The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1888-09-29

getting at the same time the watchword of
all wolves-that union is strength. Return
me to my pack, which is moving ike one
big machine, and the component parts of
which are together giving tongue.
The snow for them is in perfect order,
but somebody ahead may perchance find
his horses crushing through the thin frozen
surface at every stride. The darkness suits
the hunters well, but somebody ahead may
be praying for that moonlight which at
present only shows silver fringes on black
cloud To them their wolf-music is the
dinner goeg, but somebody ahead may hear
nothing more beautiful than his own pass
ing bell in the distant undulations, rising
and falling and coming over the snow.
Fortunately thought and pen travel
quicker even than gray wolves, therefore
though not knowing with certainty
whether it can catch us again before the
end of the story-we will leave the racing
pack and draw level with the sledge.
Here it is, sure enough, ploughing
through the snow and spinning out those
two parallel lines as it goes. The stout
brown horses are galloping steadily, and
the solitary man sitting behind them does
not use whip or rword at present. He must
be some miles nearer home ere the last
struggle begins, and he not only knows the
road well, but can also guess with tolerable
accuracy at the distance which still lends
enchantment to the wolf music in the
darkness behind him. Physically Rollo
Svantsen is a typical Norwegian strong
and in the prime of life. He has been in
passing peril from the wolves before to-day;
the rug now wrapped about him, one cor
ner of which flaps and rustles in the snow,
is made of wolfskins. Tonight he appears
anxious, however; his horses are powerful
but not feet, and in his judgment when
the journey is ended there will be very
short quarter of mile between his sledge
and its pursuers. As though to encour-
age him, the moon at last rises free of the
far-stretching cloud that till the present
has hidden it. A clear, white light floods
the darkness, and the snowy plain begins
to widen out upon every side as the driver,
rising in his seat, casts one searching
glance ahead, looks to the fastening of
a big leathern bag which is tied to the floor
of the sledge, and then gazes long and
carefully behind him. Yes, there they are,
just little dark shadow on the waste,
shadow which one less experienced might
have overlooked altogether, but shadow
that is moving hardly less quickly than
those cast by the rack of broken clouds
drifting across the moon.
What Svantsen had seen in front of him
was black line on the horizon and a tall
fnger-post, still far ahead, where two roads
met. What he had not seen was figure
on foot, travelling towards the same black
line upon the horizon.
The pedestrian is moving but slowly, and
has very little more running left in him.
The snow retards every step and clogs in
Jumps upon the heels of his boots. There
is no track to go by, but he keeps as
straight as he can for the tall fnger-post.
To reach the black line before those flying
feet in the rear have closed with him is,
he knows, impossible, and yet he staggers
forward. He cannot help himself. The
instinct of self-prcservation would make
him struggle on, even though safety were
a hundred miles distant instead of scarce
five. And on he will drag bis tired body
till he drops, or till the wolves pull him
down.
Then comes-think of 1.-THE sound of
in his ears, the only earthly
melody he knows that, in his present sore
strait, can mean succor and salvation. He
heeds it not at first. The Norwegians are
a superstitious folk, and our poor wretch
thinks that the night demons are abroad,
dancing in the drifting snow wreaths,
at, his agony and turning the
distant howlings into the sound of bells.
Sledge-bells do not always make music.
There is nothing to suggest pleasure and
plumes, and nodding of proud equine heads
in the harsh jangle that now rushes down
upon the traveller. Svantsen's horses have
long since caught the distant chorus and
their ears are beginning to lie back aud
their necks to stretch out. .Jangle, jangle,
iangle, thud, thud, thud, go hoofs and bells.
A hot steam streams away from the animals
and the bright red ray of little lamp in
front of the sledge casts glow upon their
sweating fanks The driver is standing
up now and unwinds the lash of his long
whip. His hat is off and he looks with a
frown behind him. To us horses and man
and vehicle seem but the incarnation Of
flying terror; to him on foot chariot sent
straight from God.
And thus they meet, these men, than
whom all Norway could not show two enc
mics more bitter. They are dwellers in
the little village of Joksdal, in Finmark,
the most northern division of Tromso, or
Northern Norway There had their fa-
Tiers lived before them, and there had
Svantsen-rich, proud, and the autocrat Of
his birthplace-cruelly wronged Eric Skien,
a young herdsman and poor one.
An old, stale story it was, of two men
loving the same woman. Young Eric had
been everything to her until the other
came creeping into her heart, ousting the
Did love and replacing it with ope ten times
rs powerful, She dared not to tell her be-
trothed, and upon the very eve Of their
marriage Svantsen had stolen the girl away
with her own consent, married her in dis
tant hamlet, and then, returning, braved
the black storm of rage that swept over
him All believed this step to be one pf
most lawless abduction upon the mans
part, and he, only thinking for his wife and
her reputation, was content that in such
belief Joksdal should remain. Eric Skien,
however, was wiser. He had long noted
the change In his sweetheart, and the blow
did not fall so heavily upon him therefore
as his friends supposed. He was a good
hearted, easy-going, loutish fellow, not
oyerquick of comprehension, but popular
man among his comrades and one with
kind soul in him. That he would nurse
his revenge until it grew iHto something
strong and terrible aud could walk alone
was tine general opinion In Joksdal. But
Skien breathed no word of his future inten-
tons to anybody, and went on living and
working tamely enough, though with most
Of the laughter and rough frolic hlatted out
Of his life, II Is improbable that he would
ever have seriously set about retaliation or