The Legend of the White Reindeer 
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 bat- 
tered, 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 
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