The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1888-10-11

the hanters well, but somebody ahead may
% praying for that moonlight which, q
present, only shows silver fringes on black
cloud. To them, their wolf music is their
alnner gong; but somebody ahead may
near mourning more beautiful than his own
passing bell In the distant mutations, rising
and falling and coming over the snow.
fortunately thought and pen travel
quicker than oven gray wolves; therefore
though not, knowing with certainty
Wnether 1t can catch us again before the
end Of the story-we viii leave the racing
pack and draw level with the sledge.
Here 1t Is, sure enough, blowing through
the snow and spinning out those two paral.
lei lines as 1t goes. The stout brown horses
are galloping steadily and the solitary man
sitting behind them does not use whip or
word at present. He must be some miles
nearer home ero the last struggle begins.
and he not only knows the road we'll, but
can also guess with tolerable accuracy
at the distance which still lends en-
chantment to the wolf music in the dark
ness behind him. Physically, Rollo
Svantsen Is typical Norwegian-strong
and In the prime of life. He has
Deen In passing peril from the wolves
before to-day; the rug now wrapped about
him, one corner Of which flaps and rustles
IN the snow, Is made Of wolf skins. Tonight
ne appears anxious, however; his horses are
powerful but not feet, and in his judgment,
when the journey is ended, there will be q
very short quarter of Q mile between his
sledge and its pursuers. As though to en-
courage him, the moon at last rises free of
the far-stretching cloud that, till the pres
ent, has hidden it. A clear white light
hoods tho darkness, and the snowy plain
begins to widen out upon every side as the
drlver, rising In his seat, casts one search
ing glance ahead, looks to the fastening of
big leathern bag which is tied to the floor
OF the sledge, and then gazes long and care
fully behind him. Yes, there they are lust
little dark shadow on the waste, q 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 tho moon.
What Svantsen had seen In front Of him
was black line on the horison and a tall
finger post, still far ahead, where two roads
met. What he had not seen, was figure on
foot, travelling toward the same black line
upon the horisou.
The pedestrian is moving but SLOWLY and
has very little more running left in him.
The snow retards every step, and clors in
Jumps upon the heels of his boots. There
is no track to 60 by, but he keeps straight as
he can for the tall finger post. To reach the
| black line before those flying feet in the
rear have closed with him, is, he knows. i'm
possible; and yet he staggers forward. He
can not help himself: The instinct Of self
preservation would make him struggle on
even though safety were hundred miles
distant instead of scarce five. And On he
will drag his tired body till he drops, or till
the wolves put him down.
Then comes-think of 1.-THE sound of
| sledge-bells in his ears, the one earthly
melody he knows that, in his presen; sore
strait, can mean succor and salvation He
heeds it not at first. The Norwegiansare q
| superstitious folk, and our poor wretch
thinks that the night demons are abroad,
| dancing in the drifting snow-wreaths, laugh
ing at his agony and tuning the distant howl
ings 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 hsads
| In the harsh jangle that now rushes d,wn
upon the traveller. Svantsen's horses lave
long since caught the distant chorus and
their ears are beginning to lie back and their
| necks to stretch out. Jangle, jangle, taud,
| thud, thud, 20 hoofs and bells. A hot stam
| streams away from the animals, and the
bright red ray of little lamp in front ofthe
sledge casts glow upon their sweating
tanks. The driver is standing up now, and
unwinds the lash of his long whip. Hishat
Is OF and he looks with frown behind him.
To us, horses and man and vehicle seembut
the incarnation of flying terror; to hin on
foot. chariot sent straight from God.
And thus they meet, these men, than
whom Norway could not show two enemies
more bitter. They are jewellers in the little
village OF Joksdal, in Finmark, the mist
northern division of Tromso, or Northern
Norway. There had their fathers lived le-
fore them, and there had Svantsen, ri,h,
proud and the autocrat of his birthplace,
| cruelty wronged Eric Skien a young herd-
man and a poor one.
An old, stale story it was of two men lo,-
| ing the same woman. Young Eric had been
every thing to her until the other cane
creeping into her heart, ousting the old love
and replacing it with one ten times as power-
! full She dare not tell her betrothed, and upon
the eve of her marriage Svantsen had stolal
| the girl away with her own consent marrial
her in distant hamlet, and then, returnin:
| braved the black storm of rage that SWEET
over him. All believed this step to be o,e
| OF most lawless abduction upon the mans
part, and he only thinking for his wife ami
her reputation, was content that in such !
| belief JOksdal should remain. Eric Skier
! however, was wiser. He had long motel
the change in his sweetheart, and the blow
did not fall 50 heavily upon him, therefore
as his friends supposed. He was good
hearted, easy going, loutish fellow, not over
quick Of comprehension, but popular maj
among his comrades and one with kline
soul in him. That he would nurse his re-
vense until it grew into something strone
and terrible, and could walk alone, was the
general opinion in Joksdal. But Skier
breathed no word of his future intentions tC
any body, and went on living and work
ing tamely enough, though with mos
of the laughter and rough frolic blot
ted out Of his life. 1t is improbable that hi
would ever have seriously set about retalia
ton or gone far out of his way to get it
Dwellers in northern lands, all things being
equal, are not so fruitful Of violence and thu
knife as hot-blooded men of the south. No.
have they quite such keenness and capabil
! AVy AOA ouAAOA Ano VI IVY. AAOAA SCuolOlllClCl
are somewhat more blunt, and there is more
prose and less poetry in their lives, less sun
shine aud more hard work 1 speak, Of
| course, Of the lower social classes; Skier
was shepherd; Svantsen, the keeper Of 6
! small inn.
And nova year after the catastrophe
they meet, the one flushed and hot anc
nearly spent with his hard running, the
| other cold and white, and with all his wits
about him. Skien, thinking to see friend
looks up at the man in the sledge. AS he
does so, anxiety changes to incredulous Anc
savage joy; the howl of wolves falls un
needed upon his ear, he clutches hard al
something hidden in his belt and shows his
teeth. The other, with an iron hand upo1
tho reins, checks for an instant his fyinf
sledge and keeps pace with his old enemy
One of the struggling horses, arrested in hi.
fight for life, neighs and plurges to be free
The bells clash and jangle; for a moment
the hungry Threats behind are silent; ovel
all the moon shines bright and cold, bring
l S~>1> 1~k- RAN