ELK-HUNTING IN INDEROEN. 
223 
is surprising. Thus at Furudal, we managed to drag 
up things of which the stalker on the ice-riven plateaux 
of Valders or upon the “ hinter-land” of Hardanger will 
dream in vain. There was an iron camp-kitchen and 
canteen, cases of comestibles—solid and liquid—there 
were tressle-beds and blankets. Moreover, there was 
Lota—Lota, the flaxen-haired damsel who before each 
dawn awoke us with a modest poke in the ribs, and 
a brave effort at English, thus, Pease ! ” as she brought 
a luxurious cup of tea and biscuits. Lota gave us 
excellent breakfasts, lunches in our cartridge-bags that 
were quite too varied ; while dinners of several courses 
(on a table-cloth, too) stood ready each night on our 
return. As a counter-balance to these comforts, Lota 
caused us some anxiety. On the first evening she came 
up with a face full of fears, and bleated, “ I cannot sleep 
to-night—there is no place for me ! ” The six baggage- 
bearers, unable to return that night, and declining to 
sleep outside in the rain, had perforce to be accommo¬ 
dated somewhere; there were also our two selves, our 
two hunters, and Anton, an old man who spent whole 
days out in the wet, accumulating a stock of cut faggots 
as though we proposed wintering here—in all, eleven 
men, besides Lota. How and where were all to be stowed 
for the night in a log-hut measuring fifteen feet by ten ? 
One-third of this space we had partitioned off for our 
separate use by hanging rolls of thick 1 bark-paper from 
the rafters, and hesitatingly suggested that Lota might 
prefer our side of the screen after we had retired ; but 
she demurred, and eventually perched on two pine-logs 
that formed a kitchen-shelf, the men lying on the floor 
beneath. That she slept we do not say; but she 
