The Legend of the White Reindeer 
untied the Reindeer, stepped into the pulk. 
He swung the single rein, clucked to the Stor- 
buk, and also turned his head toward Nystuen. 
The fast Horses had a long start, but before 
they had climbed the eastward hill Sveggum 
needs must slack, so as not to overtake them. 
He held back till they came to the turn above 
the woods at Maristuen; then he quit the road, 
and up the river flat he sped the Buk, a farther 
way, but the only way to bring them there 
ahead. 
Sgueak, crack—squeak, crack—squeak, crack 
—at regular intervals from the great spreading 
snow-shoes of the Storbuk, and the steady 
sough of his breath was like the Wordland as 
she passes up the Hardanger Fjord. High up, 
on the smooth road to the left, they could hear 
the jingle of the horse-bells and the shouting 
of Borgrevinck’s driver, who, under orders, was 
speeding hard for Nystuen. 
The highway was a short road and smooth, 
and the river valley was long and rough; but 
when, in four hours, Borgrevinck got to Nys- 
tuen, there in the throng was a face that he 
had just left at Laersdalsoren. He appeared 
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