Each springtime when the Reindeer passed over Sveggum's mill-run, as
they moved from the lowland woods to the bleaker shore of Utrovand, the
Fossekal was there to sing about the White Storbuk, which each year
became more truly the leader.
That first spring he stood little higher than a Hare. When he came to
drink in the autumn, his back was above the rock where Sveggum's stream
enters Utrovand. Next year he barely passed under the stunted birch,
and the third year the Fossekal on the painted rock was looking up, not
down, at him as he passed. This was the autumn when Rol and Sveggum
sought the Hoifjeld to round up their half-wild herd and select some of
the strongest for the sled. There was but one opinion about the
Storbuk. Higher than the others, heavier, white as snow, with a mane
that swept the shallow drifts, breasted like a Horse and with horns
like a storm-grown oak, he was king of the herd, and might easily be
king of the road.
There are two kinds of deer-breakers, as there are two kinds of
horse-breakers: one that tames and teaches the animal, and gets a
spirited, friendly helper; one that aims to break its spirit, and gets
only a sullen slave, ever ready to rebel and wreak its hate. Many a
Lapp and many a Norsk has paid with his life for brutality to his
Reindeer, and Rol's days were shortened by his own pulk-Ren. But
Sveggum was of gentler sort. To him fell the training of the White
Storbuk. It was slow, for the Buck resented all liberties from man, as
he did from his brothers; but kindness, not fear, was the power that
tamed him, and when he had learned to obey and glory in the sled race,
it was a noble sight to see the great white mild-eyed beast striding
down the long snow-stretch of Utrovand, the steam jetting from his
nostrils, the snow swirling up before like the curling waves on a
steamer's bow, sled, driver, and Deer all dim in flying white.
Then came the Yule-tide Fair, with the races on the ice, and Utrovand
for once was gay. The sullen hills about reechoed with merry shouting.
The Reindeer races were first, with many a mad mischance for laughter.
Rol himself was there with his swiftest sled Deer, a tall, dark,
five-year-old, in his primest prime. But over-eager, over-brutal, he
harried the sullen, splendid slave till in mid-race--just when in a way
to win--it turned at a cruel blow, and Rol took refuge under the
upturned sled until it had vented its rage against the wood; and so he
lost the race, and the winner was the young White Storbuk. Then he won
the five-mile race around the lake; and for each triumph Sveggum hung a
little silver bell on his harness, so that now he ran and won to merry
music.
Then came the Horse races,--running races these; the Reindeer only
trots,--and when Balder, the victor Horse, received his ribbon and his
owner the purse, came Sveggum with all his winnings in his hand, and
said: "Ho, Lars, thine is a fine Horse, but mine is a better Storbuk;
let us put our winnings together and race, each his beast, for all."
A Ren against a Race-horse--such a race was never seen till now. Off at
the pistol-crack they flew. "Ho, Balder! (cluck!) Ho, hi, Balder!" Away
shot the beautiful Racer, and the Storbuk, striding at a slower trot,
was left behind.
"Ho, Balder!" "Hi, Storbuk!" How the people cheered as the Horse went
bounding and gaining! But he had left the line at his top speed; the
Storbuk's rose as he flew--faster--faster. The Pony ceased to gain. A
mile whirled by; the gap began to close. The Pony had over-spurted at
the start, but the Storbuk was warming to his work--striding evenly,
swiftly, faster yet, as Sveggum cried in encouragement: "Ho, Storbuk!
good Storbuk!" or talked to him only with a gentle rein. At the
turning-point the pair were neck and neck; then the Pony--though well
driven and well shod-slipped on the ice, and thenceforth held back as
though in fear, so the Storbuk steamed away. The Pony and his driver
were far behind when a roar from every human throat in Filefjeld told
that the Storbuk had passed the wire and won the race. And yet all this
was before the White Ren had reached the years of his full strength and
speed.
Once that day Rol essayed to drive the Storbuk. They set off at a good
pace, the White Buk ready, responsive to the single rein, and his mild
eyes veiled by his drooping lashes. But, without any reason other than
the habit of brutality, Rol struck him. In a moment there was a change.
The Racer's speed was checked, all four legs braced forward till he
stood; the drooping lids were raised, the eyes rolled--there was a
green light in them now. Three puffs of steam were jetted from each
nostril. Rol shouted, then, scenting danger, quickly upset the sled and
hid beneath. The Storbuk turned to charge the sled, sniffing and
tossing the snow with his foot; but little Knute, Sveggum's son, ran
forward and put his arms around the Storbuk's neck; then the fierce
look left the Reindeer's eye, and he suffered the child to lead him
quietly back to the starting-point. Beware, O driver! the Reindeer,
too, "sees red."
This was the coming of the White Storbuk for the folk of Filefjeld.
In the two years that followed he became famous throughout that country
as Sveggum's Storbuk, and many a strange exploit was told of him. In
twenty minutes he could carry old Sveggum round the six-mile rim of
Utrovand. When the snow-slide buried all the village of Holaker, it was
the Storbuk that brought the word for help to Opdalstole and returned
again over the forty miles of deep snow in seven hours, to carry
brandy, food, and promise of speedy aid.
When over-venturesome young Knute Sveggumsen broke through the new thin
ice of Utrovand, his cry for help brought the Storbuk to the rescue;
for he was the gentlest of his kind and always ready to come at call.
He brought the drowning boy in triumph to the shore, and as they
crossed the Vand-dam stream, there was the Troll-bird to sing:
Good luck, good luck,
With the White Storbuk.
After which he disappeared for months--doubtless dived into some
subaqueous cave to feast and revel all winter; although Sveggum did not
believe it was so.