and　from　Sveggum　an　earnest　warning；　both　of　which　were　somewhat
  scornfully　received。　The　tinkling　bells　on　the　harness　had　been
  replaced；　but　Borgrevinck　wanted　them　removed。　He　wished　to　go　in
  silence。　Sveggum　would　not　be　left　behind　when　his　favorite　Ren
  went　forth；　so　he　was　given　a　seat　in　the　horse…sleigh　which　was
  to　follow；　and　the　driver　thereof　received　from　his　master　a
  secret　hint　to　delay。
  Then；　with　papers　on　his　person　to　death…doom　a　multitude　of
  misguided　men；　with　fiendish　intentions　in　his　heart　as　well　as
  the　power　to　carry　them　out；　and　with　the　fate　of　Norway　in　his
  hands；　Borgrevinck　was　made　secure　in　the　sled；　behind　the　White
  Storbuk；　and　sped　at　dawn　on　his　errand　of　desolation。
  At　the　word　from　Sveggum　the　White　Ren　set　off　with　a　couple　of
  bounds　that　threw　Borgrevinck　back　in　the　pulk。　This　angered　him；
  but　he　swallowed　his　wrath　on　seeing　that　it　left　the
  horse…sleigh　behind。　He　shook　the　line；　shouted；　and　the　Buk
  settled　down　to　a　long；　swinging　trot。　His　broad　hoofs　clicked
  double　at　every　stride。　His　nostrils；　out　level；　puffed　steady
  blasts　of　steam　in　the　frosty　morning　as　he　settled　to　his　pace。
  The　pulk's　prow　cut　two　long　shears　of　snow；　that　swirled　up　over
  man　and　sled　till　all　were　white。　And　the　great　ox…eyes　of　the
  King　Ren　blazed　joyously　in　the　delight　of　motion；　and　of
  conquest　too；　as　the　sound　of　the　horse…bells　faded　far　behind。
  Even　masterful　Borgrevinck　could　not　but　mark　with　pleasure　the
  noble　creature　that　had　balked　him　last　night　and　now　was　lending
  its　speed　to　his　purpose；　for　it　was　his　intention　to　arrive
  hours　before　the　horse…sleigh；　if　possible。
  Up　the　rising　road　they　sped　as　though　downhill；　and　the　driver's
  spirits　rose　with　the　exhilarating　speed。　The　snow　groaned
  ceaselessly　under　the　prow　of　the　pulk；　and　the　frosty　creaking
  under　the　hoofs　of　the　flying　Ren　was　like　the　gritting　of　mighty
  teeth。　Then　came　the　level　stretch　from　Nystuen's　hill　to
  Dalecarl's；　and　as　they　whirled　by　in　the　early　day；　little　Carl
  chanced　to　peep　from　a　window；　and　got　sight　of　the　Great　White
  Ren　in　a　white　pulk　with　a　white　driver；　just　as　it　is　in　the
  stories　of　the　Giants；　and　clapped　his　hands；　and　cried；　〃Good；
  good！〃
  But　his　grandfather；　when　he　caught　a　glimpse　of　the　white　wonder
  that　went　without　even　sound　of　bells；　felt　a　cold　chill　in　his
  scalp；　and　went　back　to　light　a　candle　that　he　kept　at　the　window
  till　the　sun　was　high；　for　surely　this　was　the　Storbuk　of
  Jotunheim。
  But　the　Ren　whirled　on；　and　the　driver　shook　the　reins　and
  thought　only　of　Bergen。　He　struck　the　White　Steed　with　the　loose
  end　of　the　rope。　The　Buk　gave　three　great　snorts　and　three　great
  bounds；　then　faster　went；　and　as　they　passed　by　Dyrskaur；　where
  the　Giant　sits　on　the　edge；　his　head　was　muffled　in　scud；　which
  means　that　a　storm　is　coming。　The　Storbuk　knew　it。　He　sniffed；
  and　eyed　the　sky　with　anxious　look；　and　even　slacked　a　little；
  but　Borgrevinck　yelled　at　the　speeding　beast；　though　going　yet　as
  none　but　he　could　go；　and　struck　him　once；　twice；　and　thrice；　and
  harder　yet。　So　the　pulk　was　whirled　along　like　a　skiff　in　a
  steamer's　wake；　but　there　was　blood　in　the　Storbuk's　eye　now；　and
  Borgrevinck　was　hard　put　to　balance　the　sled。　The　miles　flashed
  by　like　roods　till　Sveggum's　bridge　appeared。　The　storm…wind　now
  was　blowing；　but　there　was　the　Troll。　Whence　came　he　now；　none
  knew；　but　there　he　was；　hopping　on　the　keystone　and　singing　of
  Norway's　fate　and　Norway's　luck；
  Of　the　hiding　Troll　and　the　riding　Buk。
  Down　the　winding　highway　they　came；　curving　inward　as　they　swung
  around　the　corner。　At　the　voice　on　the　bridge　the　Deer　threw　back
  his　ears　and　slackened　his　pace。　Borgrevinck；　not　knowing　whence
  it　came；　struck　savagely　at　the　Ren。　The　red　light　gleamed　in
  those　ox…like　eyes。　He　snorted　in　anger　and　shook　the　great
  horns；　but　he　did　not　stop　to　avenge　the　blow。　For　him　was　a
  vaster　vengeance　still。　He　onward　sped　as　before；　but　from　that
  time　Borgrevinck　had　lost　all　control。　The　one　voice　that　the　Ren
  would　hear　had　been　left　behind。　They　whirled　aside；　off　the
  road；　before　the　bridge　was　reached。　The　pulk　turned　over；　but
  righted　itself；　and　Borgrevinck　would　have　been　thrown　out　and
  killed　but　for　the　straps。　It　was　not　to　be　so；　it　seemed　rather
  as　though　the　every　curse　of　Norway　had　been　gathered　into　the
  sled　for　a　purpose。　Bruised　and　battered；　he　reappeared。　The
  Troll　from　the　bridge　leaped　lightly　to　the　Storbuk's　head；　and
  held　on　to　the　horns　as　he　danced　and　sang　his　ancient　song；　and
  a　new　song；　too：
  Ha！　at　last！　Oh；　lucky　day；
  Norway's　curse　to　wipe　away！
  Borgrevinck　was　terrified　and　furious。　He　struck　harder　at　the
  Storbuk　as　he　bounded　over　the　rougher　snow；　and　vainly　tried　to
  control　him。　He　lost　his　head　in　fear。　He　got　out　his　knife；　at
  last；　to　strike　at　the　wild　Buk's　hamstrings；　but　a　blow　from　the
  hoof　sent　it　flying　from　his　hand。　Their　speed　on　the　road　was
  slow　to　that　they　now　made：　no　longer　striding　at　the　trot；　but
  bounding　madly；　great　five…stride　bounds；　the　wretched
  Borgrevinck　strapped　in　the　sled；　alone　and　helpless　through　his
  own　contriving；　screaming；　cursing；　and　praying。　The　Storbuk　with
  bloodshot　eyes；　madly　steaming；　careered　up　the　rugged　ascent；　up
  to　the　broken；　stormy　Hoifjeld；　mounting　the　hills　as　a　Petrel
  mounts　the　rollers；　skimming　the　flats　as　a　Fulmar　skims　the
  shore；　he　followed　the　trail　where　his　mother　had　first　led　his
  tottering　steps；　up　from　the　Vand…dam　nook。　He　followed　the　old
  familiar　route　that　he　had　followed　for　five　years；　where　the
  white…winged　Rype　flies　aside；　where　the　black　rock　mountains；
  shining　white；　come　near　and　block　the　sky；　〃where　the　Reindeer
  find　their　mysterie。〃
  On　like　the　little　snow…wreath　that　the　storm…wind　sends　dancing
  before　the　storm；　on　like　a　whirlwind　over　the　shoulder　of
  Suletind；　over　the　knees　of　Torholmenbraethe　Giants　that　sit　at
  the　gateway。　Faster　than　man　or　beast　could　follow；
  upupupand　on；　and　no　one　saw　them　go；　but　a　Raven　that
  swooped　behind；　and　flew　as　Raven　never　flew；　and　the　Troll；　the
  same　old　Troll　that　sang　by　the　Vand…dam；　and　now　danced　and　sang
  between　the　antlers：
  Good　luck；　good　luck　for　Norway
  With　the　White　Storbuk　comes　riding。
  Over　Tvindehoug　they　faded　like　flying　scud　on　the　moorlands；　on
  to　the　gloomy　distance；　away　toward　Jotunheim；　the　home　of　the
  Evil　Spirits；　the　Land　of　the　Lasting　Snow。　Their　every　sign　and
  trail　was　wiped　away　by　the　drifting　storm；　and　the　end　of　them
  no　man　knows。
  The　Norse　folk　awoke　as　from　a　horrid　nightmare。　Their　national
  ruin　was　averted；　there　were　no　deaths；　for　there　were　no　proofs；
  and　the　talebearer's　strife　was　ended。
  The　one　earthly　sign　remaining　from　that　drive　is　the　string　of
  silver　bells　that　Sveggum　had　taken　from　the　Storbuk's　neckthe
  victory　bells；　each　the　record　of　a　triumph　won；　and　when　the　old
  man　came　to　understand；　he　sighed；　and　hung　to　the　string　a　final
  bell；　the　largest　of　them　all。
  Nothing　more　was　ever　seen　or　heard　of　the　creature　who　so　nearly
  sold　his　country；　or　of　the　White　Storbuk　who　balked　him。　Yet
  those　who　live　near　Jotunheim　say　that　on　stormy　nights；　when　the
  snow　is　flying　and　the　wind　is　raving　in　the　woods；　there
  sometimes　passes；　at　frightful　speed；　an　enormous　White　Reindeer
  with　fiery　eyes；　drawing　a　snow…white　pulk；　in　which　is　a
  screaming　wretch　in　white；　and　on　the　head　of　the　Deer；　balancing
  by　the　horns；　is　a　brown…clad；　white…bearded　Troll；　bowing　and
  grinning　pleasantly　at　him；　and　singing
  Of　Norway's　luck
  And　a　White　Storbuk
  the　same；　they　say；　as　the　one　that　with　prophetic　vision　sang　by
  Sveggum's　Vand…dam　on　a　bygone　day　when　the　birches　wore　their
  springtime　hangers；　and　a　great　mild…eyed　Varsimle'　came　alone；
  to　go　away　with　a　little　white　Renskalv　walking　slowly；　demurely；
  by　her　side。
  End