Chapter VI: Introduction: I (4)

“Look!... _look there_!” he cried, pointing toward the southwest.... “Mother thinks they may be Indians!” ...

Per Hansa took in the whole western horizon in one swift glance.... “Huh!” he grunted ... and immediately began to walk faster. The longer he looked, the more haste he made. At last he was taking such mighty strides that the boys had to run in order to keep up with him.

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

“They have come,” she said in a calm voice; but her sad, resigned face was pale and drawn.

“Well, don’t stand there!... Go and look after the cooking as if nothing had happened!” ... He spoke rapidly, with a metallic ring in his voice.

In an instant he was over at the new house, which as yet was only half thatched. The boys followed close at his heels; he spoke to them in quick, low tones; all his words had the same hard, metallic ring.

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

“Yes.” ... The boy hesitated.

“_Hurry_, I said!”

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

Per Hansa turned to Ole. “You go and get Old Maria. You’ll find her in the big chest—and something to load her with in the till. Stand the gun and everything just inside the door here.... And listen”—his face was hard set—“when I _whistle_, I want her—but not before!... Are you afraid?”

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

Per Hansa began to work away at the thatching as if nothing unusual were going on; but his eyes were steadily fixed on the approaching train. Little by little, as he watched, he grew calmer; the look of anxiety slowly faded away from his features, to be replaced by the half-sly, half-roguish expression of his lighter moods.... No war party, this—nothing but harmless families roaming over the plain!

Just then Ole arrived with the rifle.

“Never mind,” said Per Hansa. He was laughing now. “Go back and hide those things where you found them.... That fellow Store-Hans is a regular little rascal—the way he nearly scared us out of our wits!”

“But don’t you want the gun, Father?”

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

The boy ran inside, and returned in a moment empty-handed. Per Hansa was sitting on the edge of the roof; he kept looking off to the westward as he gave his orders:

“Run over and tell Sörrina that the Indians are coming, but don’t frighten the life out of her. Tell her it’s only a wandering tribe—just peaceful people like ourselves.... And tell her they are likely to camp for the night over here on the hill; if she is afraid, she can stay with us.... Don’t get off a lot of wild talk, now. Be sensible!”

Almost before he had heard the words, Ole was gone.... Per Hansa came down to the ground, heaved an armful of sod up on the roof, and then climbed back unconcernedly to his work.

The band of Indians crawled slowly toward them out of the west. Per Hansa counted the teams—fourteen in all, he made it—but he couldn’t be certain of the exact number; they drove close together and were headed straight in the direction of the settlement.... No doubt about it any longer—here lay an old Indian trail!

He was kneeling on the roof awhile later, trying to fit a strip of sod in place, when suddenly a figure stood below him; it had appeared so swiftly and silently that Per Hansa was startled in spite of himself.... The next moment he saw that it was Sam Solum, frightened and excited, gun in hand. He had run so fast that Store-Hans had been left far behind.

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

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

“Seen who?”

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

“I see you look like the scared fool you are, all right!... What are you ramming around with that rattletrap of a gun of yours for? Put it out of sight as quick as you can! Then come here and help me with the thatching.... Store-Hans, you’d better go and stay with mother.”

Sam did as he was bid, without half understanding; he took his gun inside the house, stood it against the wall, and came out again; in front of the door he paused, staring open-mouthed at the approaching train.... Seated above him on the roof, Per Hansa glanced alternately westward and down at the puzzled youth.

“I suppose we ought to warn Kjersti—she’s always so skittish,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you go down and tell her that our red neighbours are coming?... But don’t scare the wits out of the poor woman!”

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

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

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

Per Hansa laughed heartily as he watched him go.

“Hey, there! Don’t tear off as if your pants had caught fire!” he shouted. “You needn’t be in such an awful sweat about Kjersti, either!”

But Kjersti herself had seen the enemy; she must have been on the lookout, as usual.... At that moment she hove in sight on the slope of the hill, leading her cow.

At the same time Ole arrived, with Sörine and the girl close behind him; but Sörine, unfortunately, hadn’t thought of her cow, which was grazing off on the prairie to the westward, some distance from Hans Olsa’s house.

Soon they were all gathered in a little knot—the three women, Ole, and the Solum boy; but Store-Hans felt that it would be safer with his father, and had gone over to where Per Hansa was still working.... Kjersti was moaning and wailing because her Syvert was away at a time when the Lord sent such tribulations upon her; Mother Sörine was comforting her as best she could, saying that, after all, Indians were only people—human beings ... just human beings!... Beret listened in stony silence to it all.

At last Per Hansa took a quick slide down from the roof and went over to the agitated group.

“What have we here—a sewing circle?... By George! It seems to me that three nice modest girls like you oughtn’t to be standing around and making eyes at strange menfolk. They’ve got their own women with ’em, too.... Maybe the squaws would have a word or two to say about that!”

Per Hansa’s sally broke the tension; Beret immediately resumed her preparations for supper, and Mother Sörine began to help her; Kjersti found a pail and milked her cow; and Per Hansa himself went back to his roof and laid a few more strips of sod before supper was ready.

III

... While they sat waiting for the porridge to cool, they watched with anxious attention the Indian band as it crept up the slope of the hill toward the crest. The foremost team reached the summit, passed some distance beyond it on the other side, and came to a halt; at that they all drew up, the whole train forming a crescent around the brow of the hill, facing the house of Per Hansa. One by one the horses were unhitched from the rickety wagons and turned loose on the prairie.... Per Hansa’s face brightened still more as he noticed this move. People who did a thing like that could have no evil intentions!

Just then, however, Sörine’s cow, which was still grazing some distance off on the prairie, suddenly seemed to go crazy. She bellowed loud and long, lifted her head and tail high in the air, and galloped away toward the wagons of the newcomers. All watched her in amazement. Sörine burst out crying, blaming herself for being so shortsighted as to forget all about her precious cow.... As he saw the beast gallop away, Per Hansa cursed it from the bottom of his heart.

In an instant, before the little company sitting there had found time to gather their scattered wits, all the rest of their cattle were smitten by the same craze. At the first bellow of Sörine’s cow they had looked up inquiringly, had caught sight of the new arrivals, and at once had started off behind their leader—Rosie first, then Kjersti’s Brindlesides—both rearing their tails on high and galloping straight toward the camp of the Indians.

... “Damn the luck!” muttered Per Hansa between his teeth. “There goes the milk for our porridge!... The devil salt and burn their blasted tails!”

A far-away “moo-o-o” drifted in from the north, and there the Solum boys’ Daisy came running at full speed, to join the deserters![8]

[8] The cattle of the first settlers, from the wandering habits they had formed during the outward journey, had to be watched, for they wanted to join every caravan that came along.

At that Per Hansa burst into a loud laugh.... “You’d better go after your cow,” he said to Sam, “unless you want to munch dry porridge all winter!”

The women took the matter each in her own way, according to her feeling for her particular cow. Kjersti wept and took on, vowing that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to her—it was just awful; Sörine’s eyes were moist, but she believed that her cow would come back, just the same; she had never seen a better cow than Dolly and had tended her like a mother.... But Beret remained quite calm; she seemed more annoyed than frightened. Why didn’t one of the men go after the cows?... When they remained sitting and made no move, she rose and laid her spoon aside.

“We must get them at once,” she announced, firmly. “If the Indians were to leave to-night, the cows would follow—that is perfectly plain!” ... She took And-Ongen in her arms and started for the hill.

“Good Heavens, Beret,” cried Kjersti in despair. “You must be crazy!”

Per Hansa gazed fondly at his wife; across his face came a light that almost made him handsome.... _There_ was a woman for you!... He got up before she had gone many steps, and ran to her side.

“Go back and eat, Beret-girl! There isn’t anything to worry about, really and truly.... Leave the cows to me. It can just as well wait till after we have eaten.... We must behave like well-mannered folk, you know.”

As they sat over the last of their porridge Per Hansa drew such ghastly pictures to Sam of the cruelty with which the Indians would probably treat the cows, that the women shuddered at his words.... “I’ve often heard—have read it in books, too—that Indians would rather take the scalp of a cow any day, than of a man.... Haven’t you ever read about it? Huh! that’s strange!... Well, they’re just crazy, you see, for the scalp of a cow. They dry them out and use them for winter caps!” ...

Beret looked at him reproachfully. It seemed to her that it ill behooved him to talk in this fashion; if they were all afraid, they couldn’t help it; the words sounded coarse in his mouth, and seemed to coarsen him also.... “Can’t you shut up with that talk!” she said in her quiet, cutting way, without looking up. “It isn’t such a brave and manly thing, to terrorize poor womenfolk who are frightened already.”

Per Hansa fell suddenly silent; his face grew burning red. In all the years that they had lived together it had never happened till now that she had shamed him before others. And she had spoken so quietly—hadn’t even looked up!... He ate his porridge slowly and thoughtfully. What she had said kept repeating itself in his mind, and cut deeper each time.

At last he laid his spoon aside and got to his feet; he stuck his pipe in his mouth—the pipe that had been empty and cold so long now, for lack of fuel—and began sucking the stem.

“I suppose in all fairness, Sam, you ought to go chasing your own damned beast—you who are such a sharper in both the American and Indian languages!” he snapped out.... “But—oh, well, there might be some women over there who were worth having a look at!” he muttered with plain insinuation. “I guess I’d better go myself and make it a good _job_!”

Store-Hans jumped up like a flash and put his hand in his father’s.... Per Hansa glanced down into the beaming, ruddy face that smiled up at him and begged so earnestly.... But the boy uttered never a word.

“Come along, then,” said the father. Still holding the outstretched hand, he began to walk away.

“Hans, come here!” his mother cried out, sharply. A wild anxiety had come into her voice—a note of desperate pleading.

“No,” said Per Hansa, shortly. “Hans is going with me.” ... He waited for no answer, but grasped the boy’s hand firmly and started off.

IV

Store-Hans had been too absorbed in what was going on to notice the clash between his parents. As they went along, his whole being was athrill with excitement; he took long, manly strides, and chattered on in a low, rapid voice, but always returned to the same question:

—What was his father going to do to the Indians?

—Do?... Per Hansa’s mind refused to act any further. The biting words of his wife, spoken in the plain hearing of all, kept ringing in his ears.

“Yes, Dad, what are you going to do?”

“We’ll see about that later.” ... He tried to wrench himself out of his abstraction, repeating in a loud tone: “We’ll see later—when the time comes!”

“Are you ... are you going to fight them, Dad?”

Per Hansa gave the boy’s hand a good squeeze. “I guess we’ll have to be satisfied with a scalp or two!”

The only thing Store-Hans knew about scalping was that it was the most dreadful thing in the world; as to the actual process, he had only a hazy idea. Now he asked, fearfully, what did it mean, anyway—to scalp some one?

—Oh, nothing much.... Didn’t he know how it was done?

“No.... Please tell me, Dad?”

Per Hansa shifted the empty pipe to the other corner of his mouth; he laughed as he said:

“You see, Store-Hans, when the hide begins to get good and dry on the heads of some people, then the Indians peel it off.”

“Does it grow out new again?” Store-Hans gave a sidewise glance at the top of his father’s head; before he realized it, his hand had gone up under his own cap.

“Oh, I suppose so.”

“But ... but doesn’t it hurt awfully?”

“No, not at all ... that is, when the skin is good and dry.”

That seemed quite logical; Store-Hans grasped it immediately.

“But what do they do with the scalp?”

“What do they do with the scalp?” Per Hansa spoke slowly, as if his mind were elsewhere.... “They use it, I guess ... for mittens, and things like that.... They turn the hair side in, you see.” ...

“Oh, you’re only fooling!” cried Store-Hans, lengthening his stride in order not to fall behind.

“Maybe I am fooling.... I thought you knew all about it, though.”

The boy was dying to ask about other things; but he was getting afraid to raise his voice now—his throat, too, seemed very dry.... And, besides, they were drawing so near to the Indian camp now, that his eyes kept him fully occupied.

There was a good deal to see, up there on the hill.... A big tent, or wigwam, had been pitched in the centre of the crescent, with four smaller ones on each side. A troop of brown, half-naked children were running around among the tents.... They seemed to be playing games, thought Store-Hans; and immediately he picked up courage. He saw women moving about, too.... There couldn’t be any real danger here!

The rough tents, constructed of poles and hides, stood some distance back of the semicircle of oddly-assorted vehicles. Halfway between, a group of dusky squaws were busy at a fire, carrying wood from the wagons and throwing it on; around the fire several bronzed men were sitting motionless, with their legs crossed under them.... These men were smoking—that was the first thing that caught Per Hansa’s eye. The flames of the camp fire threw a lurid glare over the figures sitting around it, turning their copper-coloured faces to a still deeper hue, their raven hair to a more intense and glistening black. They smoked on in silence.

When the two visitors had arrived within the illuminated circle, one of the Indians pointed to them with his pipe; a few words were spoken among them in a guttural tongue; beyond this the coming of Per Hansa and his son created not a ripple of excitement.

Per Hansa stepped forward and greeted them in English—he had picked up enough words for that. The greeting was returned in the same language.... One of the braves put something that sounded like a question; two of the others, sitting beside him, added to it.... Per Hansa stood helpless for a moment; he could not understand a word.

But in this crisis Store-Hans, who had been half hiding behind his father, came to his aid; he whispered, rapidly:

“They want to know if we live here.”

“How the devil could you tell that?... By God! I guess we do!” Per Hansa nodded emphatically toward the Indians. “Tell them there isn’t any doubt of it—not the least doubt in the world—but say it nicely, now!”

Store-Hans stepped out in front, facing the seated redskins; he tried his best to make them understand, using what little English he had learned during the past winter.

* * * * *

The visit was soon over; after that strange, impassive meeting there seemed to be nothing else for Per Hansa to say or do. The stray cows, all four of them, had finally lain down beside the Indian wagons; he would only need to round them up and drive them home.... Yet there was something that made it almost impossible for him to tear himself away. The odour from the pipes wafted to him so enchantingly on the evening breeze, enthralled and held him captive. He hadn’t had a decent smoke for over two weeks, and he could smell that this was good strong tobacco.

At last the temptation grew altogether too powerful; he simply couldn’t resist it any longer. He glanced around the circle, picked out the face that looked to him the most approachable, then took the empty pipe from his mouth and indicated by signs that he needed something to fill it with.

The man he had chosen understood him perfectly. He gave a laugh, remarked something to the others, pulled a large leather pouch from his shirt, and held it out with a dignified gesture. Per Hansa grasped the pouch with an eager hand, took a deep dive into it, and gave his pipe a good fill.... “Many thanks, good friend! If Hans Olsa happens to get back before you’re gone, I’ll see that you are well repaid!... Hans, translate that to him the best way you know how.... What a thundering shame that we can’t talk with such good folks!” ... Per Hansa went over to the fire, raked out a glowing ember, lit his pipe, and pulled at it long and deeply, while an expression of rare contentment passed over his face.

V

Turning away from the fire, as he stood there enjoying his smoke, he noticed a face on the ground at his side—a face that peered out of the folds of a gaudily coloured blanket, so close to the fire that it startled him.... Good Lord! was the man trying to singe himself?

Per Hansa stared down into the face incredulously; the form in the blanket gazed up as fixedly at him in return. It struck him at once that the Indian must be suffering terrible pain; his features were distorted in agony.

“Store-Hans!” he called, hastily. “Come here and ask this fellow what’s the matter with him. It looks to me as if he were fighting death itself!”

Again Store-Hans had to try out his meagre stock of newcomer English on the Indians. The face moaned; in a moment it gave answer. The boy repeated his question; a second answer came, and then another long moan.

“He says his hand is hurt,” Store-Hans reported.

“Is that it? Too bad!... Tell him I’d like to take a look at that hand of his.”

But Store-Hans didn’t have to repeat the request. The man had been lying there watching them as they spoke together, looking closely and intently at Per Hansa. Now he got up beside him without a word; first he removed the blanket from his arm, and then unwound a bundle of dirty coloured rags that were wrapped around his hand.

When this was done, he held out an ugly-looking claw, swollen to the size of a log; not only the hand, but the wrist and a large part of the arm as well were badly swollen and infected. The evil seemed to have its source in a festering wound in the palm of the hand.... Per Hansa examined the hand, felt of it, squeezed it, and turned it over, as if he had done nothing else all the days of his life but tend to such cases. The flesh was as hard to the touch as a block of wood; but the wound itself didn’t look serious.

“Sure enough!” he observed, wisely. “If this doesn’t end up with blood poisoning my name isn’t Per! Maybe it’s come to that already.... Tell him”—he turned to Store-Hans—“tell him we’ve got to have some warm water at once—and more rags. But they must be clean—_clean white rags_, tell him!... See what a good job of talking you can do, now!” With these words, he went back to his examination.

The job of talking, however, was more than Store-Hans could handle—he stuck in it halfway. That his father wanted warm water he could make them understand; but the other request for clean white rags was either beyond his English or a little too much for their comprehension.

The sick Indian had kept his eyes intently fixed on the man who was examining his hand with all the assurance of an expert. Others had now risen and come up to them, one by one. A close circle had formed about the little group. The women were also joining it; the children stopped playing and slipped in among their elders; at last the whole camp had gathered in a silent ring around the three.... Per Hansa’s face wore a sober expression, but all the while he kept drawing long, deep puffs from his pipe.

“Seventeen devils of a claw you’ve got, man!” he exclaimed at last, when he had finished his diagnosis.... “I can’t see any way out of it, Store-Hans. You’ll have to run home and get mother. Tell her an old chief is lying over here almost ready to die—tell her it’s blood poisoning. She must bring the small kettle, and all the clean rags she can spare. Can you remember to say _white_ rags?... And she must bring a pinch of salt, too.... The man has got to have help this very night, tell her.... Now run along. You aren’t afraid, are you?”

Certainly Store-Hans wasn’t frightened any longer; this was the greatest experience he had ever had or ever expected to have.... He had already pressed his way through the throng when his father thought of something which he had forgotten, and called him back.

... “Tell Sörrina to go home and see if there isn’t a drop left in Hans Olsa’s bottle. Even if it isn’t more than a thimbleful, we ought to have it; it’s a matter of life or death here.... And mother must bring some pepper.... Let’s see, now, how well you can remember everything!”

The boy was off like a flash. As soon as he had gone, Per Hansa began treating the hand. First of all, he made them understand that he needed water to wash his own hands.... “Yes, water, _water_!” he said, going through the motion of dipping his hands and rubbing them. They caught his meaning at once; the word was passed among them, and a woman immediately brought some water in a tin bucket.

Per Hansa washed his hands very carefully; then he poured out the water and motioned for more.... “Yes, yes—more, more!” ... He got it at once and began to wash the wound—first the hand, and then the wrist and the arm, but particularly the hand, and the wound itself most of all.... Brown it had been in the beginning, that skin—and brown it remained; Per Hansa couldn’t be certain whether he had got it clean. But now he led the man as close to the fire as the heat would allow; there he sat down with him, and began to draw on the great store of experience he had gathered as a fisherman on the Lofoten seas. First he massaged the flesh around the wound for a long time; then he moved upward to the wrist, and afterward to the arm. He rubbed with the palm of his hand, making circular motions, gently for a while, then stronger and firmer; from time to time he bent over the hand, breathed heavily on the wound, and continued the rubbing.

At last Store-Hans returned, bringing his mother, who carried all the articles his father had sent for. Per Hansa noticed that she had put on her Sunday clothes; for some reason, this pleased him. When she stepped within the circle of the camp fire, she paused, greeted the strangers quietly, and dropped a curtsy.

“What do you think you are doing here?” she asked in a low voice; the words seemed to carry more of reproach than fear.... He suddenly remembered the incident at supper awhile ago; the wave of bitterness rose again in his heart.... What a silly question for a grown woman to ask!

When she received no answer, she continued:

“Kjersti is crying her eyes out—and the rest aren’t much better off.... These people have got to look after themselves. You must come home at once!”

Per Hansa still remained silent.... This speech was so unlike the Beret that he knew, that he glanced up at her quickly.

“Give me that kettle!... Yes—water, _water_!” he shouted at them, pointing to the kettle. But then he remembered Store-Hans.... “Tell them that I want clean water—yes, clean, that’s it! And it must be hot, too!”

Now he found time to turn to his wife.... “Oh, well, Kjersti isn’t going to miscarry to-night!... But if you don’t want to stay here, to help save a human life in dire distress, you’d better go home.... Here, give me the rest of the things!” Her words of an hour before were again ringing loud in his ears; his own voice had taken on an added harshness; he knew it and felt glad.

Beret said no more; she stood looking silently at him, flushed and confused.

The kettle had now been placed on the fire.

“Where is the salt?... We need salt in the water.”

He took the antique whisky bottle that Sörine had sent; it was still a good half full. The pepper, done up in a little package, had been brought over in a cup. Per Hansa looked at it for a moment in grave doubt.... “No, it’s too much—never in the world can he stand all that!... Hold out your apron, Beret, to catch this.... There’s too much pepper.”

“Now, don’t be so hasty!” she said. She took the pepper from him, made a funnel of the bag, and held it out for him to pour in as much as he wanted.

Then Per Hansa concocted for the sick Indian that “horse cure” which is famous among all the inhabitants of Nordland. A goodly tablespoonful of pepper lay in the cup; he filled it up with whisky, stirred it around, put the bottle down on the ground, and motioned to the Indian to drink.

The man took the cup, sniffed at it, and smiled; then he put it to his mouth and took a draught, smacking his lips and making a fearful grimace.

“Tell him to drain it off at once, Store-Hans!... He’ll live through it—though it does kick powerfully to begin with!”

The Indian downed the rest of the mixture without wincing.

As Per Hansa was pouring the whisky from the bottle a couple of the others had suddenly grown restless; as soon as he set it down, one of these rose to his feet with a jerk and sauntered in their direction; the other followed close at his heels.

“They’re taking the bottle!” whispered Beret, frightened at their manner.

Per Hansa whirled like a flash and caught hold of a brown arm; he grasped it firmly and gave it a violent twist. A howl of pain echoed through the camp.... “What the hell are you doing!” cried Per Hansa, wrenching loose the bottle with his other hand. “That bottle belongs to Hans Olsa. Don’t you dare to touch it!” He looked so fiercely at the pair that they slunk off, afraid.

“Now come here and help me, woman!... Hold this bottle, and let the liquor drip down on his hand while I rub it in.... Right on the wound—only a drop at a time ... God! did you ever see a nastier-looking hand?”

Beret did as he told her, but her own hand was shaking violently. He looked at her closely. Her face was flushed; tears hung in her eyes.... And all at once the loud ringing of bitter words died away in his ears.

He massaged the hand of the Indian for a long while, pouring the whisky on freely. Then he asked for the rags which she had brought. These he dipped in the kettle, where the water was now boiling; he wrung them out slightly and began swathing them around the hand—one rag over the other. The man gasped and moaned in his great agony.

“Now, Beret, we ought to have a clean, dry cloth to wrap around the whole business.... But probably you didn’t bring anything like that?”

She hesitated for an instant, then untied her apron and handed it over to him. He knew that it was her very best apron. He could not bear to take it, but he did not say so.

“That’s just it, Beret-girl—the very thing! If that doesn’t help him, I don’t know anything in the wide world that would cure his hand!... Now, take mother with you and go home, Store-Hans. You can see for yourselves, there’s nothing to be afraid of here. I’ll bring the cows back with me when I come.”

“But when will you come?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

“Oh, I shall have to stay here part of the night, at least. If we can’t make the swelling go down, and that right quick, there’s nothing under God’s heaven that can save him! I’ll have to change the rags every half hour.... But you go right along, now, and don’t worry!”

Beret paused a moment; she gazed at him, saying not a word, but her mouth quivered. Then she took Store-Hans by the hand and walked away.

VI

During the first part of the night Per Hansa kept constant vigil over the sick man, frequently looking at his watch and changing the bandages; every time the hand was exposed, he rubbed in a few more drops from Hans Olsa’s bottle. It was evident from the man’s face that the pain was growing no worse; he even slept at intervals.

Midnight passed. The whole camp was now asleep; the men lay around like mummies, wrapped in their gaudy blankets, their feet towards the fire. Occasionally one of them would rise and throw on more wood; Per Hansa noticed that it was always the same man.... The night was vast and still; the glow of the fire spread a strange light a little way around ... beyond hovered impenetrable darkness.

Per Hansa felt tired and drowsy; he realized that he would have to pull himself together in order to keep going through the middle watch.... Suddenly he pricked up his ears; in an instant he was wide awake. He had heard a sound like steps in the grass, off on one side—steps that seemed to be hesitating as if in fear. They trod cautiously, drawing closer and closer; then they stopped, as if the person were listening.... He glanced around; the sick man slept at his side; all the others seemed to be sleeping. Who could it be, reconnoitring so quietly out there?... He got up abruptly, stepped closer to the fire, and stood fully revealed against the glare. Now the steps were heard again, firmly approaching.... The next moment Beret stood within the circle of the camp fire, silently looking at him.

Per Hansa’s eyes leaped out and embraced his wife’s form: a great glow of love and tenderness surged through him.... “Beret-girl, come here!” he called in a low voice. “Don’t be frightened; the whole crew is asleep!”

She advanced slowly to the side of the fire where he stood; but she did not look at him. Her face was flushed and swollen with weeping.... “How she must have been crying!” he thought; and the memory of his harsh words filled him with deep remorse. He went up to her timidly, took her by the hand, and led her nearer the fire.... “Beret, you ought to be sleeping at this hour of the night!... Have you been frightened again?”

Her body shook with sobs; they tore her so convulsively that she could not speak a word. Like a crushed thing she sank inertly to the ground. He threw himself down beside her, put one arm around her waist, and sought her hand.... Then she began to weep softly; he heard it, and stroked the hand he had found. After a while he had tried to say, lightly: “I guess the old fellow is going to pull through, all right.” ... But the moment the words were out of his mouth he felt that he hadn’t said the right thing; in his confusion, he asked her how all the others were at home.

She made no response to either of his attempts; then he heard the sick Indian stir, and looked around at him. The man lay wide awake, staring at them fixedly with his black, beady eyes.

For a while Per Hansa busied himself once more with the injured hand; the man sat up as the treatment went on; Beret rose and stood close by, watching the operation.

“If you had a string to tie around the rags, so that they wouldn’t loosen when they got dry, they would keep the heat longer,” she said in a low voice, but calm and clear.

“Oh yes!... If I only had it!”

She turned away for a moment and began fumbling at her clothes; then, with a bashful but determined air, she handed him one of her home-braided garters.... “Will this do?” she asked.

“_Do_?... My God! Beret, that’s exactly what we need!” ... He bound up the sick hand tightly, and tied the garter around the bandage.... “The fellow’s better already!” he cried. “I can see it in his eyes—and his hand feels softer.... But it’s still bad enough; he isn’t over it yet, by any means!”

When the bandage had been firmly fastened the Indian got up, went to one of the wagons, and fetched three heavy blankets; these he gave to Per Hansa, motioning that they should cover themselves and lie down.

“Now, doesn’t that show, Beret, what decent people they are?... I think the fellow will be able to take care of himself for a while. We might as well turn in!” ... He wrapped one blanket around her, another around himself; then they both lay down with their feet to the fire, and pulled the third blanket over the two of them. Per Hansa put his arm around his wife and held her close in a fond, protecting embrace. “Now try to sleep, my dear Beret-girl!” he whispered, reassuringly.... She dropped off almost at once, and slept until the crimson dawn fell on the eastern prairie.

* * * * *

The Indians remained for another day and night. During their stay Per Hansa spent more time with them than he did at home. Store-Hans practically lived on the hill, keeping an eye on things. And Ole, too, strolled over to the Indian camp at odd times.... But Sam Solum let the savages severely alone; and the women, though they were curious to see the camp, felt too timid to venture near.

The Indians, for their part, kept strictly to themselves. They did not once approach the houses of the settlement; neither, strange to say, did they allow their women to come over.

It was noon of the third day before they broke camp, to continue the journey northward. The hand of the sick man still looked very bad, but the immediate danger seemed to be over. Per Hansa had made a sling for him, in which he carried his arm. When the long train of queer-looking teams had got well under way, they saw the sick Indian coming down the hill toward the house, leading a fully saddled pony by the bridle; one of the wagons stood waiting for him farther along the hill.

The fellow is probably coming to say good-bye, thought Per Hansa; he got up and went to meet him. Beret and the children followed slowly a little way behind. The man walked straight up to Per Hansa and uttered a few unintelligible words; he laid in Per Hansa’s hand the bridle by which he was leading the pony; then he said a few more words, made a short, stiff bow, turned on his heel and stalked away.... He was a tall, broad-shouldered savage, well built and handsome.

“Has the old boy gone stark crazy?” exclaimed Per Hansa. “Can you imagine what he means?”

“He wants to give you the pony!” shouted Store-Hans, his eyes round with wonder.

Per Hansa roared out an emphatic protest, and started after the stranger.... “No, no!” he cried. “That will never do!” ...

But the Indian only strode to the waiting wagon, climbed in, and rode away.

“I’ve never seen the beat of it in all my born days!” said Per Hansa, solemnly. He stood as if dumfounded, holding the bridle over his arm.... “Saddle and everything!” ...

Store-Hans gave a leap into the air, turned a somersault, which immediately had to be repeated. Never in his life had he felt so supremely happy.... Then he and his brother ran over to claim the prize.

VII

In the evening of the following day the loaded wagons arrived from town; they brought great stores of curiosities, and the men who drove them had many remarkable tales to tell.

Hans Olsa, who had carried fifteen dollars in cash from Per Hansa to buy merchandise with besides going surety for him for a plow and a horse rake, came first to their house to unload, before going home. There was a great mountain of bags and packages, sacks and boxes; but best of all were the plow and the rake. The latter, especially,—it was painted in such beautiful, rich colours, red, blue, and green; it looked so impressive standing there in the yard, with its seat reared high in the air ... like a veritable throne! Nothing would do but Store-Hans must climb up and try it at once; he was wondering if they couldn’t hitch their new pony to this wonderful rig!... Still more marvellous things than this had come from town; but Store-Hans was fully occupied for a while and did not see them till later. Over at Tönseten’s stood a mowing machine, which could cut both hay and wheat; this also had a seat high up in the air; and at the Solum boys’ the sights were equally remarkable.

There was a grand celebration at Hans Olsa’s house that night. Tönseten and Per Hansa arrived long before the others to have a talk together. They found much to do, and many important matters to discuss and settle. Everything that had been borrowed during the past season must now be paid back, and that was a complicated affair; for at one time one kind of measure had been used, at another time another; they were all in the same boat. Everyone owed everyone else—and now it was time to square the accounts. Hans Olsa, who during the shortage had had the most to lend, was now left with enough supplies to stock a good-sized store.

But the goods were what interested Per Hansa least of all just now; he was eaten up with curiosity, and only wanted to ask questions; he had to hear every detail of their difficulties and adventures on the way.... Had they run across many people? What news had they picked up? Did there seem to be many settlers moving west? How did the prospects look where they had been?... Was he a fair-minded man, this fellow they had bargained with—the one who had trusted them for the plow and the rake? Did he look like a chap who would extend still further credit to a poor devil who had an honest face and came to him in a straightforward way?... God knows, Per Hansa needed such a blessed lot of things!

—Yes, Hans Olsa would say that the man seemed to be a pretty decent sort of fellow; he spoke only English, however, so one couldn’t get far with him in the way of talk; this was a bad piece of news for Per Hansa. His goods were fairly expensive, too; but one couldn’t expect anything better out here.... On second thought, Hans Olsa seriously doubted whether it would be possible to get further credit from him. At the start of their dickering, the man wouldn’t listen to a word of extending credit; but Syvert had argued with him so long and sensibly that he had finally yielded, on condition that they both sign their names as security for the plow and the rake.... By this time, anyway, he knew they were going to buy so much from him that it wouldn’t have paid him to be unreasonable.

The returned voyagers, however, thought that the folks at home had stranger tales than their own to tell. It seemed nothing short of a miracle that Per Hansa had been able to bring back to life an Indian chief with one foot in the grave—those were the very words Kjersti had used to her husband. Tönseten swore that he had never heard anything so strange; by George! it was more exciting than any storybook ever written!

... “I declare, Per Hansa,” said Hans Olsa, looking at him in open admiration, “it’s a queer thing about you! No matter how hard you’re put to it, you always give a good account of yourself!... I was dead set on having you go along with us this trip; we could have arranged it somehow, you know. Syvert and I were speaking about it only the night before we left; but then we both decided that we could feel so much more comfortable about going away, knowing that you were here.... It was an act of Providence, I say, to leave you home this time!” ... Tönseten nodded yes-and-amen to all that Hans Olsa had said.

Per Hansa accepted their homage very modestly; he drew a deep breath and started to reply; but words failed him, and he had to begin all over again.

... “Oh, well—so much for that, boys. Forget it, now! I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. But I might as well own up that when I told Ole to get Old Maria I didn’t have any courage to spare!... There came the band of Indians, thirty strong or more—and here I stood, alone with three crazy women!... It looked like far from plain sailing, I can tell you!” ...

“I don’t doubt it a bit!” agreed Hans Olsa. “It’s a wonder to me that you didn’t take the women and try to run away!”

“Yes, but where could I run to? Besides, they had horses.... The women were crying and carrying on, you know.... And just then it crossed my mind, Hans Olsa, that if you were only near enough to sing out to—and you, too, Syvert—I’d gladly have given my right hand, or both of them!”

“Sam wasn’t much use to you, eh?” asked Tönseten.

“No, Syvert, Sam isn’t quite equal to such a job.” But then Per Hansa felt that he had been too harsh; he quickly added: “Let’s hope that he, too, will have guts some day.... The boy has plenty of good qualities....”

Meanwhile Beret and Kjersti had arrived; the Solum boys turned up at last, and then they were all gathered. The women had gone with Sörine into her new house; they were curious to see what her husband had brought; she had to give both of them a taste from this bag and that. The menfolk remained sitting behind the barn; they had many weighty matters to discuss, and didn’t want to be interrupted; just now the hay cutting seemed to be the all-absorbing topic.... Per Hansa’s boys and Hans Olsa’s girl were chasing one another around the sod hut, playing “Indian.”

It was a strange thing, however, the number of trips the men had to make into the barn to look at the window and door which Hans Olsa had brought. There must indeed be something very odd about that window and that door. The men never seemed to be done looking at them; they went in and came out—came out only to go in again; each time they reappeared they were laughing and talking more glibly. The children sneaked close to the walls whenever the men were inside.... It must be some very secret business they were about! Their voices sank so low—most of the time nothing but whispering could be heard.... And such a volley of hawking and coughing and clearing of throats came from the interior of the barn, such a smacking of lips, such a steady gurgling—like water running out of a bottle—that the children pressed against the wall outside couldn’t help laughing.... There, one of them had given a tremendous sneeze!... “Hush!” whispered Sofie. “That was Syvert—he must have swallowed wrong!”

... Something very strange, indeed, whatever it was.... Now they heard Tönseten swear that it was his turn. He had forgotten himself and spoken out loud: “Can’t I treat Per Hansa to an honest drink, when he has saved both my wife and my cow from dire death and scalping!... Toss it off, Per, old boy, and let the rest of us get a chance!”

Then more jolly laughter and smacking of lips.

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” whispered Sofie, making a wry face.

“Drinking, of course!” said Ole, curtly, furious because he was not allowed to be in on this.... Surely he was grown-up enough to take a drink or two! He could drive the oxen fully as well as his father.

Then Sörine appeared in the doorway, shouting to them that now they must all come in. In one of the boxes which her husband had brought she had found two bottles. As far as she could make out, it was neither kerosene nor liniment; she felt pretty sure that it wasn’t syrup!... It would do no harm to find out exactly what the stuff was—to-night they had good reason for rejoicing. She brought a glass, treated both of the neighbour women, took a wee drop herself, and then called in the men.

All five of the menfolk entered in a body and drew up in a close group at the door; at sight of the whisky they had suddenly become bashful and cautious.

“You shouldn’t be handing around costly Christmas treats in the middle of the haying season!” said Tönseten, craftily.... “What sort of a housekeeper is this that you’ve got, Hans Olsa?”

“Oh, come on, Syvert!” laughed Sörine.

—What, _he_? Good gracious! _no_—he wouldn’t have anything. He couldn’t stand liquor right after supper, anyway.... She ought not to lead a weak brother into temptation!

But he was chuckling, and his four companions were chuckling with him.

Per Hansa pushed Hans Olsa forward.

“Here, Hans Olsa, you are the boss of this house. Show us how the thing ought to be done.... Syvert, you see, isn’t feeling well, poor devil!”

—Now, it would never do for him to be first—this was Hans Olsa’s ruling. Where he had been brought up, that wasn’t considered proper.

“If you don’t come at once and take this glass,” said Sörine with mock severity, “I’ll pour it back into the bottle.... Then you can stand there wishing for it as much as you please!”

... “Hold on, there, Sörrina—not so hasty, not so hasty I Be careful with the blessings of the Lord!... Of course I’ll sample it for you, if you’ve got to have it done!” ... It was Tönseten, after all, who had first spoken and come forward. But it seemed to take him an awful while to swallow that dram; he hawked and grinned over every little sip, and said the liquor burnt his throat so unmercifully that he could hardly get it down.... “Tell me, Hans Olsa, where did you find this stuff?”

“Now, heave it in, Syvert, so that the rest of us can have a whack before it gets too cold!” laughed Hans Olsa. “You’ve got to help me with that window, you know, before you leave to-night.”

“Right you are!... Yes, right you are!” agreed Tönseten, solemnly, and emptied the glass without more ado.

Sörine treated them all.... And now the menfolk were sorry, but they really had no time to stay indoors; Hans Olsa needed all their help to get that window in before it came dark; and out they trooped in a body again, as soon as they had emptied their glasses.

When the celebration was over and they finally set out for home that night, it seemed to Kjersti that Syvert walked very queerly. No matter how she adjusted her own steps, he would either range ahead of her or lag behind; when the latter took place, he would suddenly discover it and lurch forward, struggling hard to keep his balance; once he had caught up with her again, he would come to a stop and stand there babbling.

“What in the name of common sense are you mumbling about? What ails you, Syvert dear?... You act as if you were walking and talking in your sleep on the open prairie!”

“Hic!... Don’t know!” he sighed.... “Feel awright ... Maybe li’l’ queer.... Sort o’ diz’ ... sort o’ dizzy, y’ know.... Feet don’t work prop’ly!” He lurched ahead like a boat scudding down the slope of a wave.... “You know, I think ... abs’lutely I do ... must be that stuff ... that damned stuff of Sörrina’s!”

“Oh, well,” said Kjersti, consolingly, laughing to herself, “if it isn’t anything worse than that, you’ll soon be all right again.”

VIII

It was two days later that the great misfortune befell them. And according to the manner of such events, it came while everything seemed safe and serene and even the thought of ill luck was far away.

They had finished their afternoon lunch. Hans Olsa was cutting hay; his new machine hummed lustily over the prairie, shearing the grass so evenly and so close to the ground that his heart leaped with joy to behold the sight.... What a difference, this, from pounding away with an old scythe, on steep, stony hillsides!... All the men had gathered around to see him start; Per Hansa had returned home from that send-off firmly determined to get another cow for the winter, even if he had to steal one; for with such a machine it would be nothing to cut the hay.

Per Hansa was finishing his thatching that afternoon. Ole and Store-Hans were helping; even Beret came out from time to time to lend a hand. The father was chatting with the boys, who answered him gayly; now and then they became so boisterous and laughed so heartily together that little And-Ongen wanted to get up on the roof with them. Some distance away the pony was tethered; the boys petted him constantly, and already he seemed so tame that in a short while it would be safe to turn him loose.