop himself in time.... This was the proper occasion for

him to hold his tongue.... What fun it was to hear them run on!...

III

No one knows what might have happened to them that winter if they had

not had their school to fall back on.... But there it was—a great

school, too, a refuge for them all.

At first it was held in the house of the Solum boys, and the plan

worked out very well. But then it occurred to Sörine that they ought to

find a more practical arrangement. Henry might just as well conduct his

school in her house; in which case both she and Hans Olsa could benefit

by the instruction. And Sam could come over, too. Both the Solum boys

were pleased with the new plan.

A little later, when Beret was quite well again, Per Hansa came

one day to inquire if it mightn’t be possible to move the school to

_his_ house every other week—for Beret’s sake. It would be interesting

for her to listen to the instruction; and, besides, both of them needed

to learn English. Why couldn’t Henry teach his school just as well over

there?... They all agreed that this was the thing to do.

But Tönseten, as usual, wasn’t quite satisfied with the arrangement; he

felt that they weren’t being entirely fair to him. So he proposed that

they should move the school to _his_ house every third week. There was

plenty of food for both Henry and Sam. True enough, he had no children;

but they should remember that he had fathered the school itself. Think

how lonely it was for him and Kjersti to be moping in the hut all by

themselves while the others every other week were enjoying company and

the glory of learning!... Why not be brotherly and share the best with

the worst?...

Again the new plan was agreed upon, and that became the final

arrangement for holding the school.

There was little to do, either outdoors or indoors, during these days.

Often the menfolk would sit in the school both morning and afternoon,

and the women made a practice of attending every afternoon. They came

with their handiwork, and the men with their pipes. At last the school

became indispensable to all of them. The men could not bear to lose a

minute of it; and as for the women, as soon as they had cleared away

the dinner things they would bundle old skirts over their heads and set

out in the snowstorm for the house where the school was being conducted.

Never, perhaps, was a school organized along stranger lines, or based

on looser pedagogical principles; but—ah, well! It was in reality a

flexible institution, with all sorts of functions. It served as primary

school and grammar school, as language school—in both Norwegian and

English—and religious school; in one sense it was a club; in another

it was a debating society, where everything between heaven and earth

became fit matter for argument; on other occasions it turned into a

singing school, a coffee party, or a social centre; and sometimes, in

serious moods, it took on the aspect of a devotional meeting,

a solemn confessional. In these ways the school bound subtly and

inseparably together the few souls who lived out there in the

wilderness.... It often happened that both recitation and instruction

were broken up for the children because the grown folk interrupted,

became absorbed in the discussion, and usurped the whole time.

In the beginning Henry was at his wits’ end to know how to fill in the

day. There were no books, and no school materials of any kind. In this

pass, he resorted to the means that lay nearest at hand—story-telling.

Hunting through his memory, he sought out all the tales that he had

heard or read; and these he related in either Norwegian or English,

making the children repeat them until they had been memorized. In this

way they learned both the story and the language—such as it was. Then

he proposed to set them the task of writing words and sentences. A fine

plan, if they only had something to write on and something to write

with.... Hans Olsa made a large wooden slate for his girl, and gave her

the last remaining stub of a carpenter’s pencil which he had brought

from Norway.... And now that Sofie had a slate, Per Hansa’s boys must

have something to write on, too. Their father took the two thickest

pieces of log that he had standing behind the stove, and whittled each

into an object intended to be a writing board; but Ole called his an ox

yoke, because it was so heavy to carry around. For pencils they used

nails and bits of charcoal.... But one day when Store-Hans went on an

errand to Kjersti’s house, she had a present for him—a great bunch of

folded paper bags and wrapping paper.... And in the chest she had found

a small piece of pencil that Syvert had hidden there.... She supposed

she would have no use for it herself, she said with a sigh, and she

knew of no one she would rather give it to than Store-Hans, for he was

a fine boy. She wept a little as she gave him these simple things.

Store-Hans was delighted with the gift, and on this account he was for

a while the aristocrat of the school.

Before the school became itinerant it had been discovered that

Sam could sing. The discovery had come about in the following manner:

One day Henry had completely exhausted his knowledge and ingenuity and

didn’t know what to do next; suddenly he turned to his brother, who sat

on the chest listening to the instruction, and ripped out:

“Let’s go east, man, and get out of here!... This is the devil’s own

foolishness!”

“Why don’t you try singing with them?” Sam answered, bouncing up from

the chest with the excitement of his idea.

“I’ll leave that job for you,” snapped Henry, snatching his cap and

running out of the room.

And there stood Sam, looking blankly at the children, whose eyes were

fixed on him with an equally blank stare. He couldn’t bear to be the

object of their ridicule; there was no one else in the room; no other

idea came to his rescue; and so he began to sing. He had a good voice,

and found himself falling naturally into the methods by which he had

been taught. It all came back to him, and because his singing was

really good, the scholars caught fire at it and the new idea worked

well.

Perhaps this incident saved the school at a critical time. But it did

vastly more. That winter they learned to sing many songs. The children

learned them, and the grown people learned them, too. There were hymns

and national anthems; there were folk songs and war songs; and there

were many, many love songs from their own Nordland, with not a few

Swedish love ballads as well.... By the time the school had become

itinerant, Sam had acquired two good assistants; for now it appeared

that both Sörine and Kjersti possessed in memory a goodly store of

ditties.... Everything of that nature was routed out from its hiding

place and put into active use.

Tönseten became at times a troublesome listener at these functions.

If, as he sat there following Henry’s instruction, he thought that

he detected heresy, or if he disliked the method of teaching, he

said so without mincing words. As to pedagogical methods, Tönseten

was very particular. In his opinion, Henry lacked the proper and

necessary cunning in formulating his questions; he put the matter

too simply. What was the use of asking questions that anybody could

understand?

Problems in arithmetic always had to be worked out mentally, on account

of the lack of writing materials. One day as they were doing sums,

Tönseten arose and informed them that now _he_ proposed to try their

skill for a minute or two!... “Just take a rest for a little while,

Henry!” he said. The whole neighbourhood was gathered that day in

Tönseten’s sod house.

He struck a dignified pose in front of the table.

“Listen carefully now, you numskulls; here is something to try your

heads on. Now then: five crows were sitting in a tree ... five, you

understand!... A man came by with a gun. He shot one of them. How many

were left in the tree?”

Tönseten gave them a severe look as he finished his question.

“Huh!” grunted Ole, who was the brightest student at sums, “you are

only fooling!”

“_That_ is no problem,” said Sofie. “There were four crows left, of

course.”

“Yes, if they were such dumb crows as you and Ola!... Now, Hans, how

many were left?”

“None,” answered Hans, thoughtfully.

“Right-o! There were none left.... But say, Hans, what do you think

became of the others?”

“Aw ...” drawled the boy in his deep voice, “I suppose they flew away.”

“Sure they did!... Why should they keep on sitting there?” ...

Tönseten was in a sparkling humour.

“Now we will just try another one. Listen hard now, Sofie; this one

is for you. The minister had three daughters, and the deacon also

had three; but when the deacon’s daughters were with the minister’s

daughters, there were no more than three. How can that be explained?”

The problem was simply senseless, laughed Sofie; when there were

six, there simply must be six, and no way out of it!...

“Don’t listen to him,” said Ole. “He’s only fooling!”

“Fooling!” thundered Tönseten. “It seems to me that you are doing the

fooling.... Well, Hansy, you will have to go at it again!”

None of the grown people had heard this riddle before. They laughed

heartily and thought it great fun. Kjersti’s knitting sank into her

lap.... No doubt about it, Syvert was clever at asking questions!

“Hans,” said Tönseten, sternly, “put your brains to work!”

“I—I suppose there was only one man with daughters?” submitted

Store-Hans, carefully.

“Did you ever see the like of the cleverness in that boy!... Yes; you

see, the fact of it was that the minister was a deacon in his own

church. Very likely there wasn’t anyone else who could serve as deacon!”

Tönseten gave Store-Hans a fatherly pat on the head.... “There’s much

good stuff inside that skull of yours. I think you’ll be a minister,

after all.”

And then Tönseten straightened up and turned to face Henry....

“_That’s_ the way to ask questions, Henry!” ... His face was red from

his efforts; he looked ridiculously fierce as he sat down.

IV

Drifting snow and cold ... a yellow sky ... grey weather ... blizzards

that lasted for days.... If it cleared off for an afternoon, the sun

dogs were on constant guard. Everyone knew what that meant!...

The winter’s supply of wood which the settlers had brought home was

disappearing very fast—it had vanished like snow in a warm spring thaw.

Now it was almost gone.

Hans Olsa had discovered a new kind of fuel that grew more and more

valuable to them as their wood supply ran low. One day as he was

clearing the manger of coarse hay which the cow refused to eat it

had struck him that this cast-off hay might possibly be put to

a practical use. Hans Olsa was a frugal man, who tried to utilize

everything that came to his hand. Why wouldn’t this hay make good

kindling.... In order to avoid littering up the floor of the house, he

twisted the hay into fagots before he carried it in. It made fairly

good fuel, burning fast, of course, but flaring up like birch bark

and giving off a fine heat.... At once he told his neighbours of the

discovery, and they began to burn their hay, too.... But it had to be

done sparingly; they mustn’t run the chance of a cattle famine, in case

the spring should turn out to be a long, hard one. Yet these coarse hay

fagots solved their fuel situation for a while.

Along in February, however, there was no way out of it—the fact

confronted them that the men would have to go east to the Sioux River

for a further supply of wood. The journey demanded great preparations

and left little time for going to school. But it was decided that in

spite of everything, Henry must keep on with his teaching. Since they

couldn’t leave the women alone under any circumstances, the school

served as a good excuse for keeping him at home. He would have to be

the guardian of the whole settlement while they were gone.

Both Tönseten and Hans Olsa thought it impossible for Per Hansa to make

such a journey with oxen at this time of the year; they advised him to

join forces with them. Then they could all work together, and divide

equally whatever they brought home. This sounded like good counsel,

and Per Hansa made no objection to it at the time. But for a day or

two he went about his work pondering deeply. Before Christmas he had

made a sleigh, such as it was. One night he asked the boys to help him

after school, and, taking the oxen out, he began to train them for

halter-driving. Heretofore he had used only the yoke, shouting “gee”

and “haw,” like everyone else in those days, who drove oxen.

He had bought his ox team in eastern Minnesota the previous winter,

from a Swede who was glad to get rid of them because he wanted to buy

horses instead. The Swede had bought the oxen from an Irishman in

southern Iowa, and no one knew how many other owners the team had had.

The Swede had called them “Tom” and “Buck,” but Per Hansa had disliked

the names. Bound on a great voyage of adventure as he was, his boats

had to be properly christened. So he had gone about thinking for a

while, and at length had named the oxen “Sören” and “Perkel.” To Sören

he had added the prefix “Old,” so that the full name of the animal was

Old Sören.[16] And sometimes, when he was in his very brightest mood,

he’d prefix the same adjective before the other name, too, because

that sounded more affectionate. This renaming was an easy process for

the oxen, perhaps because the new owner had a temperament so entirely

unfamiliar to the beasts; the hide on their loins showed with startling

clearness that petting had been an unknown factor in their earlier

history.

[16] Both names are colloquial expressions, peculiar to the dialect of

Nordland; they mean the same thing, _viz._, Old Nick.

The boys and the oxen had immediately become firm friends, Store-Hans

adopting one of them as his special charge, Ole the other. They

scratched the oxen’s heads, they rode them like horses, and soon the

animals would come trotting after whenever they caught sight of the

boys; and as they stood patiently with the children hanging around

their necks, giving them a good scratching, and saying “Old Sören”

to one and “Perkel” to the other, they must somehow have learned to

associate this treatment with their new names, and the words must have

sunk in. At any rate, the oxen always responded now when their names

were called.

When Per Hansa that cold winter day took them out of the stable to

teach them the new kind of driving, they were a pair of ragged and

ugly-looking beasts. They stood in the snow before the sleigh and

gazed dully over the white prairie, where the snow lay drifting. They

didn’t know what to make of their new harnesses. All went well for a

while, but presently they lurched right into a snowdrift, and stood

there motionless, sticking out their tongues and licking the snow....

This would never do!... Ole shot forward and began scratching

furiously; Store-Hans did the same on the other side; and when the oxen

had thought it over long enough, and the commands from Per Hansa had

taken on a brittle tone, they threw themselves forward into the harness

and yanked the sleigh out like a feather, regardless of how deeply it

had been lodged in the drift. They kept on training the oxen every day,

and got a good deal of fun out of it into the bargain.... At last it

had progressed so far that one evening, as they unhitched the team, Per

Hansa said to the boys:

“There, they are working out splendidly.... Now, if you two were worth

your salt, you would take this outfit and drive to the Pacific coast

for a load of fish for your mother and me!” The boys grinned and said

nothing.

But Per Hansa had determined to make the trip to the Sioux River with

the oxen. That evening he was very high-spirited and happy.... As they

were going to bed and Beret was sitting by the stove tending the baby

for the night, she said, “I suppose you must make this trip, then?”

“Well, yes, I should say I must, if you and the newcomer aren’t to

freeze stiff!” ...

Nothing more passed between them on the subject. Again Beret lay awake

far into the night, turning her thoughts over in her mind.

This thing was terrible!...

V

The men delayed their trip for several days, waiting for the right sort

of weather. The wind veered around uncertainly; the sleighing looked

treacherous; the cold was simply fearful—it bit into whatever it could

lay its hands on and would not let go.

At last came a morning which gave promise of a clear day. As the sun

rose higher and higher a soft breeze began to blow, like the first

breath of spring. It seemed to be the very weather they had been

waiting for.... The men gathered together in a little knot to talk it

over, wondering if it would be safe to chance it to-day.... Well,

yes, it looked all right now, speculated Tönseten, peering into the

sky and turning his quid in his cheek; but this sort of weather wasn’t

exactly dependable. Somehow, it didn’t seem natural for this time of

year.... “It has too sweet a face, I think!”

They had better make a start, counselled Hans Olsa. Already it was late

in February; the spring thaw would soon be setting in.

“Well,” said Per Hansa, “if we have any idea of bringing a few sticks

of wood home before the haying season begins, we’d better get a move

on.... All the same, I agree with you, Syvert.... It looks to me like a

weather-breeder. But we ought to be able to reach the Trönders’ before

anything happens.”

Then they began to get ready. There were numberless things to attend

to, so that it was past ten o’clock before they set out. They had not

burdened themselves with provisions, knowing that they would soon come

to hospitable folk; but to be on the safe side they all carried a small

supply of food in their pockets.

The four teams formed quite a caravan, each with its own sleigh,

trailing in single file across the white plain. Hans Olsa, who had the

fastest horses, drove in the van; then came Tönseten; then Sam; while

Per Hansa’s oxen, shambling along with him and his sleigh, drew up the

rear.

The whole settlement was out-of-doors to see the caravan set forth.

The children were dismissed from school for a little while; the grown

folks left their work.... Store-Hans clenched his fists in impotent

fury.... What foolishness.... What an idiotic arrangement! Here they

had to sit indoors, he and his brother, in such fine weather, chewing

over and over again the stories they knew by heart, while off went the

men, bound for all sorts of wonderful adventures!... Father would be

taking Old Maria along.... He might shoot a dozen wolves to-day!...

Perhaps there would be smooth ice on the river, and a hole in the ice,

and fish, and everything! And strangers to be met, and grown-up

talk going.... Oh, what nonsense, to have to stay here!... His brother

was in the same state of bitter revolt; that day the boys learned very

little in school.

Beret had laid the baby down and gone out with the others; but just

as the men were about to start she ran back into the house, her knees

trembling under her.... The window faced the east and they were going

eastward, but she could not bring herself to look out.... But what she

felt was not exactly fear—was not the same fear that had gripped her

the time before when he had left her alone.... This was a sense of

powerlessness....

The caravan crept away. Sleighs and animals grew smaller and smaller;

at last they were nothing but tiny black dots on the endless white

expanse of the plain....

All went well with Per Hansa and the oxen. Once the heavy animals had

started, they kept the track without any difficulty, and didn’t lag

very far behind, either. The snow was soft, and it soon proved heavy,

slow work to break the track. The three teams of horses had to take

turns at it. Though the weather still looked steady, the men pushed on

as fast as they could.

Some time after midday the breeze settled down into a mild south wind;

the snow was growing more and more soggy under the runners; the air

seemed as soft as a May day; in the whole arch of the sky not a cloud

nor the trace of a cloud could be seen; the sunshine almost blinded

them with its radiant brilliancy.

This lasted without change until after three o’clock.

So far everything had gone without a hitch and Per Hansa figured that

in two or three hours they would sight the hills over by the Sioux

River. But just then, chancing to glance back toward the western

horizon, he caught sight of a black, billowy outline above the prairie,

looming ominously against the sky.... Were his eyes deceiving him? He

rubbed them and looked again; rubbed them harder and gazed intently at

the sight.... Sure enough it was a veritable outline, the form of a

low-lying dark cloud.... His heart pounded against his breast; he

spoke quickly and roughly to the oxen....

The apparition was moving out there—came rushing forward and upward

with uncanny speed. The outline had now become a dark, opaque mass ...

it writhed and swelled with life ... it seemed to be belching up over

all the sky, like sooty smoke out of a furnace. Above his head the

heavens were still clear; but under the rim of the onrushing cloud a

bluish-black shadow had settled on the prairie.

The south wind suddenly died in fitful gasps, leaving a chill in the

air.... A weird silence had fallen.... The thing in the west was

possessed of baleful life. It shot outward and upward.... Sighs as if

out of a cold cavern ran before it.... In a twinkling, the day had been

swallowed in gloom....

Those in the lead had stopped at the first warning. Hans Olsa had

waited until Tönseten and Sam came up; when Per Hansa reached them, the

three sleighs were all huddled together.

“It’s going to strike us in a minute,” said Hans Olsa, soberly. He was

standing beside his sleigh, clearing the lashing-rope.

“Looks like it,” answered Per Hansa, dryly. “If we ever get out of

this—!” ... He jumped out and followed Hans Olsa’s lead, clearing his

own rope.

The Solum boy said nothing, but worked frantically to get his rope

untangled.

“This is what we must do,” said Hans Olsa: “We’ll pass a rope from

sleigh to sleigh, so that we won’t lose each other in the storm. Isn’t

that right, Per Hansa?”

“Yes, yes!” His sailor instincts were all alive. “It looks as if

the storm would travel the way we’re going. We’ll have to watch the

wind.... Whatever you do, keep a sharp lookout for the country we

know on this side of the river. If we should sail past the Trönders’,

there’ll be hell to pay.... Hurry up, now. Damn the luck, that we

haven’t got a compass!” The words tumbled out of Per Hansa’s mouth in a

raging flood.

Each man tied his lashing-rope to the sleigh, and gave the other

end to the next one behind. Per Hansa ran forward to the Solum boy:

“All ready, Sam? Are you sure your rope is fast? I don’t believe I’ll

be able to keep up with you.... But listen: don’t give a thought to

what lies _behind_ you! Do you hear? Hold on like hell to Syvert’s

rope! It’s a matter of life and death. Do you understand?... Now we

must get a move on!”

Both Per Hansa and Hans Olsa—old Lofot-men that they were—had seen

plenty of storms that made up fast; but nothing like this had ever

before come within the range of their experience. Like lightning a

giant troll had risen up in the west, ripped open his great sack of

woolly fleece, and emptied the whole contents of it above their heads.

A squall of snow so thick that they could not see an arm’s length ahead

of them, a sucking noise, a few angry blasts, howling in fury, then

dropping away to uncertain draughts of air that wandered idly here and

there, swirling the light snowfall around the sleighs. High overhead,

a sharp hissing sound mingled with growls like thunder—and then the

blizzard broke in all its terror....

VI

The storm howled and whined, driving the snow before it like giant

breakers. A grey-black spume enveloped them, a raging cloud....

Instinctively, Per Hansa found himself peering through the murk,

knitting his brows and squinting up his right eye—an old habit of his,

born of the many times he had looked to see if the mast would hold!

A violent jerk came on his rope, so strong that he almost plunged

forward. To save himself from being dragged off his sleigh he was

forced to let go his hold.... “There goes Sam!” he muttered, grinding

his teeth together.

The boat that he steered was behaving very badly; it wouldn’t answer

the helm; it didn’t ride the swell like a seaworthy craft; it had no

speed or power to lift itself over the rough waves. The oxen

shambled and floundered along, veering before the wind; with every

clumsy step they went more slowly; at last, with a great heave, they

stood stock-still. Drawing their heads as far as they could into their

short necks, they twitched their bodies a little, hunched their backs,

and lowered their heavy rumps into the snow, to meet the force of the

gale....

There they stood!

“God Almighty!” ... muttered Per Hansa into the storm. Quick as

lightning the thought flashed through his mind: Run your knife into one

of them, rip off his hide, wrap yourself in it, and let yourself snow

under—it’s your only salvation!

No, no, Per Hansa couldn’t do that. Old Sören and Perkel had brought

him and his family all the way across the plains; they had broken every

inch of his fields; if he were ever to have a lordly estate, it would

come about through the labor of these beasts.... And Old Sören had such

kind eyes, and Perkel always came so quickly when they called him.

Per Hansa threw himself out of the sleigh and fumbled his way along

the traces till he came to the oxen; he caught hold of their necks and

began rubbing their foreheads. While he rubbed, he talked into their

ears:

“Now, Old Sören ... now, damn you, Perkel. By God, you’ll have to be

good boys!” ...

With rough caresses he swept the snow off their backs, scratched their

rumps a moment, then crept back into the sleigh. Summoning all his

force, he shouted in a mighty voice, “Get along now, you devils!” The

whip lashed and cracked—the first time since he had bought them that

he had ever struck them in real earnest.... The oxen gave a tremendous

plunge ... another ... and off they careered into the heart of the

storm. Per Hansa felt as if he were sliding down one huge wave after

another; the boat was scudding now with terrific speed!... Still on

they went, tossing and plunging, down and down!...

“Will we ever climb the next wave?” thought Per Hansa.

... Why, what in Heaven’s name was this? Something had happened

very suddenly. He thought that he heard a loud crash, as if two logs

had smashed violently together; through the murk he glimpsed a black

object flying across the bows and disappearing astern.... Wasn’t that

another? And another?... Why!... He must be passing the other teams!

“Whoa! Whoa, there!” he bellowed down the wind. “Stop!... t-r-r-r-o!”

... He was so angry that he nearly broke the lines.... “Who ever saw

such devils! Stop! Whoa!” ...

But the oxen paid not the slightest attention to him. The spirit of the

storm had possessed them; they tore along like mad things; whenever

they struck a snowdrift, they plunged through it so furiously that the

snow thrown up by their feet and the sleigh was thicker than that which

fell from above. Per Hansa could do nothing but cling desperately to

the sleigh.... This mad race through the inferno of the storm lasted a

long time; how long he did not know, but it seemed to him as if it had

gone on forever....

But finally the oxen slackened their speed; the wild gallop sank

to a trot; the trot fell to a tired jog ... and then they stopped

altogether. He could distinctly hear their exhausted puffing through

the roar of the storm.

Per Hansa scrambled down from the sleigh again and managed to open one

of the hay sacks. He tore out a handful of hay, plowed his way forward,

and began to rub down the oxen with the dry wisp.... The storm was now

so terrific that it was impossible to turn one’s face against it. The

stinging snow drove like icy needles and broke the skin. He rubbed and

rubbed, first Old Sören, then Perkel; and when his strength was gone

and he could rub no longer, he struggled back to fetch the hay sack,

held it under their noses, and let them eat.... He stood there holding

it so long that he grew stiff with the cold and with the piercing

snow that stuck in his clothes like nails.... “Hurry now, hurry now,

troll-boys! God be praised, you can still wag your jaws!” he spoke in

their ears.

At last he got back to the sleigh, loosened the blanket, and

wrapped it close around him. He emptied the hay sack and bundled it

over his head.... Then he shouted a few vigorous words of encouragement

to the oxen: now they must get along—now, by God, they must show what

stuff they were made of!...

But the beasts had a different notion, an idea all their own: instead

of rushing off as before, they began to saunter slowly with the wind,

moving forward at exactly the same speed as when they were drawing the

plow on a hot summer day. Per Hansa tried every means he could think of

to start them up; he fumed and swore; he coaxed them and used all kinds

of pet names; he grabbed the whip and lashed them mercilessly, but

everything had the same effect, or no effect at all. The oxen sauntered

along, dragging him and his sleigh as unconcernedly through the storm

as if they were on their way down to the creek to drink.

It had now grown pitch dark; the night pressed close about him. Snow

was not falling as thickly as in the afternoon, but the cold had become

intense ... it cut into his back like a heavy, dull knife; the wind had

risen into a solid blast, so that he had hard work to keep his seat in

the sleigh.... He sat there, huddled and freezing, and stared out into

the blackness. So, this was his last journey!...

The thought only made him impatient.... God Almighty might have waited

awhile longer, until they had seen how their luck would go out here

and what sort of a boy Permand would turn out to be.... It was a queer

thing that He should want to be so cruel to Beret—a sick woman left

alone in this terrible place, so far out in the wilderness—and without

the oxen, too!... A strange fate, this, I’ll be damned if it isn’t!

thought Per Hansa.

... By and by he began to feel that he was really freezing. He tied

the lines about his thighs and took to beating his arms. It helped

his hands, but his back only grew colder; the wind cut through and

through....

... It seemed to him that by this time he must have gone by the

Trönders’—a long way by. The oxen wouldn’t stop until they had

reached the Atlantic Ocean!... He was so cold now that his teeth

chattered all the time and couldn’t stop.

... Then, after a while, the cold seemed to be letting up; the terrible

sucking emptiness inside him had gone away; he felt tired and drowsy

... a good feeling....

He pulled himself furiously together and deliberately chewed his tongue

to keep awake. He knew too well what this drowsy feeling meant!...

... It must not happen—it _should_ not happen! To think of Beret alone

there with four youngsters!... Making a desperate effort, he flung

himself out of the sleigh and staggered along beside the oxen, the

lines wound securely around his arm.

... Struggling through the storm, he felt more and more disgusted with

God Almighty. To take him away from Beret now would be a wicked thing,

whichever way you looked at it.... What could He expect to accomplish

by such a wrong?... There wasn’t a better, truer soul alive than

Beret.... Was this the way God cared for His own?

“Beret, Beret,” he kept sobbing to himself. “I’m going ...”

The storm raged around him; the cold bit deeper and stronger. He

staggered on in the midst of a vast darkness, beset by furious

monsters, fighting a battle that seemed to be without respite and

without end.... On and on he stumbled, on and on....

Strangely enough, he didn’t seem tired at all—the fight didn’t

exhaust him.... What sort of a place would he get to if he kept on

travelling like this a week or two?... A name occurred to him as if

it had risen out of the storm—he seemed to see it shining before

his eyes: _Rocky Mountains_ ... The Rocky Mountains? What a strange

fancy!... Floundering through the snowdrifts, this name seemed to be

broken in pieces as it ran through his mind: Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...

Rocky-ocky, rocky-ocky ... Moun-tains, moun-tains!... Then he fell

down; pulling himself wearily out of the snowdrift, another thought

crossed his mind.... It was all a mistake—the Rocky Mountains

didn’t lie in this direction.... God! was he going stark mad?... He

probably wouldn’t be able to last much longer.... How sweet it would

be—what a blessed, infinite relief—to sit down here in this snowdrift

and rest a little while! Only a moment ... it wouldn’t take long ...

sleep would so soon overcome him.

Suddenly he was aroused by a new thought, that shook him wide awake

and stirred his numbed senses: _Sam_! What had happened to Sam? They

couldn’t leave him in the lurch.... Sam was a promising boy. He’d

probably make a splendid citizen some day, with his fine voice and all

his other good qualities.... God above, was he, Per Hansa, going to be

blamed for this, too, that Sam would lose his life to-night?... If he

had kept his mouth shut that evening and let them go on their way, both

Sam and Henry might now have been safe and sound in eastern Minnesota

with their own folks!... But perhaps those who had horses would be able

to pull through, since the storm wasn’t growing any worse. If only they

didn’t desert the boy!

Per Hansa was stumbling and falling a good deal now; each time he fell

it was harder to get up. The lines were jammed tightly around his arm;

the oxen plowed onward without a pause; he had to get up or be dragged

through the snow. Neither could he loosen the lines, for his mittens

were frozen stiff.... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains, Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...

Directly behind those mountains lay the Pacific Ocean.... They had no

winter on that coast ... no winter, and they fished both halibut and

salmon! God! no winter!... If he could only gain his way across ...

across the ... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...

... The devil take it!... but this was all wrong!

Steadily onward the oxen plowed, dragging Per Hansa by the arm. Stumble

and fall as he would, he had to get up again and struggle along....

... What had happened now? The oxen had stopped—were standing still.

Per Hansa wasn’t being dragged forward any longer.

His first impulse was to sink down where he stood, to snatch a

moment’s peace, to give up to the weariness that was overmastering him.

But deep down within him a voice commanded him to keep on standing....

He followed the lines, fumbled his way forward to Perkel, flung his arm

across the animal’s back, and leaned against his thigh....

What nonsense was this?... Day breaking again?... Between the heads of

the two oxen a yellow eye seemed to be gleaming through the curtain of

the driving snow ... a great yellow eye....

“It must be my death signal!” thought Per Hansa. “Then I’m already

across the boundary line!” ...

Suddenly Old Sören gave a long-drawn bellow. The sound had scarcely

died away when Perkel lifted his voice as if to second his comrade’s

motion. He put such a powerful effort into that bellow that his muscles

strained and his whole body contracted. The noise shook Per Hansa out

of his grim revery. He felt his way along Perkel’s back until he had

readied the animal’s head ... it was rammed full-tilt against a log

wall!...

Here was the corner ... the corner of a house....

Per Hansa trembled so violently that he could hardly keep his feet. He

saw now that the eye shining through the drifting snow was in reality

the light from a small window in this log wall.... Good Heavens! Had

he plowed and plunged clear through to Fillmore County?... He found

his way around the house corner, came to a door, flung it open without

ceremony, and stumbled in.

VII

Per Hansa saw nothing as he stumbled into the cabin. The heat of

the room seemed to flow over him in a great wave, deadening all his

senses. The light blinded him; he could not open his eyes beyond a

narrow slit; his face was crusted with snow and ice; his eyelashes were

frozen together.... But he was conscious, with a deep sense of joy and

relief, that this was a safe place and that there were folk around

him again—Norwegian folk, his own people... When he had first felt

the build of the cornice, out there in the snowstorm, he had sensed

instinctively that here lived Norwegians.... Out of the jaws of death

he had walked in a single step into warmth and life and safety.... But

it was easier to warm his body than to thaw out his soul. The reaction

was too swift and too tremendous; he felt himself growing faint and

dizzy and was barely able to stand.

“Give me something to sit down on, good folk,” he heard a faint voice

saying far away. For a moment, he thought that his senses were going

to leave him.... He must hurry and say what he had to say!... “You’ll

find ... two oxen ... two good oxen outside.... Get them under cover at

once!... I’m all right—but the oxen—!”

Some one shoved forward a chair. He felt vaguely that it must be meant

for him, took hold of the back, and let himself sink down.... His

frozen clothes crackled like sheets of ice, shedding a little flurry of

snow.

... “There, I’m tracking up your floor!... but look after the oxen—the

oxen——”

A hubbub of confused, excited voices rose around him. He felt that

there must be a crowd of people in the room, but their faces were all a

blank to him. A thick haze seemed to surround them, swimming before his

eyes.

Then a person got up right by his side—a palpable figure confronted

him. Per Hansa gave a start—the voice sounded strangely familiar.

“For the Lord’s sake! Is this you, Per Hansa?” it said. All at once Per

Hansa burst into a laugh.

“Where the devil did you drop from, Syvert?... Is Sam with you?”

“Can’t you see the boy?... He’s sitting in the chair right in front of

you.... Thank God, Per Hansa, you’re still alive!”

No wonder that they had failed to recognize him, no wonder that he

couldn’t see, or that his voice sounded weak and strange, for his

whole face was covered with a mask of hard-caked snow which had

not melted yet in the heat of the room. It was firmly fastened to his

eyebrows and beard; it joined his cap to his coat collar and hung down

behind over his back in a white sheet. If ever there was a snow king in

human form, it was Per Hansa that night as he sat thawing out in Simon

Baarstad’s cabin.

Little by little his five senses came back to him; and sure enough,

there they all were, his good neighbours. He knew the room well, too,

and the folk who owned it.... He could see Sam plainly enough now—Sam,

who could sing so well, sitting close to the stove, beside a fair young

girl.... He couldn’t make out whether he was closer to the girl or to

the stove. Per Hansa smiled to himself.... Ah, Sam, Sam!... No doubt

about your being a good man some day!...

He listened in deep contentment while Hans Olsa related how they had

driven like demons, to save their lives. They had had no idea where

they were going nor what lay ahead of them; but at the last moment,

when they had almost given up hope, they had gotten their bearings of

the country on this side of the river and had arrived at this very

spot. That had been two hours ago; it was now past nine o’clock....

Per Hansa heard them as if in a dream. The terrible trip didn’t concern

him any longer. It was all over now.... Something else that was going

on in the room interested him a great deal more: beside the stove stood

Gurina Baarstad, handling a stewpan. She had filled it over half full

of milk; when the milk began to simmer she added a goodly portion of

strong, home-brewed beer.

“My dear, blessed Gurina, don’t be stingy, now!” Per Hansa teased her.

The hot mixture was strong, brown, and frothy. They gave him a large

bowlful; he drank and drank....

“God, if a fellow had thirteen barrels of this stuff of yours,

Gurina!... You don’t happen to have another little drop in the pan?”

... She gave him a second bowlful, which he emptied as greedily as the

first.... All at once, something occurred to him. He turned to ask a

question.

... Had any of them seen him drive past them in the storm?

Drive past them!... “You’re talking wild, Per Hansa,” said Tönseten,

with an anxious look. Per Hansa was off his base to-night!

—Certainly not—nothing wild about that! They had better take a look at

Sam’s sleigh to-morrow, if they didn’t believe him. He had almost run

Sam down as he shot by!... “Say, didn’t you see me, Sam?”

Well, Sam remembered that he did see something go by—something black,

that flew past like a wraith of the storm. It had been just after

the squall broke. He had felt a terrific jolt go over the sleigh and

thought he had struck a stone.... “Was that you, Per Hansa?”

“Ha-ha! You’re damned right! That was my flying oxen passing your

good-for-nothing old plugs.”

—But where, in Heaven’s name, had he been in the meanwhile?—asked

everyone at once.

—Yes, they had better wonder about that!... Per Hansa was gay once

more; he tipped up the bowl rakishly and tried to squeeze another drop

out of it.

“If you want to know, I took a little run up to Flandreau to see if

I couldn’t find a good-looking bride for Henry. I thought that was

the least I could do for him, poor fellow His brother can handle such

matters for himself, it seems.... Tell me, Sam, are you still as _cold_

as all that?”

Sam blushed crimson and hitched his chair away from the girl.

Later a large bowl of porridge was set out on the table for Per Hansa,

a mug of hot milk beside it. He ate and ate; it seemed as if he never

could get enough.... Afterward there was much cozy talk, everyone in

the house joining in; they discussed all that had happened so far, and

all that was going to happen.... Oh, this country had a great future!

People who were willing to work could win almost anything out of it! No

doubt about that at all!

At last it came time for them to retire. The members of the family

lay down in their beds; the strangers slept on the floor, which had

been piled deep with hay and covered with many thicknesses of clothes;

all four men lay there side by side, and three of them soon slept the

quiet sleep of the righteous....

But Per Hansa could not sleep; his mind was numb with weariness, yet he

could not sleep. Every nerve of his body was twitching; little spasms

passed over him, like ripples on the surface of a smooth, glassy sea.

It was very hot in the cabin; the blanket grew so heavy that he had to

throw it off. Something remained still frozen, deep down in the centre

of his being.

A certain picture stood stubbornly before his mind: a sod house beset

by the western storm, a hut with the wind howling around the corners;

he could even hear the peculiar note that the wind always made as it

sucked around one of these corners. The hut lay far, far out in the

heart of the darkness. A woman was moving about there whose sad face

was still full of beauty; she carried a child in her arms. Per Hansa’s

weary, wide-open eyes could see exactly how she held the child.... It

lay wrapped in a blanket—a red blanket with black borders.... He turned

over heavily many times, trying to blot out the vision; but the woman

continued to pace up and down. He felt that he must speak to her, let

her know that all was well—tell her to go to bed now, so that a fellow

might have a little peace....

... “God Almighty!” sighed Per Hansa. “How Beret must be worrying about

me to-night!... She ought not to be so foolish. I’ve told her many

times that there are no finer people in the world than these Trönders.”

... But his body kept on jerking; his mind would not let the picture

go.... It must be cold in her hut to-night.... If the boys had only

managed to bring enough wood into the house before the storm broke!...

Surely they must have some heat, or she would not be walking the floor;

it would be terrible for her in the cold.... He threshed and turned,

but the picture followed him....

VIII

Along the Sioux River, both above and below Simon Baarstad’s place,

there was already a considerable settlement, made up almost entirely

of Trönders. For those days it was a well-organized community. Some of

the folk who lived there thought of themselves as old settlers already;

the first had come in ’66. Most of them had a good start now, were

living in fair-sized frame houses, possessed a good deal of land under

cultivation, and were making a comfortable living.

And what adventures they were able to relate about the first few years!

How they had had to cross the region that is now the southern part of

South Dakota and go still farther westward into Nebraska, to have their

wheat ground at the mill; how the Indians had come by in large bands,

both winter and summer; and all about many other remarkable things....

_Now_ there weren’t any hardships or difficulties to be met with, said

the Trönders; now there were people everywhere, the country was fairly

settled, and town after town had sprung up out of the prairie.

Per Hansa liked to listen to these stories. There was about them a

certain flavor of genuineness and reliability, as of human experience,

and at the same time something that stirred his heart and made his

cheeks burn.... Surely the things that a Trönder could do were not

impossible for a Helgelænding! In olden times it had never been so, and

it would not prove to be so to-day, either.... “Just wait awhile!” ...

The next day was clear and still, but bitterly cold. Per Hansa, who on

his first trip the previous summer had bought an acre of woodland from

Baarstad on time payment, remained on his own lot, felling trees and

loading his sleigh; the others went around to different places, buying

what wood they could find.... The four men stayed in the settlement two

whole days, and did not leave for home until the morning of the third

day. By hurrying, they might have set out a day earlier, but to hurry

seemed almost impossible.

No, it was hard for them to hurry. In many months they had seen

few strange faces; this visit was too much fun to cut short. And the

Trönders, who were a hospitable folk and had a long story to tell,

would not hear of their leaving sooner.... The four were easily

tempted. These were festal days; the strain of life had relaxed for a

moment; and there were a thousand things to consult the Trönders about.

Before they left they had ordered all the wheat and oats they would

need for the spring seeding. Tönseten had even bought half a sack of

barley, a fact which he carefully concealed from his comrades.... It

would be soon enough to tell them when the time came, he thought. The

Trönders knew how to make good beer from barley, and he had received

careful instruction from Tommaas.... Just wait till fall came around!

Per Hansa, when he had finished making up his load of wood, wanted

to try his luck on the river. He coaxed Baarstad until the latter

consented to go with him. The two men went at it with a will, chopping

their way through the thick ice, while the sweat rolled from their

foreheads.

And then Trönder and Helgelænding fished together through the same

hole, in the greatest comradeship and with the keenest enjoyment.[17]

... At night there was fresh fish on the table, and the two old

fishermen sat eating and rejoicing while they told tales of both East

and West Lofoten and forgot everything around them as they went back

into the past. Per Hansa thought that Baarstad was the finest fellow he

had met for many a long day, and Baarstad felt the same way about Per

Hansa. For the twentieth time now he had asked him not to wait too long

before he visited them again.

[17] During the winter seasons at Lofoten, the two clans, the Trönders

and the Helgelændings, had from time immemorial fought many a bitter

fight.

As they sat there chatting, a boy came in to speak with the girl of the

family. He seemed to be in hot haste, that boy—almost as if it were a

matter of life and death.

—What was going on? asked Baarstad.

—Oh, Tommaas had company at his house, and they were going to have

a little fun to-night. The girl bustled about, got herself ready, and

went away with him.

Then it occurred to Baarstad that they might as well go, too. He told

his wife to hurry up and get ready.... “We’ll show these Helgelændings

how Trönders can dance!”

Awhile later the three arrived at the Tommaas house. As they opened

the door, sounds of a scraping fiddle, mingled with the loud tramping

of feet, poured out into the frosty night. The house was packed full

of people, both young and old.... A small lamp with a homemade shade,

sitting on a log well up on the wall, tried to keep an eye on all the

couples below; but the task was too heavy for such a weak glim. It had

to be content with blinking down on the nearest pair.... The three

newcomers found themselves quickly shoved into a corner, out of the

wake of the dancers.

Per Hansa grew restless as he watched, though his restlessness was

far different from that which had kept him awake the other night....

Remarkable how that fiddle sang! He had to admit that the man who

played knew his business, even if he was a Trönder!...

“Well, I’ll be——!” The exclamation had jumped out of Per Hansa before

he could stop it. Here came the Solum boy, swinging past him with the

Baarstad girl!... “Oh yes, he’ll be a man, that Sam, if he keeps this

up!” ... Another couple came rocking past—he ought to know that fellow,

if he would only stop whirling around. By God! it was Tönseten, tossing

along with an apple-round Trönder woman!...

“Careful now, Syvert, old man! There are rocks and breakers ahead of

you! What do you think Kjersti would——”

“Shut your mouth, Per Hansa! What are you standing there moping about?”

Tönseten’s face was fiery red; the dance whirled him away before he had

time to say anything more.

Per Hansa began to breathe hard and fast; his eyes snapped with

excitement, narrowing to little slits. Right in the midst of a flock of

dancers a big head bobbed up and down, up and down, above all the

others, like a buoy on a high sea.... Then Per Hansa completely forgot

himself. “By all the frolicking seraphims, there’s Hans Olsa dancing

the schottische!” ... Waves of spasmodic twitching passed over him, in

time to the jigging tune; his eyes blinked rapidly.... He looked around

for the Baarstads, saw them close at hand, and grasped Gurina’s arm.

“Come, show me how the Trönders dance that tune!”

Forgotten was everything else now. With his arm around Gurina, he

manœuvred toward the centre of the floor until he had reached his

neighbour’s side.... “Get out of the way, Hans Olsa! I want plenty of

room to swing in!” ...

At exactly eleven o’clock the party was over; Tommaas himself commanded

them to stop.... No one knew how it came about, but, strangely enough,

it was Sam who brought the Baarstad girl home....

The next morning, long before daylight, the four men had left the

settlement and were on their way back to Spring Creek.

IX

Sunday afternoon ... a dim, lurid day ... a pale sun flickering through

the drifting snow ... an everlasting wind ... the whole prairie a

foaming, storm-beaten sea.... Nothing else, to the very ends of the

world.... The sun dogs were still on guard, one ahead of the sun, the

other following....

The whole settlement was gathered in Tönseten’s hut that afternoon;

a gloomy restlessness had taken hold of them, so that they could not

stay at home. Per Hansa had bundled the newcomer up and taken him over;

that completed the roll call.... Kjersti was serving potato coffee,

with potato cakes; but for the coffee to-day she had fresh cow’s milk,

which made it not so bad, and her store of loaf sugar wasn’t entirely

gone.... Inside the hut the lurid daylight cast a pale, sickly gleam.

From out the stove, with its crackling fire, bright streamers of warmer

light played about the room.

A heavy mood lay on the folk—too heavy for potato coffee to

dispel.... It was such a terrible, hopeless day out-of-doors ... and

all the days were alike....

Under the strain of this winter the courage of the men was slowly

ebbing away.... As they sat cooped up in Tönseten’s house, they were

discussing the question of how this place would look in two years, or

maybe in four years—or even after six years had passed. See how many

had come last year—this roomful, where the year before there wasn’t a

living soul! Wouldn’t it be reasonable to expect that an equal number

of new settlers would turn up another year? They began to figure it

out on this basis: next year _so_ many, in four years _such_ a number;

until at last the country would be filled up and the folk would

stretch, neighbour to neighbour, clear out to the Rocky Mountains! They

foresaw the whole process and calculated correctly—but no one in that

company believed in the calculation! They heard themselves speak, and

listened to one another, but all realized that there was no fire in

their words....

“I don’t believe Per Hansa is ready himself to swallow that story,”

thought Hans Olsa, but he raised no objection.... “God save them from

making mistakes in their figuring!” ran through Kjersti’s mind, as she

listened in awe to Per Hansa and Syvert rolling up the total; but she

was careful to throw no cold water on the dream.

... On a day like this it was impossible to believe in such fine

fancies; they all felt it, deep down in their hearts.

But here came Tönseten with a question that made them forget everything

else for a while. The conversation had died of its own inertia; no

one could find a thought that seemed worth expressing. Then Tönseten

straightened up where he sat on the chest, demanding to know what names

Hans Olsa and Per Hansa intended to adopt when they took out the title

deeds to their land.

“Names?”

“Yes, names!... That point would have to be settled clearly

beforehand,” Tönseten explained. “When the deeds were taken out,

their names would then be written into the law of the land, and

thereafter would be as unchangeable as the Constitution itself!”

... But they all had been baptized! How about Tönseten himself? asked

Per Hansa, irritably. He couldn’t understand why the name Peder Hansen

would not be good enough even for the United States Constitution....

This snobbish fastidiousness of Syvert’s didn’t fit the case.

Tönseten bridled at once and said that sarcasm was uncalled for. He was

only, in the capacity of an old American citizen, giving good advice on

matters which he understood perfectly.... “That’s all!” ... And when

Tönseten threw the phrase, “That’s all!” into his conversation, they

knew that he was offended.... Besides, he went on stiffly, it seemed

as if anyone ought to be able to understand this much: Hans Olsen and

Peder Hansen—why, either a Greek or a Hebrew might bear those names! It

would never occur to anyone who heard them that they were carried by

Norwegian people![18] ...

[18] The practice of changing surnames has gone on extensively with

the Norwegian-American. Among the common folk in Norway it is quite

customary even yet for the son to take his surname from his father’s

first name; the son of Hans must be Hansen or Hanson. Likewise the

girl; if she is the daughter of Hans, her surname becomes _Hansdatter_

(Hans’ daughter), which she retains even after marriage. When the

Norwegians became independent landowners in America their slumbering

sense of the historical fitness of things awoke, and so many of them

adopted the name of the place they had come from in the old country.

Hence the many American names now ending in —dahl, —fjeld, —gaard,

—stad, etc. As the Swedes, and the Danes, too, had so many Hansens and

Olsens and Johnsons, the change was really a very practical one.

Hans Olsa laughed good-naturedly, and said with quiet humour: “Then

perhaps I had better call myself Olav Trygvason.... Wasn’t there some

one of that name?”

This made everyone laugh: Hans Olsa’s shaft had suddenly torn a rift in

their mood of depression.

“Well, well,” chuckled Per Hansa, “if you want to be Olav Trygvason,

I’ll be Peter Tordenskjold! But then we’ll have to rechristen Syvert,

too ... St. Olaf or Tore Hund.[19] How would that do, Hans

Olsa?... If that wouldn’t proclaim to both Jew and Gentile that we are

good Norwegians, then I’m certainly up a stump!” ...

[19] Olav Trygvason, King of Norway (995–1000); St. Olaf, Norway’s

martyr king (1016–1030); Peter Tordenskjold, the great naval hero

(1690–1720); Tore Hund, St. Olaf’s slayer. These names are household

words with every emigrant Norwegian.

They were all laughing so hard now that Tönseten had to join them in

spite of himself.... Then Kjersti and Sörine took up the question; the

Solum boys chimed in and expressed their opinions; while the children

were busy discussing it among themselves. But Beret sat quietly rocking

the baby on her lap, and said nothing.

An earnest liveliness crept into the conversation. Opinions flew thick

and fast. At last Sörine spoke up resolutely, as if she had made up her

mind, saying that if she had her choice she would rather be called Mrs.

Vaag, from their place name in Norway, than Mrs. Olsen.

This sounded so sensible and practical that all the others had to try

the idea at once, with their own place names.

“But, look here, Sörrina,” objected Per Hansa, “that wouldn’t do for my

wife! Your notion would make her Mrs. Skarvholmen[20]—and that nobody

shall call her! I warn you!”

[20] _Skarv_ in this compound means cormorant—a rather nasty-looking

sea bird; the word is often used in an adjectival sense about a

deadbeat or person of low moral qualities. _Holmen_ means the holm.

Hence _Skarvholmen_—the holm of the cormorant.

“No, that certainly wouldn’t do for a Christian woman!” cried Kjersti

with a hearty laugh.

“No, I suppose not,” admitted Sörine, unwilling to give up. “But how

about Mrs. Holm? That seems to me both pretty and practical.... I say,

Beret, shall we all turn Baptists for a while?” ... Sörine was laughing

in her jolly way, immensely taken up with the idea.

Beret sat rocking the child. She had listened absently all the while,

humming a quiet melody to herself. When Sörine addressed her directly

she stopped singing and answered that it made little difference to her,

if—she choked, and went on—if it was right for a person to take a

name other than the one given in baptism.... But it made no difference

to her.

Sörine grew serious over this point.

“I agree with you, Beret.... But here in this country we can’t bear our

fathers’ names, anyway. It wouldn’t do for me to sign my name as Sörine

Sakkarias’-Daughter!”

“No,” cried Tönseten, excitedly, “not if you want to be Hans Olsa’s

wife!” ... Remarkable what a bright head sat on Sörrina’s shoulders!

This matter of names brought on a long discussion. Hans Olsa, like the

others, decided that his wife had made a practical suggestion; Per

Hansa found little to say, but his face had a look of quiet elation....

He must speak to Beret about this, alone and right away!... He sat

there trying the name over in his mind, first on her, then on himself,

finally on each of the children. As he ran them over, the radiant light

in his face grew stronger.... Mrs. Holm, that sounded well; Peder Holm,

that had a fine ring!... Ole Haldor Holm!... Hans Kristian Holm!...

Peder Holm—no, Peder _Victorious_ Holm!... _Peder Victorious Holm_!...

He rolled the name on his tongue, biting it off in three distinct

parts, as if to enjoy the sound; then he got up suddenly, grasped the

waistband of his trousers, and gave them a hitch.

... “Sörrina has got it right—that name is both pretty and practical.

What do you say, boys—shall we adopt the plan?”

Per Hansa was plainly in a towering humour now; the note of it rang

in his voice. There was no opposing him.... After that day, each of

the two families in question had a pair of surnames. Among themselves

they always used the old names, but among strangers they were Vaag and

Holm—though Hans Olsa invariably wrote it with a “W” instead of a “V.”

* * * * *

That night Beret sat quietly by herself. The chores were long since

done and they had eaten their supper. The children were in bed. They

had been very noisy to-night, in their excitement over the new

name that Sörine had invented for them. But now they were all asleep.

Per Hansa was getting ready to go to bed; he moved about abstractedly

and took a long time over everything he did. He, too, was full of

excitement, thinking about the name....

Peder Victorious Holm—the words sang through his mind; he seemed to

expand as he heard them. The song carried him forward into the great,

imaginative future where he loved to dwell.... “Beret, please come

to bed!” he begged, in a low, kindly voice. He caressed his wife

affectionately, then went to the bed and lay down.

She returned the caress half-heartedly, as if reserving the better part

of it. “Oh yes, I’ll come pretty soon,” she said, and remained sitting

where she was.

She sat there a long time, holding the child in her lap and rocking

it gently. Now and then she would open the stove door and stick in a

piece of wood. Each time she left the door open a crack, so that she

could stare in at the fire. Why did she have to go to bed? The night

was long enough, anyway.... Well, now they had discarded the names

of their fathers, soon they would be discarding other sacred things.

The awful spirit that ruled the plains demanded all!... She had said

nothing to-day. Why should she interfere, to spoil their pleasure?...

Everything that she said, everything that she did, seemed to be

wrong.... But, oh, it was a wicked thing that they were doing now! Not

that it was any worse than giving the child that terrible second name

to start with; for that had been almost sacrilege!... But perhaps she

was mistaken, after all. Perhaps it hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps she was

going crazy. The old fear had come back to her to-day—that was why she

had kept still.... Ah, well, God Almighty had spared her again; He must

have some reason for it.... Now she could repent of her sins before He

took her ... He had been merciful enough to give her time for that....

But sitting here in this mood, she found it impossible to repent. She

was only afraid—afraid ... a timid child in a dark room.

The fire had burned out, but she hadn’t noticed it until a draught

of frosty air began to circulate through the room. All at once she

shivered.... The memory of that stormy night some time ago came back

to her vividly. The children had been over at Sörine’s; they had not

come home and she had been unable to go and fetch them. All that night

she had walked the floor—walked and walked, until she could walk no

longer.... And the following two nights had been no better.... Again

she was overwhelmed by the terror that had visited her at that time....

She got up hastily and ran to the bed....

But there was no sleep waiting for her....

No, Beret could not sleep. She lay tense and quiet, thinking of people

she had read about, who had been driven out into the desert that they

might better please God. After a while she wept silently. If He would

only remove the terror that hung like a dark cloud over all this land,

she would try faithfully to serve Him even here. But under the shadow

of that terror she could not live much longer....

X

The days were growing longer with every one that passed, March came,

and the winter seemed to be letting up a little. Per Hansa worked with

a desperate energy. If the day was too short for what he was doing,

he simply added a part of the night to it. And in the month of March

he achieved something that is still told about in the legends of that

settlement.

Every time he had visited the Trönders at Sioux River, he had heard

fascinating tales about the Indians at Flandreau, where they had a

large colony. Their whole winter occupation was trapping, from fall

frost to spring thaw, and when spring came they would have large stocks

of furs, especially muskrat, though they also trapped mink, fox, and an

occasional wolf. They sold the skins wherever they could find a market,

and took whatever they could get; but their best prices were no more

than a fourth of what the same skins would bring in eastern Minnesota.

The price of a muskrat skin was ten cents in this district—never

more than ten cents; while in Austin, Minnesota, it would sell for

as high as fifty cents.... A few people along the river had taken to

buying furs from the Indians, and shipping them into Minnesota.

All these facts Per Hansa had heard more than once, and he brooded

over them a good deal. Throughout the winter they had been constantly

on his mind, but he had said nothing about it to anyone. Now March had

come, there must be a great supply of furs stored up at Flandreau, and

prices would be running high in Minnesota.... The railroad ran east

from Worthington.... Every day he went about thinking of it; at night

he slept with the idea; and all the while he grew more silent and

irritable.

There were many things to consider—it wasn’t an easy matter!... The

plan that was slowly forming in his mind was to go alone and trade with

the Indians, making what profit he could. God knows, he needed it!...

And what was to hinder? Flandreau lay only forty miles away; from

there to Worthington was perhaps another ninety miles; and there at

Worthington stood the train, waiting for him!... The days were growing

longer; there was nothing to do at home for a while; and the weather

wouldn’t be too bad for a journey.... Here were the furs; in Minnesota

lay the profits. Any courageous devil could pull it off.... Peder

Victorious—the name sang in his ears. Peder _Victorious_!

... But he had only five dollars in his pocket!... By taking Hans

Olsa into the project there would be plenty of capital; that fellow

wasn’t down to hardpan yet.... Still, he couldn’t be certain that Hans

Olsa would look with favour on such a wild-goose chase. On the other

hand, how could he take Hans Olsa and leave out Tönseten?... It would

be a mean trick to shove him out in the cold.... And if the three

of them were to join forces, one of the Solum boys would have to be

in it, too—Henry, most likely, for he was much more mature than his

brother.... But that would close the school.... And if everyone went,

there would be a terrific protest; the women were all more or less

timid and naturally didn’t want to be left alone....

No, he couldn’t seem to hit on the right solution.... But it was a

thundering pity for that money to lie right at his door—and he in need

of another quarter-section of land, with numberless things besides!...

The first week of March went by.

One morning Per Hansa got up a little earlier than usual and looked out

at the weather.... Turning to Beret, he said that this couldn’t go on

any longer, and stood waiting for her to ask what it was that couldn’t

go on any longer.... But as she made no reply, he had to take up his

own story. Seeding time would soon be here—and he hadn’t a penny in the

world.... They needed many other things, a great many, both food and

clothes.... It was time for him to think of some way of earning a few

extra dollars.... He couldn’t see any other way out of it.

As Beret listened, her heart tightened with apprehension; but still she

made no answer.

Then he told her about the Indian colony at Flandreau and how a fellow

could easily earn a few dollars there.... In the springtime those

Indians did a rousing business, so the Trönders had said!... Didn’t

she think it would be a good plan for him to go up to Flandreau and

look around?... It wasn’t far away.... While he was asking these

questions he did not look at her. Still receiving no answer, he went

on hurriedly: Didn’t she suppose she could manage with just the boys

at home for a little while? The days were getting fairly long now and

things were looking better all around.... His voice trailed off into

silence.

Beret stared vacantly out of the window. She thought: It was true that

they needed much; they needed everything that people ought to have.

Most of all they needed clothes for him and the boys. She had nothing

more left to patch with....

... “I suppose we’ll have to try to keep alive as long as we can....”

That made him very happy.... Wisely said! He thought so, too. And now,

never fear, they were going to find a solution!...

She caught the note of suppressed excitement in his voice.... No

wonder he was eager to get away! If he would only think of the fact

that others felt the same desire!

... “When are you going?”

... “Well now, Beret, I hadn’t made up my mind. But if you think it’s

all right, I’d better set out to-day! I’m going to take the pony that

the Indian gave me. The weather looks steady enough.... You’ll have to

take good care of that newcomer of ours!” ...

This last remark might better have been left unsaid, thought Beret

bitterly; but still she made no answer.

Half an hour later Per Hansa took his departure.

Late at night he reached Flandreau, found his way into a hut, and so

saved his life for that night.... As soon as he had fed the pony the

next morning he took it along with him and poked around the village

to interview the Indians. He searched every face; but the one he was

looking for and hoping to find was not among them. The savages watched

him curiously, returning his stares. They recognized the pony, and

seemed to know who Per Hansa was, too. He noticed this quickly and felt

relieved. “This scheme is going to work out all right,” he thought....

Then he followed the plan that he had formed long ago when he had first

begun to think about it. Trusting wholly to his instincts, he selected

out of the crowd the face that he liked best, beckoned the Indian

forward, and uttered the one word, “Fur.” As he did this, he gazed

inquiringly into the man’s face, but kindly, too, as if to inspire

confidence in him.

The Indian understood at once. Of course he had plenty of furs! He

took Per Hansa into his wigwam and showed him several bundles of fine

muskrat skins....

Per Hansa laughed at his success. With the stick he carried in his hand

he wrote the figures “10” in the snow, and after them the word “cents.”

Then he drew an object which was meant to be a man with a bundle on

his back. He pointed first to the drawing, then to the figures, and at

last made a vigorous gesture toward the Indian; this amused him very

much, and he couldn’t help smiling as he went through the motions.

But all the honesty of his heart managed to come out in that smile,

and the Indian saw it.... A long period of bargaining followed, with

many gestures, and much drawing and writing to be done in the snow.

The upshot of it was that he bought as many furs as he judged he would

be able to carry away. He arranged them in four bundles and hung them

pack-fashion over the pony’s back.... Per Hansa was still laughing when

he left Flandreau.

♦ “vigourous” replaced with “vigorous”

“Well now, forward, in God’s name!” he said to himself, steering his

course toward the southeast, in the general direction of a hut where

lived a couple of Hallings who used cows for breaking prairie.

He was gone for a whole week on this expedition. When at last he

reached home he refused to tell how far he had travelled into

Minnesota, or what experiences he had met with on the way. He was worn

out and disturbed; such tales had better be left untold where folks

were so easily frightened.... But he had brought home many of the

things they needed—and even so, there were forty dollars left in his

pocket! These he gayly counted out on the table for Beret, thinking to

amuse her.

He remained at home two days. On the third day he left again....

“Understand, Beret, I’ve got to go and pay the Indian for his furs!...

Now, don’t expect me until you see me heave in sight!”

All together, Per Hansa made three such journeys; the last two took

him only six days each; if there hadn’t been other pressing things to

attend to, he probably would have made a fourth journey. When it was

all over he was able to lay one hundred and forty dollars on the table

for Beret; besides this, he had brought things for the house on each

trip—things that he knew she went about wishing for.

He had returned from the last journey with two frozen toes. These were

giving him a good deal of trouble when he and the other men were forced

to make the trip to the Trönders’ for the seed.... It was necessary to

get it home while the sleighing lasted; he was not even properly rested

when they had to set off.

On that trip he went in company with Hans Olsa. He had a feeling

that since they were going so far anyway, he ought to accomplish

something besides their immediate errand. Casting his eyes around at

Sioux River, he bought a one-year-old heifer from Gurina Baarstad....

The heifer was spotted red and white, and was therefore given the name

of “Spotty” as soon as he reached home with her.

In all this going and coming Beret had said very little, either when he

set out or when he returned. He couldn’t help feeling the strangeness

of it; she had recovered from her illness long ago, and seemed quite

well, as far as he could understand.... She might at least have told

him that now he was getting on like a man!... She would have acted

differently if she had known, for instance, how he had ridden one time

until he had nearly fallen from his horse with fatigue! And once or

twice he had escaped death by a pretty narrow squeak—he had thought

that his time had come. But then—better not tell her such things!... If

she would only say something brave and tender to him!... “Ah, well, she

would probably be in better spirits when spring and fine weather set

in!” ...

II The Power of Evil in High Places

I

Per Hansa and the boys sat around the table, sifting the seed; the

wheat lay spread in small heaps on the white cloth. This was important

work and must be done with the greatest care; every little weed seed

and other foreign substance had to be gleaned out. The seed must be

_clean_, so the Trönders had cautioned Per Hansa; and now he was

attending to it soberly, with infinite pains. If he found a shrunken or

damaged kernel, he straightway threw it out—thank you, not that! The

best only for new soil!... Full kernels will make the bin bulge.... “Be

careful, boys! Be careful, there! Don’t shirk your job!”

It was wonderful to be sitting here playing with these plump, precious

kernels; never before had Per Hansa been so absorbed in a task of this

kind, yet it made him thoughtful, too.... Here, then, was the start!

These few sacks of grain would not only supply him and his family with

all the wheat flour they needed for a whole year, but would raise many

bright dollars as well, a great store of riches.... And more than

that, seed for the next year, seed again for the year after, and thus

down through all the years to come.... And always greater and greater

abundance of food for the poor, the world over.... Here he sat playing

with the good fairies that had the power to create a new life over this

Endless Wilderness, and transform it into a habitable land for human

beings. Wasn’t it wonderful?

He began to think of the possibility of selling seed next year. No

doubt there would be many new settlers by then, who would stand in need

of such things. If he could only afford it, he would store the whole

crop—seed wheat brought high prices.... Well, he would see; a good

many things might happen as time went on!...

And here he held in his hand the very promise of all these wonders

which were destined to take place! He recalled how the fairy tale

started: “Once upon a time....” Not much of a beginning, yet the most

startling events would unfold as the story went on—strange, incredible

things.... Yes, he would have to take every precaution with the seed.

His face grew sober at the thought; he spoke in a low tone to the

boys, repeating the admonition for the hundredth time: “Boys, look

out, now! Didn’t I just tell you to be careful!” ... His wonder grew

as he gazed at the kernels; there they lay, so inanimate, yet so plump

and heavy, glowing with smouldering flame. It was as if each kernel

had light within it—life now asleep. He thrust his hand into the sack

and took out a handful of grain; it weighed like lead. As his grasp

tightened, the kernels seemed to soften under the warmth of his hand;

they squirmed and twisted, slipping against one another; they seemed

to be charged with a delicate life that was seeking release. But when

he opened his hand and stirred a finger among the grain, the kernels

lay there as lifelessly as before—inert, yellowish pale, yet burning

faintly with inner, golden light.... Reverently he lifted handful after

handful from the table, and emptied it into the sack.

As the mild spring weather set in, a feverish restlessness seized him;

the work on the seed was done and he could not stay indoors.... The

chickens were laying finely now; he was finding as many as five eggs a

day. They’d better begin setting the hens pretty soon; when fall came,

they would have at least fifty fowl on the place!... Next minute he was

over on the prairie, talking to and caressing the oxen, and feeling of

their necks where the yoke would lie.... Now if the ground would only

dry up! Per Hansa looked at it the first thing in the morning, and

felt of it every night before he went to bed. To-day it had made fine

progress. Good God—if the sun would only shine as warm to-morrow....

He dashed off to the neighbours, to see how the ground was coming on

there. No, it was wetter than at his place, where the land lay

higher.... I’ll bet my land is going to be the first to dry up! he told

himself.

Beret hadn’t seen him in such good spirits since last spring. He walked

so lightly; everything that had life he touched with a gentle hand,

but talk to it he must; his voice sounded low, yet it thrilled with a

vibrant energy; his eyes were drawn so narrow that they could hardly be

seen. She felt a force that made her tremble, emanating from him; she

tried to keep out of his way as much as she could.

And now the sun bore down on the prairie the whole livelong day. Bright

and quivering in the forenoon, he swam through endless seas of blue;

across the hazy afternoon he beamed caressingly; toward evening he

opened wide his countenance; then the flood of light grew refulgent,

only to die in splendour against a mysterious night which also had life.

As the fine weather continued, Per Hansa became more restless, but

it only seemed to fill him with greater joy. Suddenly he would be up

by the field. Wasn’t it dry enough yet?... He ought to have had the

seeding all done by now; it was high time to begin breaking new ground.

On the 14th of April, the _Sommermaalsdag_ of his old fatherland, Per

Hansa began seeding the wheat. Three times that forenoon he had been

out to test the ground; the last time he made his great decision: _Now

we will start_!

No sooner had he finished the noon meal than he rushed out, grabbed the

seed bag that he had made for this occasion, and carried two sacks of

seed up to that portion of the field where the ground was driest. He

had paced off the whole field into one-acre lots, and marked each plot.

One and one-half bushels of seed to the acre was the regular measure;

but Simon Baarstad had told him that on really first-class breaking,

provided the soil was unusually excellent, one and one-quarter bushels

might do; and Per Hansa had decided to try the latter amount.

He filled the seed bag, hung it over his shoulder, and was ready.

His whole body shook. He paused for an instant and glanced about the

settlement.... Yes, sir, he was the first, the very first one!

There was Hans Olsa hauling manure to his garden patch.... That’s smart

of you, Hans Olsa!... Down to the southward he caught sight of Tönseten

pottering around his yard.... So much for you!... Then he turned to

look in a northerly direction.... By God, if the Solum boys hadn’t

already started breaking!... Muttering, “Well, well, well,” he strode

over to the edge of the field and stuck his hand into the bag.

But just at that moment both boys appeared on the dead run; they had

discovered what their father was up to, and wanted to watch the show.

“Go home!” shouted Per Hansa. “Go home! Do you hear me?”

“Why can’t we stand here and watch?” the boys remonstrated, their faces

gloomy with disappointment.

“Go home this instant!... I don’t want you tramping around here,

carrying off this precious seed on your shoes!” ... He suddenly

realized that it was very wrong of him to be so harsh with the boys in

an hour like this. When he spoke again, his voice had grown kinder:

“Sowing wheat is such a particular job—each kernel has to lie exactly

the way it falls. Be good now, boys, and go straight home—and the first

to wake up to-morrow morning shall start the dragging! I’ll see to it

that one of you covers as much ground as the other—but the first to

wake shall start!” ... With this promise the boys had to be content;

they went off homeward in a rebellious mood.

Again Per Hansa thrust his hand into the bag and his fingers closed

on the grain. He felt profoundly that the greatest moment of his life

had come. Now he was about to sow wheat on his own ground! His hand

tightened in the bag; he was on the point of lifting it out, when

something queer happened—the kernels were running out between his

fingers! He gave another grab, closing his hand still tighter; again

the yellow kernels slipped through his fingers like squirming eels.

Then Per Hansa threw back his head and laughed. These fellows aren’t

very anxious to go into the ground after riches for me!... He ran his

hand around in the bag, stroking the grain caressingly, taking

great handfuls and giving them a gentle squeeze.

... And now the wheat rained down in yellow semicircles from Per

Hansa’s hand; as the seed fell, the warm rays of the sun struck

full across it, and seemed to wrap it in golden light.... Per Hansa

restrained himself, working slowly and carefully—the seeding must be

even and not too thick. But almost at once he grew very heated; his

body was dripping with sweat. He couldn’t explain this for a while; it

wasn’t hard work at all. Oh, well, he thought at last—that’s always the

way when you tackle a job you don’t understand!

Late in the afternoon Tönseten came running up the hill, so hard that

his heels seemed to be flying over his head.

“What in hell are you starting here. Per Hansa?” he demanded,

breathlessly.

“Can’t you see?” laughed Per Hansa; but he hardly dared to look at his

neighbour, for fear he would lose his marks.

Tönseten stared at him in amazement. “You’re plumb crazy, man, and I

don’t mind telling you so!... The ground isn’t half dry enough yet for

that—the soil is too cold! Why, damn it all, there’s a foot of frost

in the ground!... Much good it will do you to throw away all that

seed!” ... Into this last, Tönseten threw all the scorn of the man who

really knows; in fact, he felt too seriously disturbed to utter another

syllable; so, having done his duty and delivered his ominous message,

he turned on his heel and stalked majestically away.

As long as the daylight lasted, Per Hansa kept on seeding.... After

supper he sat at the table without moving; he didn’t want to get up;

a pleasant feeling of languorous exhaustion had settled on him, the

reaction from his excitement. And-Ongen crawled up into his lap and

begged for a story, but got no response; the boys came storming in,

demanding that he call them both at the same time to-morrow morning....

No, he said in a dreamy, abstracted voice, that wouldn’t do; there

wasn’t any hurry; better let the sun have time to warm up the ground a

bit before they covered the grain. But the bargain still held; the one

who turned out first, yoked the oxen and hitched them to the drag,

he was to start the dragging! “And now,” he added, rising from the

table, “I’ll tell you this, boys—if we are any good at all, we’ll have

the whole field seeded and dragged by the time the porridge is on the

table to-morrow night!”

The next day Per Hansa worked like one possessed. Now that he had at

last caught the trick with the seeding, he made fine progress. When

evening fell that day he had finished his task, while the boys had

done almost as well, with only the oats left to drag.... Per Hansa

walked home that night in great satisfaction. Now he had turned a fine

trick—he was through seeding and dragging before his neighbours had

even thought of beginning the regular spring work!...

II

When Per Hansa left the house next morning to finish the dragging, the

air was raw and heavy; a penetrating wind blew over the prairie, as if

searching for signs of life to wither and blight; not a trace remained

of the mildness and pleasantness of the previous days.

Before he had finished covering the oats, the rain began to fall;

along with the rain came huge flakes of snow, floating silently down

and turning to slush as they struck the ground. After a while the rain

ceased, but the snow only came faster; the flakes were firmer now, and

fell in a businesslike manner. Before long a veritable blizzard was

raging over the whole prairie—there had hardly been anything worse that

winter.

Throughout that day and the following night the storm continued with

unabated fury. Early on the next morning the weather cleared; but now

the cold was so intense that it nipped the skin as soon as one stuck

one’s head out-of-doors. Spring seemed a thousand miles off.

That night Per Hansa did not sleep a wink. How could he sleep, with

this tragedy going on? He was nothing but an old sailor; he didn’t know

the least thing about farming. God Almighty! hadn’t he good reason to

lie awake?... Here he had gone to work and wasted all his precious

seed—had simply thrown it away, because he was foolish and hasty!

And there wasn’t even a chance to extricate himself from the mess he

had made! Out in the field, under the snow, lay all that priceless

wheat, smothered to death and frozen as hard as flint.... He could

stand the loss of the oats, perhaps—but, God! the _wheat_! Twenty-five

bushels he had sacrificed, all the work gone to no purpose, and no

possible way of getting a fresh supply of seed.... As he opened the

door that morning, saw two feet of snow covering the ground, and felt

the bitter cold stinging his face, he had an irresistible impulse to

fling himself down in the snowdrift and cry like a baby!...

He turned around, came into the hut again, and lay down on the bed....

No, he didn’t want any breakfast! He shouted out the words. All the

forenoon he lay silent and motionless. When noon came and he refused

to eat any dinner, Beret went to the bed and asked him what was the

matter. Did he feel sick? But he only turned his face to the wall,

muttering hoarsely that those who felt like eating had better do so.

Leave him alone; he’d be all right again—some time.... Beret began to

feel concerned about him; after a while she brought him a bowl of soup,

but he only sat up in bed and commenced to find fault with her like an

unreasonable child.... For God’s sake, couldn’t she leave him alone? He

had told her he didn’t want anything to eat, and wasn’t that enough?...

Well, then ... Oh, hell!...

In the afternoon the sun shone strong and brilliant, but the cold was

too intense for it to make any impression on the snow.... Per Hansa

was still lying in bed; the bright sunshine outside, reflecting on the

white walls of the room, seemed to sear his eyeballs; he felt that the

only thing that would give him relief would be to get up, strike out

wildly, and curse everything around him—for he was fighting an unseen

enemy.... He had come to his great decision; he had done the seeding;

he had felt clearly that it was the most momentous day of his life; but

no sooner had the last kernel fallen to the ground than the very powers

of heaven had stepped down to defeat him!... Powers of heaven...?

A certain image came before his eyes, and would not go away. One

Sunday not very long ago, Store-Hans had sat by the table reading to

his mother; Per Hansa remembered it vividly, because the words had

sounded so awful to him. At last he had gotten up to look over the

boy’s shoulder; Store-Hans was reading in a loud voice, throwing great

emphasis into the words:

_“And the Lord said unto Satan, whence comest thou? Then Satan answered

the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from

walking up and down in it....”_

The words would not go away. Per Hansa fell to repeating them.... And

that night as he lay wide awake, tossing restlessly on the bed, he

thought that he saw a beam just inside the door of the stable ... and

there was a rope.... Well, if _that fellow_ was after him, he might as

well give up!... Sweat broke out on his body ... the beam and the rope

beckoned him ... they seemed to call to him!...

The snow went faster than anyone would have believed; it began to

settle on the day after the weather had cleared, grew soft toward

evening, and the next day’s sun took all of it away. It seemed to leave

very little water; within a short while the ground was drier than

before.... And now came days when the warm, bright sunshine filled

everything between heaven and earth. As the sun sank, he left part of

his heat behind him; the nights grew soft and balmy, and stirred with

mysterious life.... At length evenings so sweet and beautiful began to

visit the prairie, that, as the saying is, dead men might willingly

step out of their graves and walk about. But all this could not alter

the fact that Per Hansa’s precious seed grain lay over there in the

field, ruined by frost and snow—those marvellous, pregnant kernels, so

delicate and sensitive.... Damn the luck!...

One day as Per Hansa was pottering about out-of-doors, hardly knowing

which way to turn, he caught sight of Tönseten, who had commenced his

seeding. Like a condemned man about to be executed Per Hansa walked

over.... Tönseten is an aboriginal American, he thought, bitterly. I

might as well let him polish off the damned fool of a newcomer!

But to-day Tönseten was too busy even to talk. Per Hansa didn’t

feel inclined to open up the subject of his own troubles; he began on a

different tack, to head the other off:

“I must say you certainly sow it even!”

Tönseten spat a prodigious distance.... “You think so?” ... But he

didn’t stop for a moment; his arms continued to cut wide semicircles

in the air; golden grain flew out of his hand and rained down to the

ground through the warm sunlight, there to begin the mystic dream of

life.

This is beautiful! thought Per Hansa.... I couldn’t sow it as even as

that.

“I was a fool for not waiting to get you to do the seeding for me,” he

observed.

Tönseten spat another great mouthful before he answered:

“Well, some people are bound to cut off their nose to spite their

face.... But then—this is a free country, you know!” ... He walked on

with measured steps, his arm sweeping in long, graceful curves; the

kernels flew far and wide, catching the sunlight a moment as they fell.

Per Hansa turned abruptly, and began to walk toward home. When Tönseten

noticed this, he stopped his work and called out:

“Did you want anything, Per Hansa?”

“Hell—no!”

“All right. To-day, you see, I’m a busy man!”

Per Hansa started to answer, choked, and continued to walk away. His

head was in a whirl as he went on toward his own field, which seemed to

be making faces at him as he drew nearer; it was indeed a forbidding

countenance that he saw there, lifeless and black and bare. Reaching

the field, he fell on his knees, dug into the soil, and picked up the

first kernel he came across; he laid it in the palm of his left hand

and turned it over and over with the forefinger of his right; the seed

was black with clammy dirt, which clung tightly to it. Slowly and

carefully he picked off the particles of soil—and there it lay, a pale

little thing, greyish-white and dirty, the golden sheen through which

he had read the fairy tale, entirely gone, the magic departed, the seed

cold and dead.

Per Hansa dropped it without a word, and dug in the ground until

he had found another kernel. The one he now picked up had the same

lifeless color, but it was swollen and seemed about to burst open....

“This is the frost!”—he mumbled, hoarsely.—“It’s all begun to rot!”

... He rose to his feet and stood there as if chained to the spot, the

very personification of gloom, gazing out over the face of his dead

dream.... _“Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and

fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.”_ ... There can’t

be much doubt that he’s found this place, all right—the devil salt and

pickle his guts!...

III

Over on the piece of field which Per Hansa had broken, during the last

few days the boys were now busy at work with the dragging. He had set

them to the task early that morning, but had not yet made up his mind

what to put into the field. Now he walked over to them.

One of the boys was driving; the other sat on the harrow, making

grooves with his heels in the loose dirt; on each round of the field

they exchanged places. They had quarrelled considerably over who could

drive the straightest; now they were trying to decide this momentous

question by judging the straightness of the grooves made on each round.

The boys stopped as they saw their father approaching. “Isn’t this

piece four acres?” Ole demanded, boisterously. “It should be,” their

father answered in a tired voice.

“All right,” beamed Ole. “If we plant potatoes in the whole piece and

get a hundred and fifty bushels to the acre, we’ll have six hundred

bushels in all!”

“Then we’ll sell ’em!” Store-Hans broke in, his eye snapping.

“Shut up, you! This is my idea!” Ole turned again to his father and

kept on with his arithmetic: “We can’t get less than thirty cents a

bushel, can we? I’ll be able to help you haul them to town. And that’ll

be exactly _one hundred and eighty dollars_. Gee! What a lot!” The boy

looked proudly at his father, and added with a grown-up air, “We

ought to get the potatoes planted at once—that’s my opinion!”

But then Store-Hans had a great inspiration, and flashed out:

“When we get as much money as that, just for potatoes, we’ll buy a

shotgun. Hurrah!”

“Stop your nonsense and get to work!” said Per Hansa, harshly. “You

need a pair of pants to cover your bottom, more than you do a gun....

Move on, now, I tell you!”

On the way home that morning, Per Hansa realized one thing more clearly

than ever before—unless he could find something to occupy his body and

mind, and find it right away, he would go all to pieces one of these

fine days.... Well, why not do as Ole suggested? Here was this piece of

new field, and it had to be put to some use.... If _that fellow_ was

loose around these parts, Per Hansa might as well give him a run for

his money!...

The minute Per Hansa reached home he opened the root cellar and began

carrying out potatoes. He took out all that he judged they could

possibly spare and began to cut them up into small pieces; he was

determined to have enough seed to cover the whole field.... Oh yes, no

doubt this was insanely foolish, too, but, damn it all, he might as

well come to ruination at once and be done with it!...

The planting kept the three of them busy for the rest of that week.

When Sunday morning came, Per Hansa rose at the usual time, ate his

breakfast in silence, and then went back to bed. And-Ongen crawled into

bed with him and stirred up a terrible commotion; he must wake now and

tell her a story. Getting no answer, she pulled his hair and pinched

his cheek and tugged at his nose. The carrying-on of the child made a

pleasant diversion for him in his dark mood. Beret sat by the table,

reading the Bible. To his great relief, she said little these days....

As he lay there brooding he was turning over and over in his mind a new

idea—mightn’t he make another trip to the Sioux River? Perhaps he could

yet scare up a couple of sacks of wheat there. The seeding would be far

behind-hand, that’s true; but barring any more bad luck, he would

at least be able to harvest enough seed grain for another year.... But

it was so late now—too late, really, to think of such a thing. Perhaps

he had better go to Sioux Falls or Worthington and try to get work for

the summer. Beret and the boys could easily get along without him....

No, he couldn’t quite make up his mind as to what would be best.... All

the while And-Ongen was pommelling him because he wouldn’t tell her a

story.

Suddenly a violent stamping of feet sounded outside; some one came

running up, with another close at his heels.

Ole jerked the door open, took one leap, and landed in the middle of

the floor. The boy was wild-eyed with excitement.

“Per Hansa!” he cried, calling his father by name. “The wheat is up!”

Then he took another leap and stood leaning over the bed. “The wheat is

up, I say!... Can’t you hear me?” ...

But now Store-Hans came storming in, all out of breath: “Father Per

Hansa—the wheat is _so high_!”

“You shut up!” raged his brother. “I came first!”

“I guess I can tell it, too!” Store-Hans paid no further attention to

his brother; he was standing now by the bed, measuring on his finger.

“The wheat is so high, the oats about up to _here_!... Don’t you

suppose we can buy a shotgun?”

Per Hansa said never a word; he got up, trembling in every limb, and

put the child aside. In a moment he had left the house and rushed up to

the field. There he stood spellbound, gazing at the sight spread before

him. His whole body shook; tears came to his eyes, so that he found

it difficult to see clearly. And well he might be surprised. Over the

whole field tiny green shoots were quivering in the warm sunshine.

Store-Hans was standing now by his father’s side; he looked at him in

consternation.

“Are you sick, father?”

No answer.

“Why, you’re crying!”

“You’re ... so—foolish, Store-Hans!” Per Hansa was blowing his

nose violently.... _“So terribly foolish!”_ he added, softly, and

straightened himself up with a new energy.

Store-Hans now began to feel reassured about his father. The boy turned

to the field and spoke in a voice thrilled with delight:

“Isn’t it dandy?”

The silence continued for a while longer. But at last his father

cleared his throat. “Come here, Store-Hans!” Per Hansa placed his hand

on the boy’s shoulder. “What are you going to be when you grow up?”

“When I grow up?” repeated the boy, wonderingly. “Well, a general ...

one like Grant.”

Per Hansa looked at him, a strange chuckling sound issuing from his

throat:

“What about being a _minister_?... We need a minister more.”

“Oh, well,” said Store-Hans, indifferently. “I suppose I can be that,

too.... Don’t you think we can get a shotgun pretty soon?”

Per Hansa was a different man when he walked home; the spring had come

back to his step. Entering the house, he sat down by his wife, who was

still reading the Bible, and said, abruptly:

“You’d better read us a chapter!” Then he cleared his throat and looked

around the room. “No more nonsense, boys! Come here and sit down

quietly while mother reads to us.”

IV

That summer many happenings took place in the settlement by Spring

Creek. For those who had been here from the beginning, associations

were slowly growing up outside of the day’s work. At the very last of

May the Irish arrived, with many new land-seekers in their company;

they all settled west by the sloughs, so as to have access to water

for the cattle. The first part of June the Vossings and Sognings put

into port; they, too, brought many new homesteaders with them.

The latter folk all settled east of the creek, spreading eastward

and southward, to bring them nearer to town. Here the soil was first

class, too; and Tönseten assured them that water was no problem, if

they would dig deep enough.... Water! Why, good Lord! wasn’t the whole

earth surrounded by water?... Talk sense, folks, and get your houses

built!... Soon one new sod house after another began to stick its head

above the waving grass of the prairie.

Among the Sognings was a tall, heavily built man, with a light

complexion and rather good looking, but loud spoken and given to

bragging. All his words and actions had an irritating arrogance; he was

always right; at times he got on everyone’s nerves, because he talked

so much and with such cocksureness. Luck had been with him, it seemed;

he had received a considerable inheritance from the old country; while

living in Minnesota he had cleared much land, which he had been able

to dispose of at a fine price; rumour had it that he was worth at

least three thousand dollars in cash, besides other property; and this

report he did not deny. The man had a large family; his name was Torkel

Tallaksen.

Not long after the arrival of this man, Store-Hans had a fight with

one of the Tallaksen boys. It came about in this way: the boys chanced

to meet down by the creek one day, as they were both out chasing the

cattle, Store-Hans riding his pony, the other boy a common old work

horse.

“Where did you swipe that pony?” the stranger shouted, challengingly.

“I didn’t swipe it!”

“Where did you get it, then?”

“Oh, I just got it.”

“Can’t you tell?”

“Come here, if you want to know.”

The two boys dismounted, looked each other over, then sat down and

fell to talking. Store-Hans was eager to inform this tenderfoot of

the mighty things they had done out here; he related how the pony had

come to be his, giving the story a picturesque turn whenever he saw

the chance. He and his father, he told the stranger, had rescued

an Indian chief—well, it was the highest chief over all the Indians

out West. This chief was dying; he was _almost_ dead when they found

him.... What was the matter? Well, there had been a terrible battle;

the Indian had been desperately wounded—shot and left for dead.... But

he and his father had cured him, and they had received this pony as a

reward.

The other boy listened scornfully to the story, said “humph—humph” a

good many times, and finally declared the whole thing to be a lie;

people out here were such awful liars, so his father had told him!...

Store-Hans could hardly stand this accusation, for hadn’t he himself

helped in restoring the Indian to life? So without further ado he

pitched into the other boy and the fight was on. It proved a tough

battle; clothes were torn and both combatants sneezed gore. The bloody

noses didn’t matter much, for they could be washed; but it would be

more serious to have to explain the tattered shirts. The boys fought it

out, however; finally the newcomer had to admit that truth is truth and

take back all he had said. This mollified Store-Hans; he let the other

boy try the pony, and they became friends. But the same evening he had

to tell the incident to his father; after the nose had been washed and

properly cooled, it had taken on alarming proportions, which called for

an explanation; this Per Hansa got as he sat on the woodpile, smoking

his evening pipe, with Store-Hans standing near by.