Chapter XV: Book II: Founding the Kingdom (2)

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....

VIII

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.

[17] During the winter seasons at Lofoten, the two clans, the Trönders and the Helgelændings, had from time immemorial fought many a bitter fight.

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] ...

[18] The practice of changing surnames has gone on extensively with the Norwegian-American. Among the common folk in Norway it is quite customary even yet for the son to take his surname from his father’s first name; the son of Hans must be Hansen or Hanson. Likewise the girl; if she is the daughter of Hans, her surname becomes _Hansdatter_ (Hans’ daughter), which she retains even after marriage. When the Norwegians became independent landowners in America their slumbering sense of the historical fitness of things awoke, and so many of them adopted the name of the place they had come from in the old country. Hence the many American names now ending in —dahl, —fjeld, —gaard, —stad, etc. As the Swedes, and the Danes, too, had so many Hansens and Olsens and Johnsons, the change was really a very practical one.

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!” ...

[19] Olav Trygvason, King of Norway (995–1000); St. Olaf, Norway’s martyr king (1016–1030); Peter Tordenskjold, the great naval hero (1690–1720); Tore Hund, St. Olaf’s slayer. These names are household words with every emigrant Norwegian.

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. Skarvholmen[20]—and that nobody shall call her! I warn you!”

[20] _Skarv_ in this compound means cormorant—a rather nasty-looking sea bird; the word is often used in an adjectival sense about a deadbeat or person of low moral qualities. _Holmen_ means the holm. Hence _Skarvholmen_—the holm of the cormorant.

“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.

♦ “vigourous” replaced with “vigorous”

“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!” ...

II The Power of Evil in High Places

I

Per Hansa and the boys sat around the table, sifting the seed; the wheat lay spread in small heaps on the white cloth. This was important work and must be done with the greatest care; every little weed seed and other foreign substance had to be gleaned out. The seed must be _clean_, so the Trönders had cautioned Per Hansa; and now he was attending to it soberly, with infinite pains. If he found a shrunken or damaged kernel, he straightway threw it out—thank you, not that! The best only for new soil!... Full kernels will make the bin bulge.... “Be careful, boys! Be careful, there! Don’t shirk your job!”

It was wonderful to be sitting here playing with these plump, precious kernels; never before had Per Hansa been so absorbed in a task of this kind, yet it made him thoughtful, too.... Here, then, was the start! These few sacks of grain would not only supply him and his family with all the wheat flour they needed for a whole year, but would raise many bright dollars as well, a great store of riches.... And more than that, seed for the next year, seed again for the year after, and thus down through all the years to come.... And always greater and greater abundance of food for the poor, the world over.... Here he sat playing with the good fairies that had the power to create a new life over this Endless Wilderness, and transform it into a habitable land for human beings. Wasn’t it wonderful?

He began to think of the possibility of selling seed next year. No doubt there would be many new settlers by then, who would stand in need of such things. If he could only afford it, he would store the whole crop—seed wheat brought high prices.... Well, he would see; a good many things might happen as time went on!...

And here he held in his hand the very promise of all these wonders which were destined to take place! He recalled how the fairy tale started: “Once upon a time....” Not much of a beginning, yet the most startling events would unfold as the story went on—strange, incredible things.... Yes, he would have to take every precaution with the seed. His face grew sober at the thought; he spoke in a low tone to the boys, repeating the admonition for the hundredth time: “Boys, look out, now! Didn’t I just tell you to be careful!” ... His wonder grew as he gazed at the kernels; there they lay, so inanimate, yet so plump and heavy, glowing with smouldering flame. It was as if each kernel had light within it—life now asleep. He thrust his hand into the sack and took out a handful of grain; it weighed like lead. As his grasp tightened, the kernels seemed to soften under the warmth of his hand; they squirmed and twisted, slipping against one another; they seemed to be charged with a delicate life that was seeking release. But when he opened his hand and stirred a finger among the grain, the kernels lay there as lifelessly as before—inert, yellowish pale, yet burning faintly with inner, golden light.... Reverently he lifted handful after handful from the table, and emptied it into the sack.

As the mild spring weather set in, a feverish restlessness seized him; the work on the seed was done and he could not stay indoors.... The chickens were laying finely now; he was finding as many as five eggs a day. They’d better begin setting the hens pretty soon; when fall came, they would have at least fifty fowl on the place!... Next minute he was over on the prairie, talking to and caressing the oxen, and feeling of their necks where the yoke would lie.... Now if the ground would only dry up! Per Hansa looked at it the first thing in the morning, and felt of it every night before he went to bed. To-day it had made fine progress. Good God—if the sun would only shine as warm to-morrow.... He dashed off to the neighbours, to see how the ground was coming on there. No, it was wetter than at his place, where the land lay higher.... I’ll bet my land is going to be the first to dry up! he told himself.

Beret hadn’t seen him in such good spirits since last spring. He walked so lightly; everything that had life he touched with a gentle hand, but talk to it he must; his voice sounded low, yet it thrilled with a vibrant energy; his eyes were drawn so narrow that they could hardly be seen. She felt a force that made her tremble, emanating from him; she tried to keep out of his way as much as she could.

And now the sun bore down on the prairie the whole livelong day. Bright and quivering in the forenoon, he swam through endless seas of blue; across the hazy afternoon he beamed caressingly; toward evening he opened wide his countenance; then the flood of light grew refulgent, only to die in splendour against a mysterious night which also had life.

As the fine weather continued, Per Hansa became more restless, but it only seemed to fill him with greater joy. Suddenly he would be up by the field. Wasn’t it dry enough yet?... He ought to have had the seeding all done by now; it was high time to begin breaking new ground.

On the 14th of April, the _Sommermaalsdag_ of his old fatherland, Per Hansa began seeding the wheat. Three times that forenoon he had been out to test the ground; the last time he made his great decision: _Now we will start_!

No sooner had he finished the noon meal than he rushed out, grabbed the seed bag that he had made for this occasion, and carried two sacks of seed up to that portion of the field where the ground was driest. He had paced off the whole field into one-acre lots, and marked each plot. One and one-half bushels of seed to the acre was the regular measure; but Simon Baarstad had told him that on really first-class breaking, provided the soil was unusually excellent, one and one-quarter bushels might do; and Per Hansa had decided to try the latter amount.

He filled the seed bag, hung it over his shoulder, and was ready. His whole body shook. He paused for an instant and glanced about the settlement.... Yes, sir, he was the first, the very first one! There was Hans Olsa hauling manure to his garden patch.... That’s smart of you, Hans Olsa!... Down to the southward he caught sight of Tönseten pottering around his yard.... So much for you!... Then he turned to look in a northerly direction.... By God, if the Solum boys hadn’t already started breaking!... Muttering, “Well, well, well,” he strode over to the edge of the field and stuck his hand into the bag.

But just at that moment both boys appeared on the dead run; they had discovered what their father was up to, and wanted to watch the show.

“Go home!” shouted Per Hansa. “Go home! Do you hear me?”

“Why can’t we stand here and watch?” the boys remonstrated, their faces gloomy with disappointment.

“Go home this instant!... I don’t want you tramping around here, carrying off this precious seed on your shoes!” ... He suddenly realized that it was very wrong of him to be so harsh with the boys in an hour like this. When he spoke again, his voice had grown kinder: “Sowing wheat is such a particular job—each kernel has to lie exactly the way it falls. Be good now, boys, and go straight home—and the first to wake up to-morrow morning shall start the dragging! I’ll see to it that one of you covers as much ground as the other—but the first to wake shall start!” ... With this promise the boys had to be content; they went off homeward in a rebellious mood.