Giants in the earth

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

“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.

The boys and the oxen had immediately become firm friends, Store-Hans adopting one of them as his special charge, Ole the other. They scratched the oxen’s heads, they rode them like horses, and soon the animals would come trotting after whenever they caught sight of the boys; and as they stood patiently with the children hanging around their necks, giving them a good scratching, and saying “Old Sören” to one and “Perkel” to the other, they must somehow have learned to associate this treatment with their new names, and the words must have sunk in. At any rate, the oxen always responded now when their names were called.

When Per Hansa that cold winter day took them out of the stable to teach them the new kind of driving, they were a pair of ragged and ugly-looking beasts. They stood in the snow before the sleigh and gazed dully over the white prairie, where the snow lay drifting. They didn’t know what to make of their new harnesses. All went well for a while, but presently they lurched right into a snowdrift, and stood there motionless, sticking out their tongues and licking the snow.... This would never do!... Ole shot forward and began scratching furiously; Store-Hans did the same on the other side; and when the oxen had thought it over long enough, and the commands from Per Hansa had taken on a brittle tone, they threw themselves forward into the harness and yanked the sleigh out like a feather, regardless of how deeply it had been lodged in the drift. They kept on training the oxen every day, and got a good deal of fun out of it into the bargain.... At last it had progressed so far that one evening, as they unhitched the team, Per Hansa said to the boys:

“There, they are working out splendidly.... Now, if you two were worth your salt, you would take this outfit and drive to the Pacific coast for a load of fish for your mother and me!” The boys grinned and said nothing.

But Per Hansa had determined to make the trip to the Sioux River with the oxen. That evening he was very high-spirited and happy.... As they were going to bed and Beret was sitting by the stove tending the baby for the night, she said, “I suppose you must make this trip, then?”

“Well, yes, I should say I must, if you and the newcomer aren’t to freeze stiff!” ...

Nothing more passed between them on the subject. Again Beret lay awake far into the night, turning her thoughts over in her mind.

This thing was terrible!...

V

The men delayed their trip for several days, waiting for the right sort of weather. The wind veered around uncertainly; the sleighing looked treacherous; the cold was simply fearful—it bit into whatever it could lay its hands on and would not let go.

At last came a morning which gave promise of a clear day. As the sun rose higher and higher a soft breeze began to blow, like the first breath of spring. It seemed to be the very weather they had been waiting for.... The men gathered together in a little knot to talk it over, wondering if it would be safe to chance it to-day.... Well, yes, it looked all right now, speculated Tönseten, peering into the sky and turning his quid in his cheek; but this sort of weather wasn’t exactly dependable. Somehow, it didn’t seem natural for this time of year.... “It has too sweet a face, I think!”

They had better make a start, counselled Hans Olsa. Already it was late in February; the spring thaw would soon be setting in.

“Well,” said Per Hansa, “if we have any idea of bringing a few sticks of wood home before the haying season begins, we’d better get a move on.... All the same, I agree with you, Syvert.... It looks to me like a weather-breeder. But we ought to be able to reach the Trönders’ before anything happens.”

Then they began to get ready. There were numberless things to attend to, so that it was past ten o’clock before they set out. They had not burdened themselves with provisions, knowing that they would soon come to hospitable folk; but to be on the safe side they all carried a small supply of food in their pockets.

The four teams formed quite a caravan, each with its own sleigh, trailing in single file across the white plain. Hans Olsa, who had the fastest horses, drove in the van; then came Tönseten; then Sam; while Per Hansa’s oxen, shambling along with him and his sleigh, drew up the rear.

The whole settlement was out-of-doors to see the caravan set forth. The children were dismissed from school for a little while; the grown folks left their work.... Store-Hans clenched his fists in impotent fury.... What foolishness.... What an idiotic arrangement! Here they had to sit indoors, he and his brother, in such fine weather, chewing over and over again the stories they knew by heart, while off went the men, bound for all sorts of wonderful adventures!... Father would be taking Old Maria along.... He might shoot a dozen wolves to-day!... Perhaps there would be smooth ice on the river, and a hole in the ice, and fish, and everything! And strangers to be met, and grown-up talk going.... Oh, what nonsense, to have to stay here!... His brother was in the same state of bitter revolt; that day the boys learned very little in school.

Beret had laid the baby down and gone out with the others; but just as the men were about to start she ran back into the house, her knees trembling under her.... The window faced the east and they were going eastward, but she could not bring herself to look out.... But what she felt was not exactly fear—was not the same fear that had gripped her the time before when he had left her alone.... This was a sense of powerlessness....

The caravan crept away. Sleighs and animals grew smaller and smaller; at last they were nothing but tiny black dots on the endless white expanse of the plain....

All went well with Per Hansa and the oxen. Once the heavy animals had started, they kept the track without any difficulty, and didn’t lag very far behind, either. The snow was soft, and it soon proved heavy, slow work to break the track. The three teams of horses had to take turns at it. Though the weather still looked steady, the men pushed on as fast as they could.

Some time after midday the breeze settled down into a mild south wind; the snow was growing more and more soggy under the runners; the air seemed as soft as a May day; in the whole arch of the sky not a cloud nor the trace of a cloud could be seen; the sunshine almost blinded them with its radiant brilliancy.

This lasted without change until after three o’clock.

So far everything had gone without a hitch and Per Hansa figured that in two or three hours they would sight the hills over by the Sioux River. But just then, chancing to glance back toward the western horizon, he caught sight of a black, billowy outline above the prairie, looming ominously against the sky.... Were his eyes deceiving him? He rubbed them and looked again; rubbed them harder and gazed intently at the sight.... Sure enough it was a veritable outline, the form of a low-lying dark cloud.... His heart pounded against his breast; he spoke quickly and roughly to the oxen....

The apparition was moving out there—came rushing forward and upward with uncanny speed. The outline had now become a dark, opaque mass ... it writhed and swelled with life ... it seemed to be belching up over all the sky, like sooty smoke out of a furnace. Above his head the heavens were still clear; but under the rim of the onrushing cloud a bluish-black shadow had settled on the prairie.

The south wind suddenly died in fitful gasps, leaving a chill in the air.... A weird silence had fallen.... The thing in the west was possessed of baleful life. It shot outward and upward.... Sighs as if out of a cold cavern ran before it.... In a twinkling, the day had been swallowed in gloom....

Those in the lead had stopped at the first warning. Hans Olsa had waited until Tönseten and Sam came up; when Per Hansa reached them, the three sleighs were all huddled together.

“It’s going to strike us in a minute,” said Hans Olsa, soberly. He was standing beside his sleigh, clearing the lashing-rope.

“Looks like it,” answered Per Hansa, dryly. “If we ever get out of this—!” ... He jumped out and followed Hans Olsa’s lead, clearing his own rope.

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

“This is what we must do,” said Hans Olsa: “We’ll pass a rope from sleigh to sleigh, so that we won’t lose each other in the storm. Isn’t that right, Per Hansa?”

“Yes, yes!” His sailor instincts were all alive. “It looks as if the storm would travel the way we’re going. We’ll have to watch the wind.... Whatever you do, keep a sharp lookout for the country we know on this side of the river. If we should sail past the Trönders’, there’ll be hell to pay.... Hurry up, now. Damn the luck, that we haven’t got a compass!” The words tumbled out of Per Hansa’s mouth in a raging flood.

Each man tied his lashing-rope to the sleigh, and gave the other end to the next one behind. Per Hansa ran forward to the Solum boy:

“All ready, Sam? Are you sure your rope is fast? I don’t believe I’ll be able to keep up with you.... But listen: don’t give a thought to what lies behind you! Do you hear? Hold on like hell to Syvert’s rope! It’s a matter of life and death. Do you understand?... Now we must get a move on!”

Both Per Hansa and Hans Olsa—old Lofot-men that they were—had seen plenty of storms that made up fast; but nothing like this had ever before come within the range of their experience. Like lightning a giant troll had risen up in the west, ripped open his great sack of woolly fleece, and emptied the whole contents of it above their heads.

A squall of snow so thick that they could not see an arm’s length ahead of them, a sucking noise, a few angry blasts, howling in fury, then dropping away to uncertain draughts of air that wandered idly here and there, swirling the light snowfall around the sleighs. High overhead, a sharp hissing sound mingled with growls like thunder—and then the blizzard broke in all its terror....

VI

The storm howled and whined, driving the snow before it like giant breakers. A grey-black spume enveloped them, a raging cloud.... Instinctively, Per Hansa found himself peering through the murk, knitting his brows and squinting up his right eye—an old habit of his, born of the many times he had looked to see if the mast would hold!

A violent jerk came on his rope, so strong that he almost plunged forward. To save himself from being dragged off his sleigh he was forced to let go his hold.... “There goes Sam!” he muttered, grinding his teeth together.

The boat that he steered was behaving very badly; it wouldn’t answer the helm; it didn’t ride the swell like a seaworthy craft; it had no speed or power to lift itself over the rough waves. The oxen shambled and floundered along, veering before the wind; with every clumsy step they went more slowly; at last, with a great heave, they stood stock-still. Drawing their heads as far as they could into their short necks, they twitched their bodies a little, hunched their backs, and lowered their heavy rumps into the snow, to meet the force of the gale....

There they stood!

“God Almighty!” ... muttered Per Hansa into the storm. Quick as lightning the thought flashed through his mind: Run your knife into one of them, rip off his hide, wrap yourself in it, and let yourself snow under—it’s your only salvation!

No, no, Per Hansa couldn’t do that. Old Sören and Perkel had brought him and his family all the way across the plains; they had broken every inch of his fields; if he were ever to have a lordly estate, it would come about through the labor of these beasts.... And Old Sören had such kind eyes, and Perkel always came so quickly when they called him.

Per Hansa threw himself out of the sleigh and fumbled his way along the traces till he came to the oxen; he caught hold of their necks and began rubbing their foreheads. While he rubbed, he talked into their ears:

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

With rough caresses he swept the snow off their backs, scratched their rumps a moment, then crept back into the sleigh. Summoning all his force, he shouted in a mighty voice, “Get along now, you devils!” The whip lashed and cracked—the first time since he had bought them that he had ever struck them in real earnest.... The oxen gave a tremendous plunge ... another ... and off they careered into the heart of the storm. Per Hansa felt as if he were sliding down one huge wave after another; the boat was scudding now with terrific speed!... Still on they went, tossing and plunging, down and down!...

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

... Why, what in Heaven’s name was this? Something had happened very suddenly. He thought that he heard a loud crash, as if two logs had smashed violently together; through the murk he glimpsed a black object flying across the bows and disappearing astern.... Wasn’t that another? And another?... Why!... He must be passing the other teams!

“Whoa! Whoa, there!” he bellowed down the wind. “Stop!... t-r-r-r-o!” ... He was so angry that he nearly broke the lines.... “Who ever saw such devils! Stop! Whoa!” ...

But the oxen paid not the slightest attention to him. The spirit of the storm had possessed them; they tore along like mad things; whenever they struck a snowdrift, they plunged through it so furiously that the snow thrown up by their feet and the sleigh was thicker than that which fell from above. Per Hansa could do nothing but cling desperately to the sleigh.... This mad race through the inferno of the storm lasted a long time; how long he did not know, but it seemed to him as if it had gone on forever....

But finally the oxen slackened their speed; the wild gallop sank to a trot; the trot fell to a tired jog ... and then they stopped altogether. He could distinctly hear their exhausted puffing through the roar of the storm.

Per Hansa scrambled down from the sleigh again and managed to open one of the hay sacks. He tore out a handful of hay, plowed his way forward, and began to rub down the oxen with the dry wisp.... The storm was now so terrific that it was impossible to turn one’s face against it. The stinging snow drove like icy needles and broke the skin. He rubbed and rubbed, first Old Sören, then Perkel; and when his strength was gone and he could rub no longer, he struggled back to fetch the hay sack, held it under their noses, and let them eat.... He stood there holding it so long that he grew stiff with the cold and with the piercing snow that stuck in his clothes like nails.... “Hurry now, hurry now, troll-boys! God be praised, you can still wag your jaws!” he spoke in their ears.

At last he got back to the sleigh, loosened the blanket, and wrapped it close around him. He emptied the hay sack and bundled it over his head.... Then he shouted a few vigorous words of encouragement to the oxen: now they must get along—now, by God, they must show what stuff they were made of!...

But the beasts had a different notion, an idea all their own: instead of rushing off as before, they began to saunter slowly with the wind, moving forward at exactly the same speed as when they were drawing the plow on a hot summer day. Per Hansa tried every means he could think of to start them up; he fumed and swore; he coaxed them and used all kinds of pet names; he grabbed the whip and lashed them mercilessly, but everything had the same effect, or no effect at all. The oxen sauntered along, dragging him and his sleigh as unconcernedly through the storm as if they were on their way down to the creek to drink.

It had now grown pitch dark; the night pressed close about him. Snow was not falling as thickly as in the afternoon, but the cold had become intense ... it cut into his back like a heavy, dull knife; the wind had risen into a solid blast, so that he had hard work to keep his seat in the sleigh.... He sat there, huddled and freezing, and stared out into the blackness. So, this was his last journey!...

The thought only made him impatient.... God Almighty might have waited awhile longer, until they had seen how their luck would go out here and what sort of a boy Permand would turn out to be.... It was a queer thing that He should want to be so cruel to Beret—a sick woman left alone in this terrible place, so far out in the wilderness—and without the oxen, too!... A strange fate, this, I’ll be damned if it isn’t! thought Per Hansa.

... By and by he began to feel that he was really freezing. He tied the lines about his thighs and took to beating his arms. It helped his hands, but his back only grew colder; the wind cut through and through....

... It seemed to him that by this time he must have gone by the Trönders’—a long way by. The oxen wouldn’t stop until they had reached the Atlantic Ocean!... He was so cold now that his teeth chattered all the time and couldn’t stop.

... Then, after a while, the cold seemed to be letting up; the terrible sucking emptiness inside him had gone away; he felt tired and drowsy ... a good feeling....

He pulled himself furiously together and deliberately chewed his tongue to keep awake. He knew too well what this drowsy feeling meant!...

... It must not happen—it should not happen! To think of Beret alone there with four youngsters!... Making a desperate effort, he flung himself out of the sleigh and staggered along beside the oxen, the lines wound securely around his arm.

... Struggling through the storm, he felt more and more disgusted with God Almighty. To take him away from Beret now would be a wicked thing, whichever way you looked at it.... What could He expect to accomplish by such a wrong?... There wasn’t a better, truer soul alive than Beret.... Was this the way God cared for His own?

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

The storm raged around him; the cold bit deeper and stronger. He staggered on in the midst of a vast darkness, beset by furious monsters, fighting a battle that seemed to be without respite and without end.... On and on he stumbled, on and on....

Strangely enough, he didn’t seem tired at all—the fight didn’t exhaust him.... What sort of a place would he get to if he kept on travelling like this a week or two?... A name occurred to him as if it had risen out of the storm—he seemed to see it shining before his eyes: Rocky Mountains ... The Rocky Mountains? What a strange fancy!... Floundering through the snowdrifts, this name seemed to be broken in pieces as it ran through his mind: Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!... Rocky-ocky, rocky-ocky ... Moun-tains, moun-tains!... Then he fell down; pulling himself wearily out of the snowdrift, another thought crossed his mind.... It was all a mistake—the Rocky Mountains didn’t lie in this direction.... God! was he going stark mad?... He probably wouldn’t be able to last much longer.... How sweet it would be—what a blessed, infinite relief—to sit down here in this snowdrift and rest a little while! Only a moment ... it wouldn’t take long ... sleep would so soon overcome him.

Suddenly he was aroused by a new thought, that shook him wide awake and stirred his numbed senses: Sam! What had happened to Sam? They couldn’t leave him in the lurch.... Sam was a promising boy. He’d probably make a splendid citizen some day, with his fine voice and all his other good qualities.... God above, was he, Per Hansa, going to be blamed for this, too, that Sam would lose his life to-night?... If he had kept his mouth shut that evening and let them go on their way, both Sam and Henry might now have been safe and sound in eastern Minnesota with their own folks!... But perhaps those who had horses would be able to pull through, since the storm wasn’t growing any worse. If only they didn’t desert the boy!

Per Hansa was stumbling and falling a good deal now; each time he fell it was harder to get up. The lines were jammed tightly around his arm; the oxen plowed onward without a pause; he had to get up or be dragged through the snow. Neither could he loosen the lines, for his mittens were frozen stiff.... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains, Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!... Directly behind those mountains lay the Pacific Ocean.... They had no winter on that coast ... no winter, and they fished both halibut and salmon! God! no winter!... If he could only gain his way across ... across the ... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...

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

Steadily onward the oxen plowed, dragging Per Hansa by the arm. Stumble and fall as he would, he had to get up again and struggle along....

... What had happened now? The oxen had stopped—were standing still. Per Hansa wasn’t being dragged forward any longer.

His first impulse was to sink down where he stood, to snatch a moment’s peace, to give up to the weariness that was overmastering him. But deep down within him a voice commanded him to keep on standing.... He followed the lines, fumbled his way forward to Perkel, flung his arm across the animal’s back, and leaned against his thigh....

What nonsense was this?... Day breaking again?... Between the heads of the two oxen a yellow eye seemed to be gleaming through the curtain of the driving snow ... a great yellow eye....

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

Suddenly Old Sören gave a long-drawn bellow. The sound had scarcely died away when Perkel lifted his voice as if to second his comrade’s motion. He put such a powerful effort into that bellow that his muscles strained and his whole body contracted. The noise shook Per Hansa out of his grim revery. He felt his way along Perkel’s back until he had readied the animal’s head ... it was rammed full-tilt against a log wall!...

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

Per Hansa trembled so violently that he could hardly keep his feet. He saw now that the eye shining through the drifting snow was in reality the light from a small window in this log wall.... Good Heavens! Had he plowed and plunged clear through to Fillmore County?... He found his way around the house corner, came to a door, flung it open without ceremony, and stumbled in.

VII

Per Hansa saw nothing as he stumbled into the cabin. The heat of the room seemed to flow over him in a great wave, deadening all his senses. The light blinded him; he could not open his eyes beyond a narrow slit; his face was crusted with snow and ice; his eyelashes were frozen together.... But he was conscious, with a deep sense of joy and relief, that this was a safe place and that there were folk around him again—Norwegian folk, his own people... When he had first felt the build of the cornice, out there in the snowstorm, he had sensed instinctively that here lived Norwegians.... Out of the jaws of death he had walked in a single step into warmth and life and safety.... But it was easier to warm his body than to thaw out his soul. The reaction was too swift and too tremendous; he felt himself growing faint and dizzy and was barely able to stand.

“Give me something to sit down on, good folk,” he heard a faint voice saying far away. For a moment, he thought that his senses were going to leave him.... He must hurry and say what he had to say!... “You’ll find ... two oxen ... two good oxen outside.... Get them under cover at once!... I’m all right—but the oxen—!”

Some one shoved forward a chair. He felt vaguely that it must be meant for him, took hold of the back, and let himself sink down.... His frozen clothes crackled like sheets of ice, shedding a little flurry of snow.

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

A hubbub of confused, excited voices rose around him. He felt that there must be a crowd of people in the room, but their faces were all a blank to him. A thick haze seemed to surround them, swimming before his eyes.

Then a person got up right by his side—a palpable figure confronted him. Per Hansa gave a start—the voice sounded strangely familiar.

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

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

“Can’t you see the boy?... He’s sitting in the chair right in front of you.... Thank God, Per Hansa, you’re still alive!”

No wonder that they had failed to recognize him, no wonder that he couldn’t see, or that his voice sounded weak and strange, for his whole face was covered with a mask of hard-caked snow which had not melted yet in the heat of the room. It was firmly fastened to his eyebrows and beard; it joined his cap to his coat collar and hung down behind over his back in a white sheet. If ever there was a snow king in human form, it was Per Hansa that night as he sat thawing out in Simon Baarstad’s cabin.

Little by little his five senses came back to him; and sure enough, there they all were, his good neighbours. He knew the room well, too, and the folk who owned it.... He could see Sam plainly enough now—Sam, who could sing so well, sitting close to the stove, beside a fair young girl.... He couldn’t make out whether he was closer to the girl or to the stove. Per Hansa smiled to himself.... Ah, Sam, Sam!... No doubt about your being a good man some day!...

He listened in deep contentment while Hans Olsa related how they had driven like demons, to save their lives. They had had no idea where they were going nor what lay ahead of them; but at the last moment, when they had almost given up hope, they had gotten their bearings of the country on this side of the river and had arrived at this very spot. That had been two hours ago; it was now past nine o’clock....

Per Hansa heard them as if in a dream. The terrible trip didn’t concern him any longer. It was all over now.... Something else that was going on in the room interested him a great deal more: beside the stove stood Gurina Baarstad, handling a stewpan. She had filled it over half full of milk; when the milk began to simmer she added a goodly portion of strong, home-brewed beer.

“My dear, blessed Gurina, don’t be stingy, now!” Per Hansa teased her. The hot mixture was strong, brown, and frothy. They gave him a large bowlful; he drank and drank....

“God, if a fellow had thirteen barrels of this stuff of yours, Gurina!... You don’t happen to have another little drop in the pan?” ... She gave him a second bowlful, which he emptied as greedily as the first.... All at once, something occurred to him. He turned to ask a question.

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

Drive past them!... “You’re talking wild, Per Hansa,” said Tönseten, with an anxious look. Per Hansa was off his base to-night!

—Certainly not—nothing wild about that! They had better take a look at Sam’s sleigh to-morrow, if they didn’t believe him. He had almost run Sam down as he shot by!... “Say, didn’t you see me, Sam?”

Well, Sam remembered that he did see something go by—something black, that flew past like a wraith of the storm. It had been just after the squall broke. He had felt a terrific jolt go over the sleigh and thought he had struck a stone.... “Was that you, Per Hansa?”

“Ha-ha! You’re damned right! That was my flying oxen passing your good-for-nothing old plugs.”

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

—Yes, they had better wonder about that!... Per Hansa was gay once more; he tipped up the bowl rakishly and tried to squeeze another drop out of it.

“If you want to know, I took a little run up to Flandreau to see if I couldn’t find a good-looking bride for Henry. I thought that was the least I could do for him, poor fellow His brother can handle such matters for himself, it seems.... Tell me, Sam, are you still as cold as all that?”

Sam blushed crimson and hitched his chair away from the girl.

Later a large bowl of porridge was set out on the table for Per Hansa, a mug of hot milk beside it. He ate and ate; it seemed as if he never could get enough.... Afterward there was much cozy talk, everyone in the house joining in; they discussed all that had happened so far, and all that was going to happen.... Oh, this country had a great future! People who were willing to work could win almost anything out of it! No doubt about that at all!

At last it came time for them to retire. The members of the family lay down in their beds; the strangers slept on the floor, which had been piled deep with hay and covered with many thicknesses of clothes; all four men lay there side by side, and three of them soon slept the quiet sleep of the righteous....

But Per Hansa could not sleep; his mind was numb with weariness, yet he could not sleep. Every nerve of his body was twitching; little spasms passed over him, like ripples on the surface of a smooth, glassy sea. It was very hot in the cabin; the blanket grew so heavy that he had to throw it off. Something remained still frozen, deep down in the centre of his being.

A certain picture stood stubbornly before his mind: a sod house beset by the western storm, a hut with the wind howling around the corners; he could even hear the peculiar note that the wind always made as it sucked around one of these corners. The hut lay far, far out in the heart of the darkness. A woman was moving about there whose sad face was still full of beauty; she carried a child in her arms. Per Hansa’s weary, wide-open eyes could see exactly how she held the child.... It lay wrapped in a blanket—a red blanket with black borders.... He turned over heavily many times, trying to blot out the vision; but the woman continued to pace up and down. He felt that he must speak to her, let her know that all was well—tell her to go to bed now, so that a fellow might have a little peace....

... “God Almighty!” sighed Per Hansa. “How Beret must be worrying about me to-night!... She ought not to be so foolish. I’ve told her many times that there are no finer people in the world than these Trönders.” ... But his body kept on jerking; his mind would not let the picture go.... It must be cold in her hut to-night.... If the boys had only managed to bring enough wood into the house before the storm broke!... Surely they must have some heat, or she would not be walking the floor; it would be terrible for her in the cold.... He threshed and turned, but the picture followed him....

Along the Sioux River, both above and below Simon Baarstad’s place, there was already a considerable settlement, made up almost entirely of Trönders. For those days it was a well-organized community. Some of the folk who lived there thought of themselves as old settlers already; the first had come in ’66. Most of them had a good start now, were living in fair-sized frame houses, possessed a good deal of land under cultivation, and were making a comfortable living.

And what adventures they were able to relate about the first few years! How they had had to cross the region that is now the southern part of South Dakota and go still farther westward into Nebraska, to have their wheat ground at the mill; how the Indians had come by in large bands, both winter and summer; and all about many other remarkable things.... Now there weren’t any hardships or difficulties to be met with, said the Trönders; now there were people everywhere, the country was fairly settled, and town after town had sprung up out of the prairie.

Per Hansa liked to listen to these stories. There was about them a certain flavor of genuineness and reliability, as of human experience, and at the same time something that stirred his heart and made his cheeks burn.... Surely the things that a Trönder could do were not impossible for a Helgelænding! In olden times it had never been so, and it would not prove to be so to-day, either.... “Just wait awhile!” ...

The next day was clear and still, but bitterly cold. Per Hansa, who on his first trip the previous summer had bought an acre of woodland from Baarstad on time payment, remained on his own lot, felling trees and loading his sleigh; the others went around to different places, buying what wood they could find.... The four men stayed in the settlement two whole days, and did not leave for home until the morning of the third day. By hurrying, they might have set out a day earlier, but to hurry seemed almost impossible.

No, it was hard for them to hurry. In many months they had seen few strange faces; this visit was too much fun to cut short. And the Trönders, who were a hospitable folk and had a long story to tell, would not hear of their leaving sooner.... The four were easily tempted. These were festal days; the strain of life had relaxed for a moment; and there were a thousand things to consult the Trönders about. Before they left they had ordered all the wheat and oats they would need for the spring seeding. Tönseten had even bought half a sack of barley, a fact which he carefully concealed from his comrades.... It would be soon enough to tell them when the time came, he thought. The Trönders knew how to make good beer from barley, and he had received careful instruction from Tommaas.... Just wait till fall came around!

Per Hansa, when he had finished making up his load of wood, wanted to try his luck on the river. He coaxed Baarstad until the latter consented to go with him. The two men went at it with a will, chopping their way through the thick ice, while the sweat rolled from their foreheads.

And then Trönder and Helgelænding fished together through the same hole, in the greatest comradeship and with the keenest enjoyment.17 ... At night there was fresh fish on the table, and the two old fishermen sat eating and rejoicing while they told tales of both East and West Lofoten and forgot everything around them as they went back into the past. Per Hansa thought that Baarstad was the finest fellow he had met for many a long day, and Baarstad felt the same way about Per Hansa. For the twentieth time now he had asked him not to wait too long before he visited them again.

As they sat there chatting, a boy came in to speak with the girl of the family. He seemed to be in hot haste, that boy—almost as if it were a matter of life and death.

—What was going on? asked Baarstad.

—Oh, Tommaas had company at his house, and they were going to have a little fun to-night. The girl bustled about, got herself ready, and went away with him.

Then it occurred to Baarstad that they might as well go, too. He told his wife to hurry up and get ready.... “We’ll show these Helgelændings how Trönders can dance!”

Awhile later the three arrived at the Tommaas house. As they opened the door, sounds of a scraping fiddle, mingled with the loud tramping of feet, poured out into the frosty night. The house was packed full of people, both young and old.... A small lamp with a homemade shade, sitting on a log well up on the wall, tried to keep an eye on all the couples below; but the task was too heavy for such a weak glim. It had to be content with blinking down on the nearest pair.... The three newcomers found themselves quickly shoved into a corner, out of the wake of the dancers.

Per Hansa grew restless as he watched, though his restlessness was far different from that which had kept him awake the other night.... Remarkable how that fiddle sang! He had to admit that the man who played knew his business, even if he was a Trönder!...

“Well, I’ll be——!” The exclamation had jumped out of Per Hansa before he could stop it. Here came the Solum boy, swinging past him with the Baarstad girl!... “Oh yes, he’ll be a man, that Sam, if he keeps this up!” ... Another couple came rocking past—he ought to know that fellow, if he would only stop whirling around. By God! it was Tönseten, tossing along with an apple-round Trönder woman!...

“Careful now, Syvert, old man! There are rocks and breakers ahead of you! What do you think Kjersti would——”

“Shut your mouth, Per Hansa! What are you standing there moping about?” Tönseten’s face was fiery red; the dance whirled him away before he had time to say anything more.

Per Hansa began to breathe hard and fast; his eyes snapped with excitement, narrowing to little slits. Right in the midst of a flock of dancers a big head bobbed up and down, up and down, above all the others, like a buoy on a high sea.... Then Per Hansa completely forgot himself. “By all the frolicking seraphims, there’s Hans Olsa dancing the schottische!” ... Waves of spasmodic twitching passed over him, in time to the jigging tune; his eyes blinked rapidly.... He looked around for the Baarstads, saw them close at hand, and grasped Gurina’s arm.

“Come, show me how the Trönders dance that tune!”

Forgotten was everything else now. With his arm around Gurina, he manœuvred toward the centre of the floor until he had reached his neighbour’s side.... “Get out of the way, Hans Olsa! I want plenty of room to swing in!” ...

At exactly eleven o’clock the party was over; Tommaas himself commanded them to stop.... No one knew how it came about, but, strangely enough, it was Sam who brought the Baarstad girl home....

The next morning, long before daylight, the four men had left the settlement and were on their way back to Spring Creek.

IX

Sunday afternoon ... a dim, lurid day ... a pale sun flickering through the drifting snow ... an everlasting wind ... the whole prairie a foaming, storm-beaten sea.... Nothing else, to the very ends of the world.... The sun dogs were still on guard, one ahead of the sun, the other following....

The whole settlement was gathered in Tönseten’s hut that afternoon; a gloomy restlessness had taken hold of them, so that they could not stay at home. Per Hansa had bundled the newcomer up and taken him over; that completed the roll call.... Kjersti was serving potato coffee, with potato cakes; but for the coffee to-day she had fresh cow’s milk, which made it not so bad, and her store of loaf sugar wasn’t entirely gone.... Inside the hut the lurid daylight cast a pale, sickly gleam. From out the stove, with its crackling fire, bright streamers of warmer light played about the room.

A heavy mood lay on the folk—too heavy for potato coffee to dispel.... It was such a terrible, hopeless day out-of-doors ... and all the days were alike....

Under the strain of this winter the courage of the men was slowly ebbing away.... As they sat cooped up in Tönseten’s house, they were discussing the question of how this place would look in two years, or maybe in four years—or even after six years had passed. See how many had come last year—this roomful, where the year before there wasn’t a living soul! Wouldn’t it be reasonable to expect that an equal number of new settlers would turn up another year? They began to figure it out on this basis: next year so many, in four years such a number; until at last the country would be filled up and the folk would stretch, neighbour to neighbour, clear out to the Rocky Mountains! They foresaw the whole process and calculated correctly—but no one in that company believed in the calculation! They heard themselves speak, and listened to one another, but all realized that there was no fire in their words....

“I don’t believe Per Hansa is ready himself to swallow that story,” thought Hans Olsa, but he raised no objection.... “God save them from making mistakes in their figuring!” ran through Kjersti’s mind, as she listened in awe to Per Hansa and Syvert rolling up the total; but she was careful to throw no cold water on the dream.

... On a day like this it was impossible to believe in such fine fancies; they all felt it, deep down in their hearts.

But here came Tönseten with a question that made them forget everything else for a while. The conversation had died of its own inertia; no one could find a thought that seemed worth expressing. Then Tönseten straightened up where he sat on the chest, demanding to know what names Hans Olsa and Per Hansa intended to adopt when they took out the title deeds to their land.

“Names?”

“Yes, names!... That point would have to be settled clearly beforehand,” Tönseten explained. “When the deeds were taken out, their names would then be written into the law of the land, and thereafter would be as unchangeable as the Constitution itself!”

... But they all had been baptized! How about Tönseten himself? asked Per Hansa, irritably. He couldn’t understand why the name Peder Hansen would not be good enough even for the United States Constitution.... This snobbish fastidiousness of Syvert’s didn’t fit the case.

Tönseten bridled at once and said that sarcasm was uncalled for. He was only, in the capacity of an old American citizen, giving good advice on matters which he understood perfectly.... “That’s all!” ... And when Tönseten threw the phrase, “That’s all!” into his conversation, they knew that he was offended.... Besides, he went on stiffly, it seemed as if anyone ought to be able to understand this much: Hans Olsen and Peder Hansen—why, either a Greek or a Hebrew might bear those names! It would never occur to anyone who heard them that they were carried by Norwegian people!18 ...

Hans Olsa laughed good-naturedly, and said with quiet humour: “Then perhaps I had better call myself Olav Trygvason.... Wasn’t there some one of that name?”

This made everyone laugh: Hans Olsa’s shaft had suddenly torn a rift in their mood of depression.

“Well, well,” chuckled Per Hansa, “if you want to be Olav Trygvason, I’ll be Peter Tordenskjold! But then we’ll have to rechristen Syvert, too ... St. Olaf or Tore Hund.19 How would that do, Hans Olsa?... If that wouldn’t proclaim to both Jew and Gentile that we are good Norwegians, then I’m certainly up a stump!” ...

They were all laughing so hard now that Tönseten had to join them in spite of himself.... Then Kjersti and Sörine took up the question; the Solum boys chimed in and expressed their opinions; while the children were busy discussing it among themselves. But Beret sat quietly rocking the baby on her lap, and said nothing.

An earnest liveliness crept into the conversation. Opinions flew thick and fast. At last Sörine spoke up resolutely, as if she had made up her mind, saying that if she had her choice she would rather be called Mrs. Vaag, from their place name in Norway, than Mrs. Olsen.

This sounded so sensible and practical that all the others had to try the idea at once, with their own place names.

“But, look here, Sörrina,” objected Per Hansa, “that wouldn’t do for my wife! Your notion would make her Mrs. Skarvholmen20—and that nobody shall call her! I warn you!”

“No, that certainly wouldn’t do for a Christian woman!” cried Kjersti with a hearty laugh.

“No, I suppose not,” admitted Sörine, unwilling to give up. “But how about Mrs. Holm? That seems to me both pretty and practical.... I say, Beret, shall we all turn Baptists for a while?” ... Sörine was laughing in her jolly way, immensely taken up with the idea.

Beret sat rocking the child. She had listened absently all the while, humming a quiet melody to herself. When Sörine addressed her directly she stopped singing and answered that it made little difference to her, if—she choked, and went on—if it was right for a person to take a name other than the one given in baptism.... But it made no difference to her.

Sörine grew serious over this point.

“I agree with you, Beret.... But here in this country we can’t bear our fathers’ names, anyway. It wouldn’t do for me to sign my name as Sörine Sakkarias’-Daughter!”

“No,” cried Tönseten, excitedly, “not if you want to be Hans Olsa’s wife!” ... Remarkable what a bright head sat on Sörrina’s shoulders!

This matter of names brought on a long discussion. Hans Olsa, like the others, decided that his wife had made a practical suggestion; Per Hansa found little to say, but his face had a look of quiet elation.... He must speak to Beret about this, alone and right away!... He sat there trying the name over in his mind, first on her, then on himself, finally on each of the children. As he ran them over, the radiant light in his face grew stronger.... Mrs. Holm, that sounded well; Peder Holm, that had a fine ring!... Ole Haldor Holm!... Hans Kristian Holm!... Peder Holm—no, Peder Victorious Holm!... Peder Victorious Holm!... He rolled the name on his tongue, biting it off in three distinct parts, as if to enjoy the sound; then he got up suddenly, grasped the waistband of his trousers, and gave them a hitch.

... “Sörrina has got it right—that name is both pretty and practical. What do you say, boys—shall we adopt the plan?”

Per Hansa was plainly in a towering humour now; the note of it rang in his voice. There was no opposing him.... After that day, each of the two families in question had a pair of surnames. Among themselves they always used the old names, but among strangers they were Vaag and Holm—though Hans Olsa invariably wrote it with a “W” instead of a “V.”

---

That night Beret sat quietly by herself. The chores were long since done and they had eaten their supper. The children were in bed. They had been very noisy to-night, in their excitement over the new name that Sörine had invented for them. But now they were all asleep. Per Hansa was getting ready to go to bed; he moved about abstractedly and took a long time over everything he did. He, too, was full of excitement, thinking about the name....

Peder Victorious Holm—the words sang through his mind; he seemed to expand as he heard them. The song carried him forward into the great, imaginative future where he loved to dwell.... “Beret, please come to bed!” he begged, in a low, kindly voice. He caressed his wife affectionately, then went to the bed and lay down.

She returned the caress half-heartedly, as if reserving the better part of it. “Oh yes, I’ll come pretty soon,” she said, and remained sitting where she was.

She sat there a long time, holding the child in her lap and rocking it gently. Now and then she would open the stove door and stick in a piece of wood. Each time she left the door open a crack, so that she could stare in at the fire. Why did she have to go to bed? The night was long enough, anyway.... Well, now they had discarded the names of their fathers, soon they would be discarding other sacred things. The awful spirit that ruled the plains demanded all!... She had said nothing to-day. Why should she interfere, to spoil their pleasure?... Everything that she said, everything that she did, seemed to be wrong.... But, oh, it was a wicked thing that they were doing now! Not that it was any worse than giving the child that terrible second name to start with; for that had been almost sacrilege!... But perhaps she was mistaken, after all. Perhaps it hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps she was going crazy. The old fear had come back to her to-day—that was why she had kept still.... Ah, well, God Almighty had spared her again; He must have some reason for it.... Now she could repent of her sins before He took her ... He had been merciful enough to give her time for that.... But sitting here in this mood, she found it impossible to repent. She was only afraid—afraid ... a timid child in a dark room.

The fire had burned out, but she hadn’t noticed it until a draught of frosty air began to circulate through the room. All at once she shivered.... The memory of that stormy night some time ago came back to her vividly. The children had been over at Sörine’s; they had not come home and she had been unable to go and fetch them. All that night she had walked the floor—walked and walked, until she could walk no longer.... And the following two nights had been no better.... Again she was overwhelmed by the terror that had visited her at that time.... She got up hastily and ran to the bed....

But there was no sleep waiting for her....

No, Beret could not sleep. She lay tense and quiet, thinking of people she had read about, who had been driven out into the desert that they might better please God. After a while she wept silently. If He would only remove the terror that hung like a dark cloud over all this land, she would try faithfully to serve Him even here. But under the shadow of that terror she could not live much longer....

X

The days were growing longer with every one that passed, March came, and the winter seemed to be letting up a little. Per Hansa worked with a desperate energy. If the day was too short for what he was doing, he simply added a part of the night to it. And in the month of March he achieved something that is still told about in the legends of that settlement.

Every time he had visited the Trönders at Sioux River, he had heard fascinating tales about the Indians at Flandreau, where they had a large colony. Their whole winter occupation was trapping, from fall frost to spring thaw, and when spring came they would have large stocks of furs, especially muskrat, though they also trapped mink, fox, and an occasional wolf. They sold the skins wherever they could find a market, and took whatever they could get; but their best prices were no more than a fourth of what the same skins would bring in eastern Minnesota. The price of a muskrat skin was ten cents in this district—never more than ten cents; while in Austin, Minnesota, it would sell for as high as fifty cents.... A few people along the river had taken to buying furs from the Indians, and shipping them into Minnesota.

All these facts Per Hansa had heard more than once, and he brooded over them a good deal. Throughout the winter they had been constantly on his mind, but he had said nothing about it to anyone. Now March had come, there must be a great supply of furs stored up at Flandreau, and prices would be running high in Minnesota.... The railroad ran east from Worthington.... Every day he went about thinking of it; at night he slept with the idea; and all the while he grew more silent and irritable.

There were many things to consider—it wasn’t an easy matter!... The plan that was slowly forming in his mind was to go alone and trade with the Indians, making what profit he could. God knows, he needed it!... And what was to hinder? Flandreau lay only forty miles away; from there to Worthington was perhaps another ninety miles; and there at Worthington stood the train, waiting for him!... The days were growing longer; there was nothing to do at home for a while; and the weather wouldn’t be too bad for a journey.... Here were the furs; in Minnesota lay the profits. Any courageous devil could pull it off.... Peder Victorious—the name sang in his ears. Peder Victorious!

... But he had only five dollars in his pocket!... By taking Hans Olsa into the project there would be plenty of capital; that fellow wasn’t down to hardpan yet.... Still, he couldn’t be certain that Hans Olsa would look with favour on such a wild-goose chase. On the other hand, how could he take Hans Olsa and leave out Tönseten?... It would be a mean trick to shove him out in the cold.... And if the three of them were to join forces, one of the Solum boys would have to be in it, too—Henry, most likely, for he was much more mature than his brother.... But that would close the school.... And if everyone went, there would be a terrific protest; the women were all more or less timid and naturally didn’t want to be left alone....

No, he couldn’t seem to hit on the right solution.... But it was a thundering pity for that money to lie right at his door—and he in need of another quarter-section of land, with numberless things besides!...

The first week of March went by.

One morning Per Hansa got up a little earlier than usual and looked out at the weather.... Turning to Beret, he said that this couldn’t go on any longer, and stood waiting for her to ask what it was that couldn’t go on any longer.... But as she made no reply, he had to take up his own story. Seeding time would soon be here—and he hadn’t a penny in the world.... They needed many other things, a great many, both food and clothes.... It was time for him to think of some way of earning a few extra dollars.... He couldn’t see any other way out of it.

As Beret listened, her heart tightened with apprehension; but still she made no answer.

Then he told her about the Indian colony at Flandreau and how a fellow could easily earn a few dollars there.... In the springtime those Indians did a rousing business, so the Trönders had said!... Didn’t she think it would be a good plan for him to go up to Flandreau and look around?... It wasn’t far away.... While he was asking these questions he did not look at her. Still receiving no answer, he went on hurriedly: Didn’t she suppose she could manage with just the boys at home for a little while? The days were getting fairly long now and things were looking better all around.... His voice trailed off into silence.

Beret stared vacantly out of the window. She thought: It was true that they needed much; they needed everything that people ought to have. Most of all they needed clothes for him and the boys. She had nothing more left to patch with....

... “I suppose we’ll have to try to keep alive as long as we can....”

That made him very happy.... Wisely said! He thought so, too. And now, never fear, they were going to find a solution!...

She caught the note of suppressed excitement in his voice.... No wonder he was eager to get away! If he would only think of the fact that others felt the same desire!

... “When are you going?”

... “Well now, Beret, I hadn’t made up my mind. But if you think it’s all right, I’d better set out to-day! I’m going to take the pony that the Indian gave me. The weather looks steady enough.... You’ll have to take good care of that newcomer of ours!” ...

This last remark might better have been left unsaid, thought Beret bitterly; but still she made no answer.

Half an hour later Per Hansa took his departure.

Late at night he reached Flandreau, found his way into a hut, and so saved his life for that night.... As soon as he had fed the pony the next morning he took it along with him and poked around the village to interview the Indians. He searched every face; but the one he was looking for and hoping to find was not among them. The savages watched him curiously, returning his stares. They recognized the pony, and seemed to know who Per Hansa was, too. He noticed this quickly and felt relieved. “This scheme is going to work out all right,” he thought.... Then he followed the plan that he had formed long ago when he had first begun to think about it. Trusting wholly to his instincts, he selected out of the crowd the face that he liked best, beckoned the Indian forward, and uttered the one word, “Fur.” As he did this, he gazed inquiringly into the man’s face, but kindly, too, as if to inspire confidence in him.

The Indian understood at once. Of course he had plenty of furs! He took Per Hansa into his wigwam and showed him several bundles of fine muskrat skins....

Per Hansa laughed at his success. With the stick he carried in his hand he wrote the figures “10” in the snow, and after them the word “cents.” Then he drew an object which was meant to be a man with a bundle on his back. He pointed first to the drawing, then to the figures, and at last made a vigorous gesture toward the Indian; this amused him very much, and he couldn’t help smiling as he went through the motions. But all the honesty of his heart managed to come out in that smile, and the Indian saw it.... A long period of bargaining followed, with many gestures, and much drawing and writing to be done in the snow. The upshot of it was that he bought as many furs as he judged he would be able to carry away. He arranged them in four bundles and hung them pack-fashion over the pony’s back.... Per Hansa was still laughing when he left Flandreau.

“Well now, forward, in God’s name!” he said to himself, steering his course toward the southeast, in the general direction of a hut where lived a couple of Hallings who used cows for breaking prairie.

He was gone for a whole week on this expedition. When at last he reached home he refused to tell how far he had travelled into Minnesota, or what experiences he had met with on the way. He was worn out and disturbed; such tales had better be left untold where folks were so easily frightened.... But he had brought home many of the things they needed—and even so, there were forty dollars left in his pocket! These he gayly counted out on the table for Beret, thinking to amuse her.

He remained at home two days. On the third day he left again.... “Understand, Beret, I’ve got to go and pay the Indian for his furs!... Now, don’t expect me until you see me heave in sight!”

All together, Per Hansa made three such journeys; the last two took him only six days each; if there hadn’t been other pressing things to attend to, he probably would have made a fourth journey. When it was all over he was able to lay one hundred and forty dollars on the table for Beret; besides this, he had brought things for the house on each trip—things that he knew she went about wishing for.

He had returned from the last journey with two frozen toes. These were giving him a good deal of trouble when he and the other men were forced to make the trip to the Trönders’ for the seed.... It was necessary to get it home while the sleighing lasted; he was not even properly rested when they had to set off.

On that trip he went in company with Hans Olsa. He had a feeling that since they were going so far anyway, he ought to accomplish something besides their immediate errand. Casting his eyes around at Sioux River, he bought a one-year-old heifer from Gurina Baarstad.... The heifer was spotted red and white, and was therefore given the name of “Spotty” as soon as he reached home with her.

In all this going and coming Beret had said very little, either when he set out or when he returned. He couldn’t help feeling the strangeness of it; she had recovered from her illness long ago, and seemed quite well, as far as he could understand.... She might at least have told him that now he was getting on like a man!... She would have acted differently if she had known, for instance, how he had ridden one time until he had nearly fallen from his horse with fatigue! And once or twice he had escaped death by a pretty narrow squeak—he had thought that his time had come. But then—better not tell her such things!... If she would only say something brave and tender to him!... “Ah, well, she would probably be in better spirits when spring and fine weather set in!” ...