After they had gone, Beret could find no peace in the house; her hand trembled; she felt faint and dizzy; every now and then she had to go out and look at the disappearing wagon; and when the hill finally shut off the view she took the youngest two children and went up there to watch. In a way she felt glad that these people were gone; at the same time she reproached herself for not having urged them to stay longer. Sitting now on the hilltop, a strong presentiment came over her that they should not have started to-day.... “That’s the way I’ve become,” she thought sadly. “Here are folk in the deepest distress, and I am only glad to send them off into direr calamities! What will they do to-night if a storm comes upon them? He is all broken up—he couldn’t have been much of a man at any time. And the poor wife insane from grief! Perhaps she will disappear forever this very night.... What misery, what an unspeakable tragedy, life is for some!” ...
Slowly, very slowly, the forlorn caravan crept off into the great, mysterious silence always hovering above the plain. To Beret, as she watched, it seemed as if the prairie were swallowing up the people, the wagon, the cows and all. At last the little caravan was merged in the very infinite itself; Beret thought she could see the wagon yet, but was not certain; it might be only a dead tuft of grass far away which the wind stirred....
She took the children and went home, walking with slow, dragging steps; she wanted to cry, and felt the need of it, but no tears came.... Per Hansa and the boys were breaking prairie; to judge from the language they used in talking to the oxen, they must be hard at it. Her loneliness was so great that she felt a physical need of bringing happiness to some living thing; as soon as she got home she took her little remaining store of rice and cooked porridge for supper; the boys were very fond of that dish.
Toward evening the air grew heavy and sultry; the cloud banks, still rolling up in the western sky, had taken on a most threatening aspect; it looked as if a thunderstorm might be coming on.
After supper Per Hansa was due to meet at Hans Olsa’s with the other neighbours, to lay plans for the trip to town which had to be made before harvesting set in. The boys asked leave to go, too—it was so much fun to be with the men.
When she had washed the supper dishes Beret went outdoors and sat down on the woodpile. A nameless apprehension tugged at her heart and would not leave her in peace; taking the two children as before, she again ascended the hill. The spell of the afternoon’s sadness was still upon her; her constant self-reproach since then had only deepened it.... Those poor folk were straying somewhere out there, under the towering clouds. Poor souls! The Lord pity the mother who had left a part of herself back east on the prairie! How could the good God permit creatures made in His image to fall into such tribulations? To people this desert would be as impossible as to empty the sea. For how could folk establish homes in an endless wilderness? Was it not the Evil One that had struck them with blindness?... Take her own case, for example: here she sat, thousands of miles from home and kindred, lost in a limitless void.... Out yonder drifted these folk, like chips on a current.... Must man perish because of his own foolishness. Where, then, was the guiding hand?... Beret was gazing at the western sky as the twilight fast gathered around her; her eyes were riveted on a certain cloud that had taken on the shape of a face, awful of mien and giantlike in proportions; the face seemed to swell out of the prairie and filled half the heavens.
She gazed a long time; now she could see the monster clearer. The face was unmistakable! There were the outlines of the nose and mouth. The eyes—deep, dark caves in the cloud—were closed. The mouth, if it were to open, would be a yawning abyss. The chin rested on the prairie.... Black and lean the whole face, but of such gigantic, menacing proportions! Wasn’t there something like a leer upon it?... And the terrible creature was spreading everywhere; she trembled so desperately that she had to take hold of the grass.
It was a strange emotion that Beret was harbouring at this moment; in reality she felt a certain morbid satisfaction—very much like a child that has been arguing with its parents, has turned out to be right, and, just as the tears are coming, cries, “Now, there, you see!” ... Here was the simple solution to the whole riddle. She had known in her heart all the time that people were never led into such deep affliction unless an evil power had been turned loose among them. And hadn’t she clearly felt that there were unspeakable things out yonder—that the great stillness was nothing but life asleep?... She sat still as death, feeling the supernatural emanations all around her. The face came closer in the dusk—didn’t she feel its cold breath upon her? When that mouth opened and began to suck, terrible things would happen!... Without daring to look again, she snatched up the children and ran blindly home.
After a while the others returned, the boys storming boisterously into the house, the father close behind; he was evidently chasing them; by the tone of his voice, she knew he was in high spirits.
“Why, Beret,” he cried gayly, as soon as he got inside, “what have you been doing to the windows—covering them up?” He was looking at her with narrow, sparkling eyes. “Beret, Beret, you’re a dear girl!” he whispered. Then he came over and fondled her—he wanted to help undress her and put her to bed....
“No, no—not that!” she cried, vehemently, an intense anger surging up within her. Had he no sense whatever of decency and propriety, no feeling of shame and sin?... That’s only one more proof, she thought, that the devil has us in his clutches!
After that time, Beret was conscious of the face whenever she was awake, but particularly along toward evening, as the twilight came on; then it drew closer to her and seemed alive. Even during the day she would often be aware of its presence; high noon might stand over the prairie, with the sun shedding a flood of light that fairly blinded the sight, but through and behind the light she would see it—huge and horrible it was, the eyes always closed, with only those empty, cavernlike sockets beneath the brows.
As she went about doing her work, now, she would frequently be seized by a faintness so great that she had to sit down.... How was this going to end? she asked herself. Yes, how would it end?... Vague premonitions hovered about her like shadows. Many times she was on the point of asking her husband if he saw what she did, towering above the prairie out west; but always she seemed to be tongue-tied.... Well, why mention it? Couldn’t he and the others see it perfectly well for themselves? How could they help it?... She noticed that a silence would often fall upon them when they were out-of-doors, especially in the evening. Certainly they saw it!... Every evening, now, whether Per Hansa was away or at home, she hung something over the windows—it helped shut out the fear....
At first her husband made all sorts of fun of this practice of hers; he teased her about it, as if it were a good joke, and continued to force his caresses on her, his voice low and vibrant with pent-up emotion. But as time went on he ceased laughing; the fear that possessed her had begun to affect him, too....
VIII
The month of July wore on. The small patches of fields in the Spring Creek settlement were slowly ripening and made a brave showing. Never had one seen finer fields! The grain had started to head out long ago; the kernels were already formed, tiny bodies wrapped in the most delicate green silk. With every day that passed the wheat filled out more and more; the heads grew heavy and full of milk; as soon as the breeze died down in the afternoon, they would tilt toward the setting sun and slowly drop off to sleep, only to dream of the marvellous life that was now stirring within them.
These days, Per Hansa was behaving like a good boat it a heavy sea—as long as the keel pointed the right way, he would go on. He watched his wife covering the windows at night, and felt both sad and angry; but when he saw how everything was growing on the farm—meadows and fields, cattle and youngsters—then he was filled with an exultant joy that made him momentarily forget his wife’s condition. He had a larger field than any of his neighbours, and there wasn’t a doubt that his grain was the finest—theirs was just ordinary dumb grain, while his seemed alive!... He tried to reason himself out of his serious misgivings over Beret. True enough, she didn’t act as a normal person should; yet it was nothing that wouldn’t naturally right itself with time. Perhaps he would go to work and build her a house this fall. By thunder, he’d have to see about that! The castle would have to be tackled sooner or later.... The lumberman at Worthington was a fine fellow, and Per Hansa wouldn’t be ashamed to ask him for credit. Huh! What could the man expect to do with his lumber but sell it?... Next spring he would make a big haul in his fur trade with the Indians; he’d buy every damned scalp they had in the place. And when his castle was ready it would be stranger than the devil if such a sensible girl as Beret didn’t perk up and throw off her gruesome fancies!
Everything he had planted that spring was blooming like a garden. Why, he could just hear the potatoes grow! Already, as early as this, they were having new potatoes every day, while in his neighbours’ patches the plants were just beginning to blossom. The oats, too, were standing high; but the wheat—best of all was the wheat! The neighbours, and all the east-siders—so the folk who had settled east of the creek had come to be called—and even the Irish from over to the westward, would come to look at his wheat field and say that the sight did them good. He couldn’t understand what the Irish were saying, of course, but their joy at the sight of the wheat was written all over their faces.... Damned fine people, these Irish. Too bad he couldn’t talk with them. But he felt like showing his appreciation of their visits in some tangible way, so he would go over to the potato patch, dig into a row, and give them enough for a meal.... Good God! a man as well off as he was must lend a hand to a pack of starving devils!...
By this time Tönseten had lost the last vestige of ill-feeling toward Per Hansa for doing his own seeding; he was even willing to praise the other for having had sense enough to get the seed into the ground good and early. Now they would be able to cut and harvest the wheat here before the other fields had ripened.... “I tell you what, Per Hansa, that’s the most sensible thing you ever did in your life—and I ought to know what I’m talking about!” ... Tönseten’s round, fat body bristled with importance, for, of course, it would fall to him to do the reaping for these greenhorns. The Solum boys would have to teach them how to bind. Damn it, he couldn’t be expected to do everything!... Yes, Syvert Tönseten was a very busy man these days. There was the reaper to overhaul, and the harnesses to be mended; he had to keep a sharp eye on the grain, too, lest they let it stand too long. Such heavy wheat would shell easily! So he waddled back and forth between the houses of his three neighbours, invariably finding some important matter to discuss wherever he went.
Per Hansa was not running true to form these days; he who was always so easily excited and never had patience to wait when something had to be done, seemed in no hurry to start his harvesting. Every evening he would make a trip up to the field, to see how the wheat was coming on, and with each trip his mind was more at ease. “Come up with me and see how fine the wheat stands!” he would coax Beret. And Beret would usually go; she would agree absentmindedly that the grain looked fine—of course it did; but then she would always remember some task she had left undone at home and would have to hurry back before dark; she seldom seemed to have time to wait for him.
... “No, no, there’s no hurry yet with the wheat!” Per Hansa thought. When Tönseten insisted that it was time to start cutting he would argue with him: “No, Syvert brother, we’ll leave the wheat awhile yet—give her a spell longer to think it over. You’ll be able to do the reaping easily enough before the others need you. Don’t we all know that your equal in running the reaper isn’t to be found in the whole of Dakota Territory?”
Tönseten would give an embarrassed cough: “You mean perhaps in Minnesota?”
“Certainly! Wasn’t that what I said?” Whereupon both would laugh like a couple of happy boys.
But one forenoon Tönseten came over in great excitement, declaring flatly that now they would have to start cutting here—and no use talking! He had just come from Hans Olsa’s, where he’d been looking at the field; and there, too, the grain was ripening fast. This job had to be gotten out of the way right now, or where the devil would they be?
“Oh, what’s your hurry, Syvert? Don’t let’s get excited; we’ll just give her one more night for extra measure!” argued Per Hansa.
Then Tönseten grew goggle-eyed, waving his arms as he talked. “You’re a stubborn, ignorant fool, Per Hansa—I don’t mind telling you so! No, I’m damned if I do! Here we have eighty acres of grain, and I alone must do all the cutting! In all probability I’ll have to help the east-siders, too; they don’t seem to have any more brains than they need—some of ’em don’t, at least!”
“Take it easy, take it easy, Syvert! Don’t you see how nicely the wheat is filling out—just like a young girl budding into womanhood?”
At that Tönseten got mad in earnest. “You make me tired, man! You don’t know as much as the nose on your face—no, you don’t! What the devil would happen to us if all our grain came in at the same time? Just what would we do, I’d like to know? We couldn’t save it.... Now I’ve made up my mind: there’s to be no more damned shilly-shallying. We start this afternoon, and that’s the end of it!”
“As you say, Captain!” answered Per Hansa, meekly, his eyes twinkling.
“All right, then. I’ll tell Hans Olsa. You run over and tell the Solum boys.”
Per Hansa chuckled aloud. “Are you going to call in all of Dakota Territory to help harvest this little patch of mine?”
“Stop your joking, Per Hansa! You don’t know an earthly thing about harvesting in America—no, you don’t! You and Hans Olsa couldn’t any more take care of the binding, when I once get going, than you could fly! You don’t even know what needs to be done; you’ve never seen a job of binding in your life!... Now do as I tell you and get the Solum boys!” ... Tönseten spoke as if the welfare of the whole country were resting on his shoulders. His neighbour only laughed still harder and did as he was bid.
The moment the noon meal was over, the whole of the little settlement assembled at Per Hansa’s wheat field, men, women, and children; Beret had brought And-Ongen with her, and even carried the baby in her arms. Tönseten’s shouts and numberless commands put everyone but himself in a festive mood; he felt it to be a solemn occasion, and highly disapproved of the way they took it; but the others only laughed and joked as gayly as if they were in a bridal procession on the way to church, some bright Sunday morning. Some one would think of a funny remark, which straightway would cause some one else to make a still funnier sally; though most of it was aimed at Tönseten, his wife laughed until the tears came. But Tönseten held himself superior to their silly talk; he had matters of weight and purpose on his mind. Fools will snicker and blat! he observed to himself, working steadily on; that’s the only way one can keep ’em going. He was on his back under the machine, sweating streams, hammering away with a heavy monkey wrench, tightening one bur here and another there; now here was a place that needed oiling.... “What the devil became of the oil can? Can’t you do anything but stand there and grin? Come here and help me!”
But at last he got things so far along that he could hitch the horses to the reaper; taking the lines, he mounted to the throne.
... “Now, the Lord help us!” he muttered to himself. He wanted to give more orders, but couldn’t get a chance; the mosquitoes were bad and the horses rather uneasy, and new things kept happening all the time. With a great flourish he manœuvred the reaper over to the edge of the field, shouted loudly to the horses—and the first harvest in the settlement by Spring Creek had begun.
The machine roared fearfully as it got its belly full of the heavy grain, but kept calling for more; the horses stepped off at a lively pace and gave it what it called for. Tönseten was now intent on cutting out the first swathe; it had to be straight, and yet it couldn’t leave anything along the edge; he was too much taken up with this momentous task even to see the others. But when he had finished the fourth round of the field he felt that he was master of the situation. Stopping the machine, he called in English to Henry Solum—how was he getting along? Could he pound any sense into those idiots? Well, Kjersti had been a smart binder in her day. Why didn’t he get her to help him with the instruction?... And then, turning majestically in his seat, he addressed Per Hansa:
“If this wheat doesn’t run forty bushels to the acre, I’ll eat my own shirt! By God, I will!... Well, anyway, thirty-five....”
“You go on with the cutting, brother!” chuckled Per Hansa. “Here’s a whole army waiting for something to do!... Go on, I say. We’ll measure it up later.”
All were working; all were having a good time. For the greenhorns the binding proved to be more like work than art; they soon caught on to the trick; there were so many of them at it that the binding this afternoon went like a jolly game. When Beret finally put the baby down on the grass and began tying up bundles of wheat Kjersti felt that she had to come over and speak to her. There wasn’t any need of that, she said; the men could easily handle what had to be done. Heavens and earth—five grown men and two boys in a field no bigger than this! Beret and Sörine had better go home and get a lunch ready, Kjersti advised further; the menfolk were never happier than when they had coffee brought to them in the field. She knew them!... After a while the two women followed her advice and went home to make their preparations.
Per Hansa was in a rare mood that afternoon. Now he was binding his own wheat, his hands oily with the sap of the new-cut stems; a fine oil it was, too—he rubbed his hands together and felt a sensuous pleasure welling up within him. His body seemed to grow a little with every bundle he tied; he walked as if on springs; a strength the like of which he had never felt before ran through his muscles. How good it was to be alive! He had made a daring throw, and luck had smiled on him!... He tied the ripe, heavy bundles, gave them a twist, and there stood the shock! As he looked at them he laughed to himself joyously, stopping a second as he finished each one to draw his hands over his face.... He must handle these bundles with care—the heavy kernels might shell out.... How absurdly light-hearted and gay he felt to-day!...
The men continued working until the dew became so heavy on the wheat that the reaping machine refused to go; it was long after sundown before they quit. Tönseten felt stiff and tired, but he wasn’t announcing the fact from the house-tops. In Per Hansa’s hut stood a table heaped with many good things, though the porridge bowls predominated. Both Kjersti and Sörine had been home to do their own chores for the night, and had returned to help Beret with the supper.
The men were already seated at the table; but they waited for Per Hansa, who had his head in the big chest and was hunting for something or other. “Hold on a minute, boys, before you say grace,” came from the cavernous depths of the chest. “Haven’t you manners enough to wait for the head of the family?” ... When he finally emerged and came up to the table, he shook a bottle behind Tönseten’s ear, asking, gayly, “Did you ever hear a sweeter sound, Syvert? Can’t you just hear her wink at you, my boy?” ... There was enough in the bottle for one round, and then a little drop to swallow on, before the meal started.
Tönseten cleared his throat after the drink; he was anxious to make a little speech:
“What do you plan on doing in the future, Per Hansa, if you’re going to get rich on the very first crop?... I never in my life saw such wheat! Why, the kernels are like potatoes!”
“How about yourself, then?” inquired Per Hansa in great good humour. “I like to help worthy people who are in trouble; in case you and Kjersti should run short of stockings to keep your money in, you might come to me!”
As the meal went on, the spirits of the men sitting about the table rose higher and higher, and each vied with the other in good cheer.
“Rich?” exclaimed Tönseten. “We’ll all get rich; no doubt about it!... It’s going to be hardest on Sam, poor fellow. He’ll have to spend it all in getting married to that fine Trönder girl who’s waiting for him over east by the Sioux River! Hard luck, I say!”
“Yes, sir!” drawled Sam, blushing furiously. “But if I were you, Kjersti, I wouldn’t let Syvert go to the wedding—no, I wouldn’t at all!”
“Why?” laughed Kjersti, innocently.
“Well, you see, he gets sort of strung-up when he’s turned loose among the Trönder women—not that I mean anything, you know....”
“Sam, you’re a fool!” remarked Tönseten, angrily, laying down his spoon and leaving the table.
IX
By noon the next day they had finished the wheat field. To-day Tönseten was of a different mind—there really was no great hurry; the weather kept cool, and the grain didn’t look any riper to-day than yesterday, either at his own place or at Hans Olsa’s; if this spell of cool weather should last, the wheat would profit by yet another week; but then they might prepare to harvest a crop unique in the history of wheat growing.
Tönseten felt highly well pleased with himself and the rest of the world; he had now proved his prowess before his neighbours; the field was almost finished here, and it wouldn’t do any harm to rest and visit awhile.... “Don’t fret, boys, I won’t need to hurry at all! Those four acres of oats will only be play for the afternoon!”
And Per Hansa felt very much the same way. He and the other men were sitting in the shade on the north side of the house, with their backs up against the wall, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up from the west.... What was the use of hurrying?... Per Hansa had told the Solum boys that he wouldn’t need them that afternoon, as he and Hans Olsa could easily bind the oats; but it was so pleasant to rest here and spin yarns that the boys didn’t feel like stirring until the others went to the field.
As they got up at last and returned to their work, the northwest breeze struck them full in the face with its cool, fresh fragrance; Tönseten sniffed it approvingly, declaring that if this weather kept on, he and Hans Olsa would be sure to steal a march on Per Hansa in the end; never had the Lord sent finer weather for wheat to ripen in! He chuckled and talked away, his rotund body bobbing up and down with an irresistible merriment.... “Well, boys, in my opinion the Land of Canaan didn’t have much on this country—no, I’m damned if it had! Do you suppose the children of Israel ever smelt a westerly breeze like this? Why, folks, it’s blowing honey!” ... His festive mood was still possessing him as he began to hitch up the horses; in the midst of it he had to turn around and ask them shyly, “Now, wasn’t it remarkable that I should discover just this place for you?”
Hans Olsa burst into a laugh. “Yes, it surely was wonderful, Syvert!”
But Tönseten felt that this praise wasn’t enough—he wanted to carry the joke a little farther. Turning to his other neighbour, he asked with the same roguish air, “What did you say, Per Hansa?”
Per Hansa remained strangely silent; he was standing a little distance away, shading his eyes with his right hand and looking into the west; an intent, troubled expression had come over his face.
... “What in the devil?...” he muttered to himself. Off in the western sky he had caught sight of something he couldn’t understand—something that sent a nameless chill through his blood.... Could that be a storm coming on?
He hurried over to the wheat shock where Hans Olsa was sitting, pointed westward, and asked in a low voice, “Tell me, can you see anything over there?”
Hans Olsa was on his feet in an instant.... “Well, look at that!... It must be going to storm!”
Tönseten had finished hitching the horses to the reaper, and had just mounted the seat when he saw Per Hansa run over, pointing to the west. Now both his neighbours were shouting at him:
“What’s that, Syvert?”
Tönseten turned in his seat, to face a sight such as he had never seen or heard before. From out of the west layers of clouds came rolling—thin layers that rose and sank on the breeze; they had none of the look or manner of ordinary clouds; they came in waves, like the surges of the sea, and cast a glittering sheen before them as they came; they seemed to be made of some solid murky substance that threw out small sparks along its face.
The three men stood spellbound, watching the oncoming terror; their voices died in their throats; their minds were blank. The horses snorted as they, too, caught sight of it, and became very restless.
The ominous waves of cloud seemed to advance with terrific speed, breaking now and then like a huge surf, and with the deep, dull roaring sound as of a heavy undertow rolling into caverns in a mountain side.... But they were neither breakers nor foam, these waves.... It seemed more as if the unseen hand of a giant were shaking an immense tablecloth of iridescent colours!...
“For God’s sake, what——!” ... Tönseten didn’t finish; unconsciously he had been hauling so hard on the lines that the horses began backing the machine.
Just then Ole and Store-Hans came running wildly up, shouting breathlessly, “A snowstorm is coming!... See!”
... The next moment the first wave of the weird cloud engulfed them, spewing over them its hideous, unearthly contents. The horses became uncontrollable. “Come here and give me some help!” cried Tönseten through the eerie hail, but the others, standing like statues, heard nothing and paid no heed; the impact of the solid surge had forced them to turn their backs to the wind. Tönseten could not hold the horses; they bolted across the field, cutting a wide semicircle through the oats; not until he had the stern of his craft well into the wind could he stop them long enough to scramble down and unhitch them from the reaper.
At that moment two women came running up—Kjersti first, with her skirt thrown over her head, Sörine a little way behind, beating the air with frantic motions. The Solum boys, too, had now joined the terror-stricken little crowd. Down by the creek the grazing cows had hoisted their tails straight in the air and run for the nearest shelter; and no sooner had the horses been turned loose, than they followed suit; man and beast alike were overcome by a nameless fear.
And now from out the sky gushed down with cruel force a living, pulsating stream, striking the backs of the helpless folk like pebbles thrown by an unseen hand; but that which fell out of the heavens was not pebbles, nor raindrops, nor hail, for then it would have lain inanimate where it fell; this substance had no sooner fallen than it popped up again, crackling, and snapping—rose up and disappeared in the twinkling of an eye; it flared and flittered around them like light gone mad; it chirped and buzzed through the air; it snapped and hopped along the ground; the whole place was a weltering turmoil of raging little demons; if one looked for a moment into the wind, one saw nothing but glittering, lightninglike flashes—flashes that came and went, in the heart of a cloud made up of innumerable dark-brown clicking bodies! All the while the roaring sound continued.
“Father!” shrieked Store-Hans through the storm. “They’re little birds—they have regular wings! Look here!” ... The boy had caught one in his hand; spreading the wings and holding it out by their tips, he showed it to his father. The body of the unearthly creature had a dark-brown colour; it was about an inch in length, or perhaps a trifle longer; it was plump around the middle and tapered at both ends; on either side of its head sparkled a tiny black eye that seemed to look out with a supernatural intelligence; underneath it were long, slender legs with rusty bands around them; the wings were transparent and of a pale, light colour.
“For God’s sake, child, throw it away!” moaned Kjersti.
The boy dropped it in fright. No sooner had he let it go than there sounded a snap, a twinkling flash was seen, and the creature had merged itself with the countless legions of flickering devils which now filled all space. They whizzed by in the air; they literally covered the ground; they lit on the heads of grain, on the stubble, on everything in sight—popping and glittering, millions on millions of them.... The people watched it, stricken with fear and awe. Here was Another One speaking!...
Kjersti was crying bitterly; Sörine’s kind face was deathly pale as she glanced at the men, trying to bolster up her courage; but the big frame of her husband was bent in fright and dismay. He spoke slowly and solemnly: “This must be one of the plagues mentioned in the Bible!”
“Yes! and the devil take it!” muttered Per Hansa, darkly.... “But it can’t last forever.”
To Tönseten the words of Per Hansa, in an hour like this, sounded like the sheerest blasphemy; they would surely call down upon them a still darker wrath! He turned to reprove his neighbour: “Now the Lord is taking back what he has given,” he said, impressively. “I might have guessed that I would never be permitted to harvest such wheat. That was asking too much!”
“Stop your silly gabble!” snarled Per Hansa. “Do you really suppose He needs to take the bread out of your mouth?”
There was a certain consolation in Per Hansa’s outburst of angry rationalism; Kjersti ceased weeping, though it was her own husband that had been put to shame. “I believe Per Hansa is right,” she said, the sobs still choking her. “The Lord can’t have any use for our wheat. He doesn’t need bread, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t take it from us in this way!”
But her open unbelief only confirmed her husband in his position; clearing his throat, he began to take Kjersti to task: “Don’t you remember your catechism, and your Bible history. Isn’t it plainly stated that this is one of the seven plagues that fell upon Egypt? Look out for your tongue, woman, lest He send us the other six, too!... It states as plain as day that it was because the people hardened themselves!” ...
Tönseten would probably have gone on indefinitely expounding the Scriptures to his wife if Henry Solum hadn’t interrupted just then with a practical idea. Turning to his brother, he said, “Go fetch the horses, so we can finish this field; by to-morrow there won’t be anything left!”
Per Hansa looked at Henry and nodded approvingly; the simple practicability of the suggestion had touched the chord of action again; he jumped to his feet and walked across to the field, where the work of devastation was already in full progress. As he saw the fine, ripe grain being ruthlessly destroyed before his eyes, he felt but one impulse—to stop the inroads of these demons in any possible way. He began to jump up and down and wave his hat, stamping and yelling like one possessed. But the hosts of horrid creatures frolicking about him never so much as noticed his presence; the brown bodies whizzed by on every hand, alighting wherever they pleased, chirping wherever they went; as many as half a dozen of them would perch on a single head of grain, while the stem would be covered with them all the way to the ground; even his own body seemed to be a desirable halting place; they lit on his arms, his back, his neck—they even dared to light on his bared head and on the very hat he waved.
His utter impotence in the face of this tragedy threw him into an uncontrollable fury; he lost all restraint over himself. “You, Ola!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Run home after Old Maria, and bring the caps!”
The boy was soon back with the old musket. His father, hardly able to wait, ran to meet him and snatched the weapon out of his hands. Hurriedly putting on a cap, he settled himself in a firm foothold—for he still had sense enough to remember how hard the rifle kicked when it had been lying loaded a long time.
As Hans Olsa caught wind of what he intended to do he tried to stop it. “Don’t do that, Per Hansa! If the Lord has sent this affliction on us, then....”
Per Hansa glowered at him with a look of angry determination; then, facing squarely the hurricane of flying bodies, he fired straight into the thickest of the welter!... The awful detonation of the old, rusty muzzle-loader had a singular effect; at first, as the shattering sound died away, nothing appeared to have happened—the glittering demons flickered by as unconcernedly as before; but presently a new movement seemed to originate within the body of the main cloud; it began to heave and roll with a lifting motion; in a few minutes the cloud had left the ground and was sailing over their heads, with only an intermittent hail of bodies pelting down on them out of its lower fringe; the roaring becoming more muffled.
“Do you suppose you’ve actually driven them off?” cried Henry, breathlessly, marvelling as he watched.
“Yes, from here!” said Hans Olsa in the same solemn tone, as he pointed down the hill. “But see our fields ...!”
Per Hansa was still in the grip of the strange spell that had taken possession of him; he apparently did not hear what the others were saying; without looking again he hurried off to help Sam with the horses. “Let’s get the reaper started!” he cried. “No sense in sitting here like a row of dummies!”
His example roused them once more, and without further words they followed his lead; just before sundown that night they finished the oat field at Per Hansa’s. All the while fresh clouds of marauders were passing over. As soon as he could get away each man hurried to his own place; they were all terribly anxious to see how much damage had been done at home.... Couldn’t they start cutting to-morrow, even if the grain wasn’t quite ripe? they thought as they hurried on. Wouldn’t it be possible to save something out of the wreck? What in God’s name could they do if the whole crop were destroyed?... Anxiety tugged at their heartstrings. Yes, what could they do?...
Ole and Store-Hans went home with Hans Olsa to bring back word as to whether it would be possible to start harvesting his field in the morning. Per Hansa walked home alone; the spell had lifted now, and the reaction had left him in a troubled, irresolute frame of mind. The things that had happened that afternoon seemed harsh and inexplicable.... To be sure, he had saved his whole crop—but how and why? He had saved it—partly because of his own foolish, headstrong acts, and partly because his land chanced to lie so much higher than that of his neighbours, that it had been the first to dry out in the spring.... Well, great luck for him! But at this moment gladness and happiness were the last things that he could feel.... There were his neighbours—poor devils! Hadn’t they worked just as faithfully, hadn’t they struggled just as hard—and with a great deal more common sense than he had shown? Why should they have to suffer this terrible calamity while he went scot-free?... And there was something else that worried him desperately. Throughout the afternoon, while he had been working, vague misgivings of how it was going at home had visited him, an uneasy sense of oppression and impending disaster; he had found himself constantly watching his own house, and had every moment expected to see Beret come around the corner. But not a soul had he caught sight of in all this time, moving about down there, though the hard labour and the fiends of the air had left him scant chance to think about it till now.
As he approached the house his misgivings grew more pronounced, till suddenly they leaped into an overmastering fear which he tried to assuage by telling himself that she had kept indoors because she had not dared to leave the children, and that in doing so she had acted wisely.... The house lay in deep twilight as he drew near; there was no sign of life to be seen or heard, except the malign beings that still snapped and flared through the air; the sod hut, surrounded as it was by flowing shapes, looked like a quay thrust out into a turbulent current; in the deepening twilight, the pale, shimmering sails of the flying creatures had taken on a still more unearthly sheen; they came, flickered by, and were gone in an instant, only to give place to myriads more.
... Can she have gone over to one of the neighbours’? he wondered as he came up to the door. No, she hasn’t—the door can’t be closed from the outside.... Per Hansa gasped for breath as he knocked on the door of his own house.... He rapped harder ... called, with his voice tearing from his throat:
“Open the door, Beret!”
He found himself listening intently, his ears strained to catch the least sound; at length he thought he heard a movement inside, and a great wave of relief swept over him.
... “Thank God!” ... He waited for the door to be opened—but nothing happened; nothing more could be heard.... What can she be doing? Didn’t she hear me? What in Heaven’s name has she put in front of the door?...
Per Hansa had begun to shove against the panel.
“Open the door, I tell you!... Beret—where are you?” ...
Once more he listened; once more he caught a faint sound; but the blood pounding in his ears deafened him now. Pulling himself together, he shoved against the door with all his strength—shoved until red streaks were flashing before his eyes. The door began to give—the opening widened; at last he had pushed it wide enough to slip through.
... “Beret!” ... The anguish of his cry cut through the air.... “Beret!” ...
Now he stood in the middle of the room. It was absolutely dark before his eyes; he looked wildly around, but could see nothing.
... “Beret, where are you?” ...
No answer came—there was no one to be seen. But wasn’t that a sound? “Beret!” he called again, sharply. He heard it now distinctly. Was it coming from one of the beds, or over there by the door?... It was a faint, whimpering sound. He rushed to the beds and threw off the bedclothes—no one in this one, no one in that one—it must be over by the door!... He staggered back—the big chest was standing in front of the door. Who could have dragged it there?... Per Hansa flung the cover open with frantic haste. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Down in the depths of the great chest lay Beret, huddled up and holding the baby in her arms; And-Ongen was crouching at her feet—the whimpering sound had come from her.
It seemed for a moment as if he would go mad; the room swam and receded in dizzy circles.... But things had to be done. First he lifted And-Ongen out and carried her to the bed—then the baby. At last he took Beret up in his arms, slammed down the lid of the chest, and set her on it.
... “Beret, Beret!” ... he kept whispering.
All his strength seemed to leave him as he looked into her tear-swollen face; yet it wasn’t her tears that drained his heart dry—the face was that of a stranger, behind which her own face seemed to be hidden.
He gazed at her helplessly, imploringly; she returned the gaze in a fixed stare, and whispered hoarsely:
“Hasn’t the devil got you yet? He has been all around here to-day.... Put the chest back in front of the door right away! He doesn’t dare to take the chest, you see.... We must hide in it—all of us!”
“Oh, Beret!” begged Per Hansa, his very soul in the cry. Speechless and all undone, he sank down before her, threw his arms around her waist, and buried his head in her lap—as if he were a child needing comfort.
The action touched her; she began to pat his head, running her fingers through his hair and stroking his cheek.... “That’s right!” she crooned.... “Weep now, weep much and long because of your sin!... So I have done every night—not that it helps much.... Out here nobody pays attention to our tears ... it’s too open and wild ... but it does no harm to try.”
“Oh, Beret, my own girl!”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, as if to hush him. She grew more loving, caressed him tenderly, bent over to lift him up to her.... “Don’t be afraid, dear boy of mine!... For ... well ... it’s always worst just before it’s over!”
Per Hansa gazed deep into her eyes; a sound of agony came from his throat; he sank down suddenly in a heap and knew nothing more....
Outside, the fiendish shapes flickered and danced in the dying glow of the day. The breeze had died down; the air seemed unaccountably lighter.
... That night the Great Prairie stretched herself voluptuously; giantlike and full of cunning, she laughed softly into the reddish moon. “Now we will see what human might may avail against us!... Now we’ll see!” ...
X
And now had begun a seemingly endless struggle between man’s fortitude in adversity, on the one hand, and the powers of evil in high places, on the other. There were signs of the scourge in the summer of ’73, but not before the following year did it assume the proportions of a plague; after that it raged with unabated fury throughout the years ’74, ’75, ’76, ’77, and part of ’78; then it disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. The devastation it wrought was terrible; it made beggars of some, and drove others insane; still others it sent wandering back to the forest lands, though they found conditions little better there, either.... But the greater number simply hung on where they were. They stayed because poverty, that most supreme of masters, had deprived them of the liberty to rise up and go away. And where would they have gone? In the name of Heaven, whither would they have fled?
In the course of time it came about that fresh inroads of settlers, just as poverty-stricken as they were, arrived to help them suffer privation and to wait for better times.... Beautiful out here on the wide prairie—yes, beautiful indeed!... The finest soil you ever dreamed of—a veritable Land of Canaan!... One caravan after another came creaking along, a single wagon dropping out to settle here, another to settle there; for it really looked wonderful, this vast expanse of level, smiling plain—the new Promised Land into which the Lord was leading His poor people from all the corners of the earth!...
But the plague of locusts proved as certain as the seasons. All that grew above the ground, with the exception of the wild grass, it would pounce upon and destroy; the grass it left untouched because it had grown here ere time was and without the aid of man’s hand....
Who would dare affirm that this plague was not of supernatural origin? During the spring season, and throughout the early part of the summer, the air would be as pure and clear as if it had been filtered, wrapping and caressing the body like the finest silk; the sky would be as blue as if it had been scoured and newly painted; everything planted in the ground by man would grow as if by magic, filling out with an amazing fruitfulness, as the long warm days passed in endless array, until it bent under its own burden. And then, just as the process of ripening had begun, or perhaps a little before, the plague would descend upon them, suddenly, mysteriously, disastrously! On a certain bright, sunny day, when the breeze sighed its loveliest out of the northwest, strange clouds would appear in the western sky; swiftly they would advance, floating lazily through the clear air, a sight beautiful to behold. But these clouds would be made up of innumerable dark-brown bodies with slender legs, sailing on transparent wings; in an instant the air would be filled with nameless, unclean creatures—legions on legions of them, hosts without number! Now pity the fields that the hand of man had planted with so much care! And the ruthless marauders invariably came out of the clear northwest where the afternoon glow was brightest, most marvellous; more than often toward evening, when the day was sinking to rest and all earth seemed at peace, they would come. To these wandering Norsemen, the old adage that all evil dwells below and springs from the north, was proving true again.21
During the summer of their first visitation, the demons left behind them evil enough to pollute a whole continent. In the plowed fields they laid tiny, frail eggs, having the appearance of fine dry sawdust; although they seemed so delicate, these eggs would lie there unharmed during the wet fall season, and all through the winter, embedded in ice and covered by many feet of snow, thawing and freezing by turns in the early spring; but when the hot sun of summer had warmed them for a while they would suddenly burst open, letting loose a host of voracious, crawling devils. This phenomenon called to mind another saying: No evil is quite so bad as that which man himself fosters. It seemed to be true enough in this case; for these little wriggling demons were not only revoltingly nasty to look at, but they also caused an even greater devastation than those which came flying on the wings of the western breeze.
Not that these others ceased coming now, because man had raised a crop of his own—God, no! It would happen for days at a time, during the height of the pest season, that one could not see clear sky. But not always did the scourge choose to descend; often the locust clouds would come drifting across the sun, very much like streamers of snow, floating lazily by for days on end; then, all of a sudden, as if overcome by their own neglect, they would swoop down, dashing and spreading out like an angry flood, slicing and shearing, cutting with greedy teeth, laying waste every foot of the field they lighted in. At last, perhaps by the time the next afternoon’s breeze had risen, they would apparently take the notion that this wasn’t a fit place to stay in; in a moment they would fly up and be gone in a great cloud, off on the search for new conquests.
Impossible to outguess them! No creatures ever acted so whimsically or showed such a lack of rational, orderly method. One field they might entirely lay waste, while they ate only a few rods into the next; a third, lying close beside the others, they might not choose to touch at all. In one field they would cut the stalks, leaving the ground strewn with a green carpet of heads; in the next they might content themselves with shearing the beard—then the grain looked like shorn sheep with the ears gone. Nor were they at all fastidious: potatoes and vegetables of all kinds, barley and oats, wheat and rye—it made no difference; or a swarm of insects might light on a wagon box, and when it lifted again the box would have been scarred by countless sharp teeth; at one place a fork with a handle of hickory might be standing in the ground, and after a few swarms had passed the surface of the handle would be rasped and chewed, a mass of loose slivers; somewhere else a garment might be laid out on the ground to dry—a swarm would light on it, and in a moment only shreds would be left; if the annihilating devils were in the proper mood, they would take anything and leave nothing.
The folk looked on helplessly, in grim despair and awe-stricken wonder; the more timid ones among them were oppressed by a growing fear, while the godless swore so that the air smelled of brimstone; the pious would assemble in homes and churches, entreating the Lord to deliver them from famine and pestilence; but the brave did not lose heart, and kept on busily inventing all sorts of devices with which to drive the demons away. Many odd expedients were tried in different places; simple-minded people would take a washtub and a rolling pin, and beat until they were tired, but never a ripple did such a din cause in the current’s steady flow.
And all the while the folk tried to comfort one another.... It will be better by-and-by, you know!... This plague must leave some time—it can’t go on forever!... The Sognings were a people of even temperament, not easily flustered; they bore the affliction with remarkable calmness and fortitude. Of course this thing would have to stop! They had faith to believe it—how could it well be otherwise?... And their cousins, the Vossings, would always agree with them. Yes, indeed! Why, such things always seem hardest to bear at the first—don’t we know that?... Some one would think of a hallowed consolation with which to comfort the others. Wasn’t it pretty bad in Egypt?—But what did the Book say? Didn’t the plague vanish there? Why, it had lasted practically no time at all!... I’ll bet my last dollar, some one else would venture, that next year everything will be all right!... And when it turned out to be just as bad the following year, the same person would be even more confident. Now, see—we’ve had this thing with us two years already—this is the end! Who ever heard of a plague lasting forever? Don’t you remember the Black Death? That finished up in half a year, didn’t it, and was never heard of again?... And even when the third summer came, and there was no let-up in the awful visitation, some bright head would remember the indisputable fact that all good things are three. So there!—Now let’s thank the Lord that we’re through with it at last! Just wait awhile—the soil out here is first class; if we hang on, we’re sure to make a clean sweep!... On the fourth summer the plague raged worse than ever before; but now it had begun to lose its power over the people—they feared it no longer. We’re getting used to it, they would say with a bitter laugh. It takes neither man nor beast—let’s thank God for that, anyway!...