The Legend of the White Reindeer 
Balder!” Away shot the beautiful Racer, and 
the Storbuk, striding at a slower trot, was left 
behind. 
“Ho, Balder!” ‘ Hi, Storbuk!” How the 
people cheered as the Horse went bounding 
and gaining! But he had left the line at his 
top speed; the Storbuk’s rose as he flew— 
faster—faster. The Pony ceased to gain. A 
mile whirled by; the gap began to close. 
The Pony had over-spurted at the start, but 
the Storbuk was warming to his work—strid- 
ing evenly, swiftly, faster yet, as Sveggum cried 
in encouragement: “ Ho, Storbuk! good Stor- 
buk!” or talked to him only with a gentle rein. 
At the turning-point the pair were neck and 
neck; then the Pony—though well driven and 
well shod—slipped on the ice, and thenceforth 
held back as though in fear, so the Storbuk 
steamed away. The Pony and his driver were 
far behind when a roar from every human 
throat in Filefjeld told that the Storbuk had 
passed the wire and won the race. And yet 
all this was before the White Ren had reached 
the years of his full strength and speed. 
Once that day Rol essayed to drive the 
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