Chapter XIV: Book II: Founding the Kingdom (1)

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....