About twelve years before Nils Holgersson started on his travels with
the wild geese there was a manufacturer at Kolmården who wanted to be
rid of one of his dogs. He sent for his game-keeper and said to him that
it was impossible to keep the dog because he could not be broken of the
habit of chasing all the sheep and fowl he set eyes on, and he asked the
man to take the dog into the forest and shoot him.
The game-keeper slipped the leash on the dog to lead him to a spot in
the forest where all the superannuated dogs from the manor were shot and
buried. He was not a cruel man, but he was very glad to shoot that dog,
for he knew that sheep and chickens were not the only creatures he
hunted. Times without number he had gone into the forest and helped
himself to a hare or a grouse-chick.
The dog was a little black-and-tan setter. His name was Karr, and he was
so wise he understood all that was said.
As the game-keeper was leading him through the thickets, Karr knew only
too well what was in store for him. But this no one could have guessed
by his behaviour, for he neither hung his head nor dragged his tail, but
seemed as unconcerned as ever.
It was because they were in the forest that the dog was so careful not
to appear the least bit anxious.
There were great stretches of woodland on every side of the factory, and
this forest was famed both among animals and human beings because for
many, many years the owners had been so careful of it that they had
begrudged themselves even the trees needed for firewood. Nor had they
had the heart to thin or train them. The trees had been allowed to grow
as they pleased. Naturally a forest thus protected was a beloved refuge
for wild animals, which were to be found there in great numbers. Among
themselves they called it Liberty Forest, and regarded it as the best
retreat in the whole country.
As the dog was being led through the woods he thought of what a bugaboo
he had been to all the small animals and birds that lived there.
"Now, Karr, wouldn't they be happy in their lairs if they only knew what
was awaiting you?" he thought, but at the same time he wagged his tail
and barked cheerfully, so that no one should think that he was worried
or depressed.
"What fun would there have been in living had I not hunted
occasionally?" he reasoned. "Let him who will, regret; it's not going to
be Karr!"
But the instant the dog said this, a singular change came over him. He
stretched his neck as though he had a mind to howl. He no longer trotted
alongside the game-keeper, but walked behind him. It was plain that he
had begun to think of something unpleasant.
It was early summer; the elk cows had just given birth to their young,
and, the night before, the dog had succeeded in parting from its mother
an elk calf not more than five days old, and had driven it down into the
marsh. There he had chased it back and forth over the knolls--not with
the idea of capturing it, but merely for the sport of seeing how he
could scare it. The elk cow knew that the marsh was bottomless so soon
after the thaw, and that it could not as yet hold up so large an animal
as herself, so she stood on the solid earth for the longest time,
watching! But when Karr kept chasing the calf farther and farther away,
she rushed out on the marsh, drove the dog off, took the calf with her,
and turned back toward firm land. Elk are more skilled than other
animals in traversing dangerous, marshy ground, and it seemed as if she
would reach solid land in safety; but when she was almost there a knoll
which she had stepped upon sank into the mire, and she went down with
it. She tried to rise, but could get no secure foothold, so she sank and
sank. Karr stood and looked on, not daring to move. When he saw that the
elk could not save herself, he ran away as fast as he could, for he had
begun to think of the beating he would get if it were discovered that he
had brought a mother elk to grief. He was so terrified that he dared not
pause for breath until he reached home.
It was this that the dog recalled; and it troubled him in a way very
different from the recollection of all his other misdeeds. This was
doubtless because he had not really meant to kill either the elk cow or
her calf, but had deprived them of life without wishing to do so.
"But maybe they are alive yet!" thought the dog. "They were not dead
when I ran away; perhaps they saved themselves."
He was seized with an irresistible longing to know for a certainty while
yet there was time for him to find out. He noticed that the game-keeper
did not have a firm hold on the leash; so he made a sudden spring, broke
loose, and dashed through the woods down to the marsh with such speed
that he was out of sight before the game-keeper had time to level his
gun.
There was nothing for the game-keeper to do but to rush after him. When
he got to the marsh he found the dog standing upon a knoll, howling with
all his might.
The man thought he had better find out the meaning of this, so he
dropped his gun and crawled out over the marsh on hands and knees. He
had not gone far when he saw an elk cow lying dead in the quagmire.
Close beside her lay a little calf. It was still alive, but so much
exhausted that it could not move. Karr was standing beside the calf, now
bending down and licking it, now howling shrilly for help.
The game-keeper raised the calf and began to drag it toward land. When
the dog understood that the calf would be saved he was wild with joy. He
jumped round and round the game-keeper, licking his hands and barking
with delight.
The man carried the baby elk home and shut it up in a calf stall in the
cow shed. Then he got help to drag the mother elk from the marsh. Only
after this had been done did he remember that he was to shoot Karr. He
called the dog to him, and again took him into the forest.
The game-keeper walked straight on toward the dog's grave; but all the
while he seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly he turned and walked
toward the manor.
Karr had been trotting along quietly; but when the game-keeper turned
and started for home, he became anxious. The man must have discovered
that it was he that had caused the death of the elk, and now he was
going back to the manor to be thrashed before he was shot!
To be beaten was worse than all else! With that prospect Karr could no
longer keep up his spirits, but hung his head. When he came to the manor
he did not look up, but pretended that he knew no one there.
The master was standing on the stairs leading to the hall when the
game-keeper came forward.
"Where on earth did that dog come from?" he exclaimed. "Surely it can't
be Karr? He must be dead this long time!"
Then the man began to tell his master all about the mother elk, while
Karr made himself as little as he could, and crouched behind the
game-keeper's legs.
Much to his surprise the man had only praise for him. He said it was
plain the dog knew that the elk were in distress, and wished to save
them.
"You may do as you like, but I can't shoot that dog!" declared the
game-keeper.
Karr raised himself and pricked up his ears. He could hardly believe
that he heard aright. Although he did not want to show how anxious he
had been, he couldn't help whining a little. Could it be possible that
his life was to be spared simply because he had felt uneasy about the
elk?
The master thought that Karr had conducted himself well, but as he did
not want the dog, he could not decide at once what should be done with
him.
"If you will take charge of him and answer for his good behaviour in the
future, he may as well live," he said, finally.
This the game-keeper was only too glad to do, and that was how Karr came
to move to the game-keeper's lodge.