ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Call of the Wild, by Jack LondonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Call of the WildAuthor: Jack LondonRelease Date: July 1, 2008 [EBook #215]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL OF THE WILD ***Produced by Ryan, Kirstin, Linda and Rick Trapp in LovingMemory of Ivan Louis ReeseTHE CALL OF THE WILDby JackLondon      Contents      I     Into the Primitive      II    The Law of Club and Fang      III   The Dominant Primordial Beast      IV    Who Has Won to Mastership      V     The Toil of Trace and Tail      VI    For the Love of aMan      VII   The Sounding of the CallChapter I. Into the Primitive         "Old longings nomadic leap,          Chafing at custom's chain;          Again from its brumal sleep          Wakens the ferine strain."Buck did not readthe newspapers, or he would have known that troublewas brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strongof muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.Because men, gropingin the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal,and because steamship and transportation companies were booming thefind, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanteddogs, and the dogsthey wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles bywhich to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. JudgeMiller's place, it was called. It stoodback from the road, half hiddenamong the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the widecool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached bygravelled driveways which wound aboutthrough wide-spreading lawns andunder the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were oneven a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables,where a dozen grooms and boys heldforth, rows of vine-clad servants'cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors,green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumpingplant for the artesian well, and the bigcement tank where JudgeMiller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hotafternoon.And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here hehad lived the four years of his life. It was true,there were otherdogs, There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they didnot count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or livedobscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashionof Toots, theJapanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless,--strange creatures thatrarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand,there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, whoyelpedfearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at themand protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realmwas his.He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons;he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilightor early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge'sfeetbefore the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on hisback, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps throughwild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and evenbeyond,where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among theterriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterlyignored, for he was king,--king over all creeping, crawling, flyingthings of Judge Miller's place,humans included.His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparablecompanion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He wasnot so large,--he weighed only one hundred and fortypounds,--for hismother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundredand forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of goodliving and universal respect, enabled him to carry himselfin rightroyal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had livedthe life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was evena trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become becauseoftheir insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a merepampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept downthe fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to thecold-tubbingraces, the love of water had been a tonic and a health preserver.And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when theKlondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozenNorth.But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel,one of the gardener's helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuelhad one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, inhisgambling, he had one besetting weakness--faith in a system; and thismade his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, whilethe wages of a gardener's helper do not lap over the needs of a wifeandnumerous progeny.The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers' Association, and theboys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night ofManuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go offthrough the orchardon what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of asolitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station knownas College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and moneychinked betweenthem."You might wrap up the goods before you deliver 'm," the stranger saidgruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neckunder the collar."Twist it, an' you'll choke 'm plentee,"said Manuel, and the strangergrunted a ready affirmative.Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was anunwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and togive them creditfor a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the endsof the rope were placed in the stranger's hands, he growled menacingly.He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that tointimate was tocommand. But to his surprise the rope tightened aroundhis neck, shutting off his breath. In quick rage he sprang at the man,who met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a defttwist threw him overon his back. Then the rope tightened mercilessly,while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth andhis great chest panting futilely. Never in all his life had he been sovilely treated, and never in all hislife had he been so angry. But hisstrength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train wasflagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.The next he knew, he was dimly aware that histongue was hurting andthat he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarseshriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. Hehad travelled too often with the Judge not to knowthe sensation ofriding in a baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came theunbridled anger of a kidnapped king. The man sprang for his throat, butBuck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on the hand, nordid theyrelax till his senses were choked out of him once more."Yep, has fits," the man said, hiding his mangled hand from thebaggageman, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle. "I'mtakin' 'm up for theboss to 'Frisco. A crack dog-doctor there thinksthat he can cure 'm."Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself,in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco water front."All I get isfifty for it," he grumbled; "an' I wouldn't do it over fora thousand, cold cash."His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser legwas ripped from knee to ankle."How much did the other mug get?"the saloon-keeper demanded."A hundred," was the reply. "Wouldn't take a sou less, so help me.""That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper calculated; "andhe's worth it, or I'm a squarehead."The kidnapperundid the bloody wrappings and looked at his laceratedhand. "If I don't get the hydrophoby--""It'll be because you was born to hang," laughed the saloon-keeper."Here, lend me a hand before you pull your freight," headded.Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the lifehalf throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors. But hewas thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filingtheheavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and hewas flung into a cagelike crate.There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath andwounded pride. He could notunderstand what it all meant. What did theywant with him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up inthis narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by thevague sense of impendingcalamity. Several times during the night hesprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see theJudge, or the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face ofthe saloon-keeper that peered in athim by the sickly light of a tallowcandle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat wastwisted into a savage growl.But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men enteredand pickedup the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they wereevil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged atthem through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, whichhepromptly assailed with his teeth till he realized that that was whatthey wanted. Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to belifted into a wagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned,begana passage through many hands. Clerks in the express office tookcharge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carriedhim, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; hewas truckedoff the steamer into a great railway depot, and finally hewas deposited in an express car.For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tailof shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buckneither atenor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the expressmessengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When heflung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, theylaughedat him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs,mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, heknew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity, and his angerwaxedand waxed. He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of watercaused him severe suffering and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. Forthat matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment hadflunghim into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parchedand swollen throat and tongue.He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck. That had giventhem an unfair advantage; but now that it was off,he would show them.They would never get another rope around his neck. Upon that he wasresolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and duringthose two days and nights of torment, he accumulated afund of wraththat boded ill for whoever first fell foul of him. His eyes turnedblood-shot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed washe that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and theexpressmessengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train atSeattle.Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small,high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater thatsaggedgenerously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver.That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurledhimself savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and broughtahatchet and a club."You ain't going to take him out now?" the driver asked."Sure," the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a pry.There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carrieditin, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch theperformance.Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surgingand wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, hewasthere on the inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to getout as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him out."Now, you red-eyed devil," he said, when he had made anopeningsufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he droppedthe hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for thespring, hairbristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shoteyes. Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty poundsof fury, surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. Inmid air, just as hisjaws were about to close on the man, he receiveda shock that checked his body and brought his teeth together with anagonizing clip. He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back andside. He had never been struckby a club in his life, and did notunderstand. With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was againon his feet and launched into the air. And again the shock came and hewas brought crushingly to the ground.This time he was aware that it wasthe club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen times he charged, andas often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to hisfeet, too dazed torush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouthand ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver.Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightfulblow onthe nose. All the pain he had endured was as nothing compared with theexquisite agony of this. With a roar that was almost lionlike in itsferocity, he again hurled himself at the man. But the man, shiftingtheclub from right to left, coolly caught him by the under jaw, at the sametime wrenching downward and backward. Buck described a complete circlein the air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground on hisheadand chest.For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he hadpurposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went down,knocked utterly senseless."He's no slouch at dog-breakin', that'swot I say," one of the men onthe wall cried enthusiastically."Druther break cayuses any day, and twice on Sundays," was the reply ofthe driver, as he climbed on the wagon and started the horses.Buck's senses cameback to him, but not his strength. He lay where hehad fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater."'Answers to the name of Buck,'" the man soliloquized, quoting from thesaloon-keeper's letter whichhad announced the consignment of the crateand contents. "Well, Buck, my boy," he went on in a genial voice, "we'vehad our little ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go atthat. You've learned your place,and I know mine. Be a good dog and all'll go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale thestuffin' outa you. Understand?"As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded,andthough Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand,he endured it without protest. When the man brought him water he drankeagerly, and later bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chunk by chunk,from theman's hand.He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken. He saw, once forall, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He had learnedthe lesson, and in all his after life he never forgot it. That clubwasa revelation. It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law,and he met the introduction halfway. The facts of life took on a fierceraspect; and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he faced it with all thelatentcunning of his nature aroused. As the days went by, other dogscame, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some ragingand roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them passunder thedominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and again, as helooked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven home to Buck:a man with a club was a lawgiver, a master to be obeyed, though notnecessarilyconciliated. Of this last Buck was never guilty, though hedid see beaten dogs that fawned upon the man, and wagged their tails,and licked his hand. Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliatenor obey, finallykilled in the struggle for mastery.Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly, wheedlingly,and in all kinds of fashions to the man in the red sweater. And at suchtimes that money passed between themthe strangers took one or more ofthe dogs away with them. Buck wondered where they went, for they nevercame back; but the fear of the future was strong upon him, and he wasglad each time when he was notselected.Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened man whospat broken English and many strange and uncouth exclamations which Buckcould not understand."Sacredam!" he cried, when his eyes litupon Buck. "Dat one dam bullydog! Eh? How moch?""Three hundred, and a present at that," was the prompt reply of the manin the red sweater. "And seem' it's government money, you ain't got nokick coming, eh,Perrault?"Perrault grinned. Considering that the price of dogs had been boomedskyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum for so finean animal. The Canadian Government would be no loser, nor woulditsdespatches travel the slower. Perrault knew dogs, and when he looked atBuck he knew that he was one in a thousand--"One in ten t'ousand," hecommented mentally.Buck saw money pass between them, and wasnot surprised when Curly, agood-natured Newfoundland, and he were led away by the little weazenedman. That was the last he saw of the man in the red sweater, and asCurly and he looked at receding Seattle fromthe deck of the Narwhal, itwas the last he saw of the warm Southland. Curly and he were taken belowby Perrault and turned over to a black-faced giant called Francois.Perrault was a French-Canadian, and swarthy; butFrancois was aFrench-Canadian half-breed, and twice as swarthy. They were a new kindof men to Buck (of which he was destined to see many more), and whilehe developed no affection for them, he none the less grewhonestly torespect them. He speedily learned that Perrault and Francois were fairmen, calm and impartial in administering justice, and too wise in theway of dogs to be fooled by dogs.In the 'tween-decks of theNarwhal, Buck and Curly joined two otherdogs. One of them was a big, snow-white fellow from Spitzbergen who hadbeen brought away by a whaling captain, and who had later accompanieda Geological Survey into theBarrens. He was friendly, in a treacheroussort of way, smiling into one's face the while he meditated someunderhand trick, as, for instance, when he stole from Buck's food at thefirst meal. As Buck sprang to punishhim, the lash of Francois's whipsang through the air, reaching the culprit first; and nothing remainedto Buck but to recover the bone. That was fair of Francois, he decided,and the half-breed began his rise in Buck'sestimation.The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did notattempt to steal from the newcomers. He was a gloomy, morose fellow, andhe showed Curly plainly that all he desired was to be left alone,andfurther, that there would be trouble if he were not left alone. "Dave"he was called, and he ate and slept, or yawned between times, and tookinterest in nothing, not even when the Narwhal crossed QueenCharlotteSound and rolled and pitched and bucked like a thing possessed. WhenBuck and Curly grew excited, half wild with fear, he raised his head asthough annoyed, favored them with an incurious glance, yawned,and wentto sleep again.Day and night the ship throbbed to the tireless pulse of the propeller,and though one day was very like another, it was apparent to Buck thatthe weather was steadily growing colder. At last, onemorning, thepropeller was quiet, and the Narwhal was pervaded with an atmosphere ofexcitement. He felt it, as did the other dogs, and knew that a changewas at hand. Francois leashed them and brought them ondeck. At thefirst step upon the cold surface, Buck's feet sank into a white mushysomething very like mud. He sprang back with a snort. More of this whitestuff was falling through the air. He shook himself, but more of itfellupon him. He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his tongue. Itbit like fire, and the next instant was gone. This puzzled him. He triedit again, with the same result. The onlookers laughed uproariously, andhe


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spoilers, by Rex BeachThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The SpoilersAuthor: Rex BeachPosting Date: May 2, 2013 [EBook #5076]Release Date: February, 2004First Posted:April 16, 2002Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPOILERS ***Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.THE SPOILERSBy REX BEACHAuthor of"THE AUCTION BLOCK" "RAINBOW'S END" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc.Illustrated       THIS BOOKIS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO       MY MOTHERCONTENTSCHAPTER    I. THE ENCOUNTER   II. THE STOWAWAY  III. IN WHICHGLENISTER ERRS   IV. THE KILLING    V. WHEREIN A MAN APPEARS   VI. AND A MINE IS JUMPED  VII. THE "BRONCO KID'S" EAVESDROPPING VIII. DEXTRY MAKES A CALL   IX. SLUICE ROBBERS    X. THE WIT OF ANADVENTURESS   XI. WHEREIN A WRIT AND A RIOT FAIL  XII. COUNTERPLOTS XIII. IN WHICH A MAN IS POSSESSED OF A DEVIL  XIV. A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER   XV. VIGILANTES  XVI. IN WHICH THE TRUTH BEGINSTO BARE ITSELF XVII. THE DRIP OF WATER IN THE DARKXVIII. WHEREIN A TRAP IS BAITED  XIX. DYNAMITE   XX. IN WHICH THREE GO TO THE SIGN OF THE SLED AND BUT TWO RETURN  XXI. THE HAMMER-LOCKXXII. THE PROMISE OF DREAMSCHAPTER ITHE ENCOUNTERGlenister gazed out over the harbor, agleam with the lights of anchoredships, then up at the crenelated mountains, black against the sky. Hedrank the cool airburdened with its taints of the sea, while the bloodof his boyhood leaped within him."Oh, it's fine--fine," he murmured, "and this is my country--mycountry, after all, Dex. It's in my veins, this hunger for the North.Igrow. I expand.""Careful you don't bust," warned Dextry. "I've seen men get plumb drunkon mountain air. Don't expand too strong in one spot." He went backabruptly to his pipe, its villanous fumes promptly avertingany dangerof the air's too tonic quality."Gad! What a smudge!" sniffed the younger man. "You ought to be inquarantine.""I'd ruther smell like a man than talk like a kid. You desecrate thehour of meditation withrhapsodies on nature when your aesthetics ain'thoned up to the beauties of good tobacco."The other laughed, inflating his deep chest. In the gloom he stretchedhis muscles restlessly, as though an excess of vigor filledhim.They were lounging upon the dock, while before them lay the Santa Mariaready for her midnight sailing. Behind slept Unalaska, quaint, antique,and Russian, rusting amid the fogs of Bering Sea. Where, a weekbefore,mild-eyed natives had dried their cod among the old bronze cannon, nowa frenzied horde of gold-seekers paused in their rush to the new ElDorado. They had come like a locust cloud, thousands strong, settlingonthe edge of the Smoky Sea, waiting the going of the ice that barredthem from their Golden Fleece--from Nome the new, where men foundfortune in a night.The mossy hills back of the village were ridged with graves ofthosewho had died on the out-trip the fall before, when a plague had grippedthe land--but what of that? Gold glittered in the sands, so said thesurvivors; therefore men came in armies. Glenister and Dextry hadleftNome the autumn previous, the young man raving with fever. Now theyreturned to their own land."This air whets every animal instinct in me," Glenister broke outagain. "Away from the cities I turn savage. I feel theold primitivepassions--the fret for fighting.""Mebbe you'll have a chance.""How so?""Well, it's this way. I met Mexico Mullins this mornin'. You mind oldMexico, don't you? The feller that relocated Discovery Claim onAnvilCreek last summer?""You don't mean that 'tin-horn' the boys were going to lynch forclaim-jumping?""Identical! Remember me tellin' you about a good turn I done him oncedown Guadalupe way?""Greasershooting-scrape, wasn't it?""Yep! Well, I noticed first off that he's gettin fat; high-livin' fat,too, all in one spot, like he was playin' both ends ag'in the centre.Also he wore di'mon's fit to handle with ice-tongs."Says I,lookin' at his side elevation, 'What's accented your middlesyllable so strong, Mexico?'"'Prosperity, politics, an' the Waldorf-Astorier,' says he. It seemsMex hadn't forgot old days. He claws me into a corner an' says,'Bill,I'm goin' to pay you back for that Moralez deal.'"'It ain't comin' to me,' says I. 'That's a bygone!'"'Listen here,' says he, an', seein' he was in earnest, I let him runon."'How much do you value that claim o' yournat?'"'Hard tellin',' says I. 'If she holds out like she run last fall,there'd ought to be a million clear in her.""'How much'll you clean up this summer?'"''Bout four hundred thousand, with luck.'"'Bill,' says he, 'there's hella-poppin' an' you've got to watch thatground like you'd watch a rattle-snake. Don't never leave 'em get agrip on it or you're down an' out.'"He was so plumb in earnest it scared me up, 'cause Mexico ain't agabbyman."'What do you mean?' says I."'I can't tell you nothin' more. I'm puttin' a string on my own neck,sayin' THIS much. You're a square man, Bill, an' I'm a gambler, but yousaved my life oncet, an' I wouldn't steer youwrong. For God's sake,don't let 'em jump your ground, that's all.'"'Let who jump it? Congress has give us judges an' courts an'marshals--' I begins."'That's just it. How you goin' to buck that hand? Them's the bestcardsin the deck. There's a man comin' by the name of McNamara. Watchhim clost. I can't tell you no more. But don't never let 'em get a gripon your ground.' That's all he'd say.""Bah! He's crazy! I wish somebody would tryto jump the Midas; we'denjoy the exercise."The siren of the Santa Maria interrupted, its hoarse warning throbbingup the mountain."We'll have to get aboard," said Dextry."Sh-h! What's that?" the other whispered.Atfirst the only sound they heard was a stir from the deck of thesteamer. Then from the water below them came the rattle of rowlocks anda voice cautiously muffled."Stop! Stop there!"A skiff burst from the darkness,grounding on the beach beneath. Afigure scrambled out and up the ladder leading to the wharf.Immediately a second boat, plainly in pursuit of the first one, struckon the beach behind it.As the escaping figure mountedto their level the watchers perceivedwith amazement that it was a young woman. Breath sobbed from her lungs,and, stumbling, she would have fallen but for Glenister, who ranforward and helped her to her feet."Don'tlet them get me," she panted.He turned to his partner in puzzled inquiry, but found that the old manhad crossed to the head of the landing ladder up which the pursuerswere climbing."Just a minute--you there! Back upor I'll kick your face in." Dextry'svoice was sharp and unexpected, and in the darkness he loomed tall andmenacing to those below."Get out of the way. That woman's a runaway," came from the one higheston theladder."So I jedge.""She broke qu--""Shut up!" broke in another. "Do you want to advertise it? Get out ofthe way, there, ye damn fool! Climb up, Thorsen." He spoke like a buckomate, and his words stirred the bile ofDextry.Thorsen grasped the dock floor, trying to climb up, but the old minerstamped on his fingers and the sailor loosened his hold with a yell,carrying the under men with him to the beach in his fall."This way! Followme!" shouted the mate, making up the bank for theshore end of the wharf."You'd better pull your freight, miss," Dextry remarked; "they'll behere in a minute.""Yes, yes! Let us go! I must get aboard the Santa Maria.She's leavingnow. Come, come!"Glenister laughed, as though there were a humorous touch in her remark,but did not stir."I'm gettin' awful old an' stiff to run," said Dextry, removing hismackinaw, "but I allow I ain't tooold for a little diversion in theway of a rough-house when it comes nosin' around." He moved lightly,though the girl could see in the half-darkness that his hair wassilvery."What do you mean?" she questioned,sharply."You hurry along, miss; we'll toy with 'em till you're aboard." Theystepped across to the dockhouse, backing against it. The girl followed.Again came the warning blast from the steamer, and the voice ofanofficer:"Clear away that stern line!""Oh, we'll be left!" she breathed, and somehow it struck Glenister thatshe feared this more than the men whose approaching feet he heard."YOU can make it all right," he urged her,roughly. "You'll get hurt ifyou stay here. Run along and don't mind us. We've been thirty days onshipboard, and were praying for something to happen." His voice wasboyishly glad, as if he exulted in the fray that was tocome; and nosooner had he spoken than the sailors came out of the darkness uponthem.During the space of a few heart-beats there was only a tangle ofwhirling forms with the sound of fist on flesh, then the blot splitupand forms plunged outward, falling heavily. Again the sailors rushed,attempting to clinch. They massed upon Dextry only to grasp empty air,for he shifted with remarkable agility, striking bitterly, as an oldwolf snaps.It was baffling work, however, for in the darkness hisblows fell short or overreached.Glenister, on the other hand, stood carelessly, beating the men off asthey came to him. He laughed gloatingly, deep in his throat, asthoughthe encounter were merely some rough sport. The girl shuddered, for thedesperate silence of the attacking men terrified her more than a din,and yet she stayed, crouched against the wall.Dextry swung at a dimtarget, and, missing it, was whirled off hisbalance. Instantly his antagonist grappled with him, and they fell tothe floor, while a third man shuffled about them. The girl throttled ascream."I'm goin' to kick 'im, Bill," theman panted hoarsely. "Le' me fix'im." He swung his heavy shoe, and Bill cursed with stirring eloquence."Ow! You're kickin' me! I've got 'im, safe enough. Tackle the big un."Bill's ally then started towards the others, hisbody bent, his armsflexed yet hanging loosely. He crouched beside the girl, ignoring her,while she heard the breath wheezing from his lungs; then silently heleaped. Glenister had hurled a man from him, then steppedback to avoidthe others, when he was seized from behind and felt the man's armswrapped about his neck, the sailor's legs locked about his thighs. Nowcame the girl's first knowledge of real fighting. The two spun backandforth so closely entwined as to be indistinguishable, the othersholding off. For what seemed many minutes they struggled, the young manstriving to reach his adversary, till they crashed against the wallnear her andshe heard her champion's breath coughing in his throat atthe tightening grip of the sailor. Fright held her paralyzed, for shehad never seen men thus. A moment and Glenister would be down beneaththeir stampingfeet--they would kick his life out with their heavyshoes. At thought of it, the necessity of action smote her like a blowin the face. Her terror fell away, her shaking muscles stiffened, andbefore realizing what she did shehad acted.The seaman's back was to her. She reached out and gripped him by thehair, while her fingers, tense as talons, sought his eyes. Then thefirst loud sound of the battle arose. The man yelled in suddenterror;and the others as suddenly fell back. The next instant she felt a handupon her shoulder and heard Dextry's voice."Are ye hurt? No? Come on, then, or we'll get left." He spoke quietly,though his breath was loud,and, glancing down, she saw the huddledform of the sailor whom he had fought."That's all right--he ain't hurt. It's a Jap trick I learned. Hurry up!"They ran swiftly down the wharf, followed by Glenister and bythegroans of the sailors in whom the lust for combat had been quenched. Asthey scrambled up the Santa Maria's gang-plank, a strip of waterwidened between the boat and the pier."Close shave, that," panted Glenister,feeling his throat gingerly,"but I wouldn't have missed it for a spotted pup.""I've been through b'iler explosions and snowslides, not to mention atriflin' jail-delivery, but fer real sprightly diversions I don'trecall nothin'more pleasin' than this." Dextry's enthusiasm wasboylike."What kind of men are you?" the girl laughed nervously, but got noanswer.They led her to their deck cabin, where they switched on the electriclight, blinking ateach other and at their unknown guest.They saw a graceful and altogether attractive figure in a trim, shortskirt and long, tan boots. But what Glenister first saw was her eyes;large and gray, almost brown under theelectric light. They were activeeyes, he thought, and they flashed swift, comprehensive glances at thetwo men. Her hair had fallen loose and crinkled to her waist, allagleam. Otherwise she showed no sign of her recentordeal.Glenister had been prepared for the type of beauty that follows thefrontier; beauty that may stun, but that has the polish and chill of anew-ground bowie. Instead, this girl with the calm, reposeful facestruck anote almost painfully different from her surroundings,suggesting countless pleasant things that had been strange to him forthe past few years.Pure admiration alone was patent in the older man's gaze."I make oration,"said he, "that you're the gamest little chap I everfought over, Mexikin, Injun, or white. What's the trouble?""I suppose you think I've done something dreadful, don't you?" shesaid. "But I haven't. I had to get away fromthe Ohio to-nightfor--certain reasons. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. I haven'tstolen anything, nor poisoned the crew--really I haven't." She smiledat them, and Glenister found it impossible not to smile withher,though dismayed by her feeble explanation."Well, I'll wake up the steward and find a place for you to go," hesaid at length. "You'll have to double up with some of the women,though; it's awfully crowdedaboard."She laid a detaining hand on his arm. He thought he felt her tremble."No, no! I don't want you to do that. They mustn't see me to-night. Iknow I'm acting strangely and all that, but it's happened so quicklyIhaven't found myself yet. I'll tell you to-morrow, though, really.Don't let any one see me or it will spoil everything. Wait tillto-morrow, please."She was very white, and spoke with eager intensity."Help you? Why, sureMike!" assured the impulsive Dextry, "an', seehere, Miss--you take your time on explanations. We don't care a cusswhat you done. Morals ain't our long suit, 'cause 'there's never a lawof God or man runs north ofFifty-three,' as the poetry man remarked,an' he couldn't have spoke truer if he'd knowed what he was sayin'.Everybody is privileged to 'look out' his own game up here. A squaredeal an' no questions asked."She lookedsomewhat doubtful at this till she caught the heat ofGlenister's gaze. Some boldness of his look brought home to her theactual situation, and a stain rose in her cheek. She noted him morecarefully; noted his heavyshoulders and ease of bearing, an ease andlooseness begotten of perfect muscular control. Strength was equallysuggested in his face, she thought, for he carried a marked youngcountenance, with thrusting chin,aggressive thatching brows, andmobile mouth that whispered all the changes from strength to abandon.Prominent was a look of reckless energy. She considered him handsome ina heavy, virile, perhaps too purelyphysical fashion."You want to stowaway?" he asked."I've had a right smart experience in that line," said Dextry, "but Inever done it by proxy. What's your plan?""She will stay here to-night," said Glenister quickly. "Youand I willgo below. Nobody will see her.""I can't let you do that," she objected. "Isn't there some place whereI can hide?" But they reassured her and left.When they had gone, she crouched trembling upon her seat for alongtime, gazing fixedly before her. "I'm afraid!" she whispered; "I'mafraid. What am I getting into? Why do men look so at me? I'mfrightened. Oh, I'm sorry I undertook it." At last she rose wearily.The close cabinoppressed her; she felt the need of fresh air. So,turning out the lights, she stepped forth into the night. Figuresloomed near the rail and she slipped astern, screening herself behind alife-boat, where the cool breezefanned her face.The forms she had seen approached, speaking earnestly. Instead ofpassing, they stopped abreast of her hiding-place; then, as they beganto talk, she saw that her retreat was cut off and that she mustnotstir."What brings her here?" Glenister was echoing a question of Dextry's."Bah! What brings them all? What brought 'the Duchess,' and CherryMalotte, and all the rest?""No, no," said the old man. "She ain't thatkind--she's too fine, toodelicate--too pretty.""That's just it--too pretty! Too pretty to be alone--or anything exceptwhat she is."Dextry growled sourly. "This country has plumb ruined you, boy. Youthink they're allalike--an' I don't know but they are--all but thisgirl. Seems like she's different, somehow--but I can't tell."Glenister spoke musingly:"I had an ancestor who buccaneered among the Indies, a long timeago--so I'm told.Sometimes I think I have his disposition. He comesand whispers things to me in the night. Oh, he was a devil, and I'vegot his blood in me--untamed and hot--I can hear him saying somethingnow--something about thespoils of war. Ha, ha! Maybe he's right. Ifought for her to-night--Dex--the way he used to fight for hissweethearts along the Mexicos. She's too beautiful to be good--and'there's never a law of God or man runs north ofFifty-three.'"They moved on, his vibrant, cynical laughter stabbing the girl till sheleaned against the yawl for support.She held herself together while the blood beat thickly in her ears,then fled to the cabin, hurlingherself into her berth, where shewrithed silently, beating the pillow with hands into which her nailshad bitten, staring the while into the darkness with dry and achingeyes.CHAPTER IITHE STOWAWAYShe awoke to thethrob of the engines, and, gazing cautiously throughher stateroom window, saw a glassy, level sea, with the sun brightlyagleam on it.So this was Bering? She had clothed it always with the mystery of herschool-days,thinking of it as a weeping, fog-bound stretch of graywaters. Instead, she saw a flat, sunlit main, with occasionalsea-parrots flapping their fat bodies out of the ship's course. Aglistening head popped up from the watersabreast, and she heard thecry of "seal!"Dressing, the girl noted minutely the personal articles scattered aboutthe cabin, striving to derive therefrom some fresh hint of thecharacteristics of the owners. First, there wasan elaborate,copper-backed toilet-set, all richly ornamented and leather-bound. Themetal was magnificently hand-worked and bore Glenister's initial. Itspoke of elegant extravagance, and seemed oddly out of place inanArctic miner's equipment, as did also a small set of De Maupassant.Next, she picked up Kipling's Seven Seas, marked liberally, and feltthat she had struck a scent. The roughness and brutality of the poemshad alwayschilled her, though she had felt vaguely their splendidpulse and swing. This was the girl's first venture from a shelteredlife. She had not rubbed elbows with the world enough to find thatTruth may be rough, unshaven,and garbed in homespun. The bookconfirmed her analysis of the junior partner.Pendent from a hook was a worn and blackened holster from which peepedthe butt of a large Colt's revolver, showing evidence of manyyears'service. It spoke mutely of the white-haired Dextry, who, before herinspection was over, knocked at the door, and, when she admitted him,addressed her cautiously:"The boy's down forrad, teasin' grub out of aflunky. He'll be up in aminute. How'd ye sleep?""Very well, thank you," she lied, "but I've been thinking that I oughtto explain myself to you.""Now, see here," the old man interjected, "there ain't no explanationsneededtill you feel like givin' them up. You was in trouble--that'sunfortunate; we help you--that's natural; no questions asked--that'sAlaska.""Yes--but I know you must think--""What bothers me," the other continuedirrelevantly, "is how in blazeswe're goin' to keep you hid. The steward's got to make up this room,and somebody's bound to see us packin' grub in.""I don't care who knows if they won't send me back. They wouldn'tdothat, would they?" She hung anxiously on his words."Send you back? Why, don't you savvy that this boat is bound for Nome?There ain't no turnin' back on gold stampedes, and this is the wildestrush the world eversaw. The captain wouldn't turn back--hecouldn't--his cargo's too precious and the company pays five thousand aday for this ship. No, we ain't puttin' back to unload no stowaways atfive thousand per. Besides, wepassengers wouldn't let him--time's tooprecious." They were interrupted by the rattle of dishes outside, andDextry was about to open the door when his hand wavered uncertainlyabove the knob, for he heard the heartygreeting of the ship's captain."Well, well, Glenister, where's all the breakfast going?""Oo!" whispered the old man--"that's Cap' Stephens.""Dextry isn't feeling quite up to form this morning," replied


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                                     CODE OF SILENCE                                        Written by                 Michael Butler, DennisShryack, Mike Gray & John Mason                                        Story by                             Michael Butler & Dennis Shryack                                      SHOOTINGDRAFT                                           1985                               EXT. CHICAGO - NIGHT TO DAWN               Thundering north through the glass canyons of the Loop,the                elevated train SCREECHES through the city awakening. As it                races north across the river past ancient factories giving                way to high rise splendor, lights glistening againstthe                dawn, we see the complex business of bringing a city to life                in the morning.               On the Near North Side an assortment of revelers are winding                up their night on thetown.               The pressmen loiter outside the Tribune loading docks, and                fishing boats are outbound through the Chicago River locks.               A streetsweeping crew moves through the FultonMarket,                Chicago's central meat and produce distribution center.               At the Merchandise Mart platform the elevated train picks up                two old cleaning ladies wearingbabushkas.               EXT. ALLEY - DAY               The el train RUMBLES north past the aging tenements of Uptown                into the Belmont Avenue Station.               And down below, a garbage truck isslowly working its way up                the alley. A garbage man in city overalls WHISTLES to the                driver and the truck stops. He rolls a can to the grinding                jaw as the driver sits, tense and alert,scanning the street.               There's something odd about this driver. And the garbage man                too, for that matter.               EXT. EL PLATFORM - DAY               SPIDER, a nervous looking black man,steps out onto the                platform. As the train pulls away we see him reach into his                shirt pocket and CLICKS his ball point pen a couple of times.                He WHISPERS into it. It is a concealed radiotransmitter.                                     SPIDER                         Say, hey, Cub fans, I hope to hell                          y'all down there cause we got a big                          game today.               He heads for thestairs and the street below.               INT. TRUCK CAB - DAY               The truck cab is equipped with a police radio. The driver,                RICH DONATO, adjusts the volume. Over the SPEAKER,HEAVY                WITH STATIC, we can hear the SOUND of the RECEDING EL TRAIN.                                     SPIDER (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         The school bus bewaitin.               Donato motions for the garbage man.               EXT. ALLEY - DAY               EDDIE CUSACK jumps up on the truck's running board and sticks                his head in. On the seat beside Donatois a sledgehammer and                a sawed off automatic rifle. The two men stare at each other                as they concentrate on the CRACKLING RADIO.                                     SPIDER(V.O.)                              (from radio)                         S'happenin, Doc?                                     DOC (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Hey, I got it all right here,my                          man. Jus be waitin on you.                                     SPIDER (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         We ain't got far to go.               EXT. EL STATION -DAY               DOC is at the wheel of a late model Cadillac. Spider gets in                and they pull slowly away from the curb.               EXT. EL STATION - DAY               At the corner in a beat up Pontiacare officers MUSIC and                BRENNAN. The two rough looking detectives follow Doc's car                through half closed eyes.               They also HEAR Spider's TRANSMITTER. The quality ofthe                reception improves as Spider and his antennae clear the steel                support structure of the el platform.                                     DOC (V.O.)                              (fromradio)                         This early bird shit just ain't my                          style.                                     SPIDER (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Dig it. Too close to real workfor                          me.               Doc and Spider talk in a nervous false bravado.               EXT. ALLEY - DAY               Eddie nods to Donato who grabs a walkie-talkie from theseat.                                     DONATO                              (to walkie-talkie)                         O.K. Home Team. Ready in the bullpen.                                     MUSIC(V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Copy Shortstop. Double play. We're                          with him now.                                     SPOTTER (V.O.)                              (fromradio)                         Center's in.               SILENCE. Eddie looks at Donato.                                     EDDIE                         Where's Cragie?               EXT. CEMETERY - DAY               Two copsare against the wall separating the cemetery from                the El. CRAGIE, a weathered twenty-five year veteran; and                NICK KOSALAS, the new kid on the team. Cragie sits on a crate                with astyrofoam cup of coffee.               Kosalas is trying to maneuver his cup lid off, and still                hold on to his walkie-talkie.                                     DONATO (V.O.)                              (fromradio)                         Talk to me left field.                                     KOSALAS                              (to mike)                         Ready sir. Left Field in position.               Cragie pulls a pint of whiskey from hispocket and sweetens                his coffee with a healthy shot. He notices Kosalas, who has                set down the thermos and is nervously moving from legto                leg.                                     CRAGIE                         Have a shot, kid. A little nerve                          tonic.                                     KOSALAS                         What's the matter withyou?               Cragie grins and raises his cup to drink. His hand shakes                and he has to steady it with the other.               The RADIO CRACKLES.                                     SPOTTER(V.O.)                              (from radio)                         O.K., guys, runner on first base.               INT. SPOTTER APARTMENT - DAY               A spotter, KOBAS, covers the scene from an abandonedbuilding                across the street.                                     KOBAS                              (to walkie-talkie)                         Just turning on Paulina.                                     EDDIE(V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Double Play, you got him in sight?                                     MUSIC (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Yeah, we got the onhim. He's headin                          for the alley.               EXT. ALLEY - DAY               Eddie wrestles another garbage can into the truck's hopper                as Doc's car cruises slowly past.               Eddie andSpider LOCK EYES for a split second.               The car moves on and stops at the far end of the alley. The                lights switch off. After a moment, Spider and Doc leave the                car and check out the scene.Doc carries a satchel.                                     DOC (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         I say nice and simple now.                                     SPIDER(V.O.)                              (from radio)                         We real cool, Doc. We're frosty. We                          jus' doin' a little business, you                          know? Ain't no big thing.               The two men slipinto the back gate of an old tenement. They                pass through a gangway to the front of the building, and                climb the front stairs.               Though we can no longer see them, we HEAR a DOOROPENING, a                GREETING in Spanish, and FEET FOUNDING up the steps.               The garbage truck GRINDS forward and halts again. Eddie comes                up to the cab. He is wearing a gun under hisoveralls. He                and Donato listen on the RADIO to the CONVERSATION coming                from inside the building.               INT. COMACHO FRONT STAIRS - DAY               A muscular Latino, POMPASCOMACHO, leads Spider and Doc down                the paint-peeling corridor. The SOUND of BABIES CRYING and                FAMILIES WAKING gives a sense of teeming humanity behind                everydoor.               The Latino knocks at a door heavily fortified with burglar                bars. The door opens. The bars are unlocked.                                     SPIDER                         How y'alldoin?                                     VOICE (V.O.)                              (from within)                         It's O.K. O.K. Como esta?               Pompas leaves the two men and heads down the stairs toward                thefront door.               INT. COMACHO APARTMENT - DAY               Doc and Spider enter. They're patted down.               A sleepy eyed Latino woman comes to stand in the bedroom                doorway.VICTOR COMACHO barks at her in Spanish, and she                disappears into the bedroom.               EXT. ALLEY - DAY               Eddie stands on the running board of the truck with Donato                at thewheel. They listen to the RADIO.                                     DOC (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Hey, man, we're clean, huh. Weain't                          fools.                                     SPIDER (V.O.)                         You do that real nice, Pancho. what                          say we get married.               Eddie tosses a soiled Rubic's Cube intoDonato's lap.                                     EDDIE                         Found you a present.                                     DONATO                         Shit, those things will fuck upyour                          mind.               EXT. CEMETERY - DAY               Cragie is watching over the wall with his binoculars. He                looks back at Kosalas, who is hopping from foot tofoot.                                     CRAGIE                         If you gotta take a leak, do it now.                                     KOSALAS                         I can't go wading in with myshlong                          flapping in the wind.                                     CRAGIE                         Sure you can. It's called diversionary                          tactics.               Cragie laughs and swigs straight fromthe bottle. The RADIO                CRACKLES.                                     BRENNAN (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         What's going on in theballpark?                                     DONATO (V.O.)                              (from radio)                         Don't get froggy. Wait for the green                          light.               EXT. COMACHO STREET -


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lisbeth Longfrock, by Hans AanrudThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Lisbeth LongfrockAuthor: Hans AanrudIllustrator: Othar HolmboeTranslator: Laura E. PoulssonRelease Date:August 18, 2008 [EBook #26348]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LISBETH LONGFROCK ***Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Teamat http://www.pgdp.net[Illustration: LISBETH LONGFROCK]LISBETH LONGFROCKTRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF HANS AANRUDBYLAURA E. POULSSONILLUSTRATED BYOTHAR HOLMBOEGINN ANDCOMPANYBOSTON Â· NEW YORK Â· CHICAGO Â· LONDONATLANTA Â· DALLAS Â· COLUMBUS Â· SAN FRANCISCOCOPYRIGHT, 1907, BYLAURA E. POULSSONALL RIGHTS RESERVEDPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OFAMERICAThe AthenÃ¦um PressGINN AND COMPANY Â· PROPRIETORS Â·BOSTON Â· U.S.A.PREFACEHans Aanrud's short stories are considered by his own countrymen asbelonging to the most original and artisticallyfinished life picturesthat have been produced by the younger _literati_ of Norway. Theyare generally concerned with peasant character, and present in truebalance the coarse and fine in peasant nature. The style ofspeech isoccasionally over-concrete for sophisticated ears, but it is notunwholesome. Of weak or cloying sweetness--so abhorrent to Norwegiantaste--there is never a trace._Sidsel SidsÃ¦rk_ was dedicated to theauthor's daughter on her eighthbirthday, and is doubtless largely reminiscent of Aanrud's ownchildhood. If I have been able to give a rendering at all worthy of theoriginal, readers of _Lisbeth Longfrock_ will find thatthe whole storybreathes a spirit of unaffected poetry not inconsistent with the commonlife which it depicts. This fine blending of the poetic and commonplaceis another characteristic of Aanrud's writings.While translatingthe book I was living in the region where the scenesof the story are laid, and had the benefit of local knowledgeconcerning terms used, customs referred to, etc. No pains were sparedin verifying particulars, especiallythrough elderly people on thefarms, who could best explain the old-fashioned terms and who had aclear remembrance of obsolescent details of sÃ¦ter life. For thiswelcome help and for elucidations through other friendsI wish here tooffer my hearty thanks.Being desirous of having the conditions of Norwegian farm life made asclear as possible to young English and American readers, I felt thatseveral illustrations were necessary andthat it would be well forthese to be the work of a Norwegian. To understand how the sun can bealready high in the heavens when it rises, and how, when it sets, theshadow of the western mountain can creep as quicklyas it does from thebottom of the valley up the opposite slope, one must have someconception of the narrowness of Norwegian valleys, with steep mountainridges on either side. I felt also that readers would beinterested inpictures showing how the dooryard of a well-to-do Norwegian farm looks,how the open fireplace of the roomy kitchen differs from ourfireplaces, how tall and slender a Norwegian stove is, builtwithalternating spaces and heat boxes, several stories high, and howCrookhorn and the billy goat appeared when about to begin their grandtussle up at Hoel SÃ¦ter._Sidsel SidsÃ¦rk_ has given much pleasure to old andyoung. I hope that_Lisbeth Longfrock_ may have the same good fortune.LAURA E. POULSSONHOPKINTON, MASSACHUSETTSCONTENTSCHAPTER                                                  PAGE   I. LISBETH LONGFROCK GOESTO HOEL FARM                   1  II. LISBETH LONGFROCK AS SPINNING WOMAN                  12 III. LEAVING PEEROUT CASTLE                               22  IV. SPRING: LETTING THE ANIMALS OUT TOPASTURE           33   V. SUMMER: TAKING THE ANIMALS UP TO THE SÃTER           52  VI. THE TAMING OF CROOKHORN                              68 VII. HOME FROM THE SÃTER                                  84VIII. ONGLORY PEAK                                        98  IX. THE VISIT TO PEEROUT CASTLE                         113   X. SUNDAY AT THE SÃTER                                 129  XI. LISBETH APPOINTED HEADMILKMAID                     139LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONSLISBETH LONGFROCK                               _Frontispiece_                                                         PAGEHOEL FARM                                                   4THE BIGKITCHEN AT HOEL FARM                               12LISBETH'S ROOM UNDER THE STAIRS                            34THE VALLEY AND THE FARMS                                   52UP AT THESÃTER                                            68LISBETH LONGFROCKCHAPTER ILISBETH LONGFROCK GOES TO HOEL FARMBearhunter, the big, shaggy old dog at Hoel Farm, sat on the stone stepin front of the house,looking soberly around the spacious dooryard.It was a clear, cold winter's day toward the beginning of spring, andthe sun shone brightly over the glittering snow. In spite of the brightsunshine, however, Bearhunterwould have liked to be indoors muchbetter than out, if his sense of responsibility had permitted; for hispaws ached with the cold, and he had to keep holding them up one afteranother from the stone slab to keep fromgetting the "claw ache."Bearhunter did not wish to risk that, because "claw ache" is verypainful, as every northern dog knows.But to leave his post as watchman was not to be thought of just now,for the pigs and thegoats were out to-day. At this moment they werebusy with their separate affairs and behaving very well,--the pigs overon the sunny side of the dooryard scratching themselves against thecorner of the cow house, andthe goats gnawing bark from the big heapof pine branches that had been laid near the sheep barn for theirspecial use. They looked as if they thought of nothing but theirscratching and gnawing; but Bearhunter knewwell, from previousexperience, that no sooner would he go into the house than both pigsand goats would come rushing over to the doorway and do all themischief they could. That big goat, Crookhorn,--the new onewho hadcome to the farm last autumn and whom Bearhunter had not yet broughtunder discipline,--had already strayed in a roundabout way to the verycorner of the farmhouse, and was looking at Bearhunter inaself-important manner, as if she did not fear him in the least. She wasreally an intolerable creature, that goat Crookhorn! But just let herdare--!Bearhunter felt that he must sit on the cold doorstep for sometimelonger, at any rate. He glanced up the road occasionally as if to seewhether any one was coming, so that the pigs and goats might not thinkthey had the whole of his attention.He had just turned his head leisurelytoward the narrow road that camedown crosswise over the slope from the Upper Farms, when--what in theworld was that!Something _was_ coming,--a funny little roly-poly something. What apity, thought Bearhunter,that his sight was growing so poor! At anyrate, he had better give the people in the house warning.So he gave several deep, echoing barks. The goats sprang together in aclump and raised their ears; the pigs stopped inthe very midst oftheir scratching to listen. That Bearhunter was held in great respectcould easily be seen.He still remained sitting on the doorstep, staring up the road. Neverin his life had he seen such a thing as thatnow approaching. Perhaps,after all, it was nothing worth giving warning about. He would take aturn up the road and look at it a little nearer. So, arching his bushytail into a handsome curve and putting on his mostgood-humoredexpression, he sauntered off.Yes, it must be a human being, although you would not think so. Itbegan to look very much like "Katrine the Finn," as they called her,who came to the farm every winter; butit could not be Katrine--it wasaltogether too little. It wore a long, wide skirt, and from under theskirt protruded the tips of two big shoes covered with gray woolenstocking feet from which the legs had been cut off.Above the skirtthere was a round bundle of clothes with a knitted shawl tied aroundit, and from this protruded two stumps with red mittens on. Perched onthe top of all was a smaller shape, muffled up in a smallerknittedshawl,--that, of course, must be the head. Carried at the back was ahuge bundle tied up in a dark cloth, and in front hung a pretty woodenpail, painted red.Really, Bearhunter had to stand still and gaze. Thestrange figure, inthe meantime, had become aware of him, and it also came to astandstill, as if in a dilemma. At that, Bearhunter walked over to thefarther side of the road and took his station there, trying tolookindifferent, for he did not wish to cause any fright. The strangefigure then made its way carefully forward again, drawing graduallycloser and closer to its own side of the road. As it came nearer toBearhunter thefigure turned itself around by degrees, until, whendirectly opposite to him, it walked along quite sidewise.Then it was that Bearhunter got a peep through a little opening in theupper shawl; and there he saw the tip of atiny, turned-up red nose,then a red mouth that was drawn down a little at the corners as ifready for crying, and then a pair of big blue eyes that were fastenedupon him with a look of terror.[Illustration: HOELFARM]Pooh! it was nothing, after all, but a little girl, well bundled upagainst the cold. Bearhunter did not know her--but wait a bit! hethought he had seen that pail before. At any rate it would be absurd totry to frightenthis queer little creature.His tail began to wag involuntarily as he walked across the road totake a sniff at the pail.The little girl did not understand his action at once. Stepping back inalarm, she caught her heels in herlong frock and down she tumbled bythe side of the road. Bearhunter darted off instantly; but afterrunning a short distance toward the house he stopped and looked at heragain, making his eyes as gentle as he couldand wagging his tailenergetically. With Bearhunter that wagging of the tail meant hearty,good-natured laughter.Then the little girl understood. She got up, smiled, and jogged slowlyafter him. Bearhunter trottedleisurely ahead, looking back at her fromtime to time. He knew now that she had an errand at Hoel Farm, and thathe was therefore in duty bound to help her.Thus it was that Lisbeth Longfrock of Peerout Castle madeher entranceinto Hoel Farm.                     *      *      *      *      *Peerout Castle was perched high above the Upper Farms, on a crag thatjutted out from a barren ridge just under a mountain peak called "TheBigHammer." The real name of the little farm was New Ridge,[1] and"Peerout Castle" was only a nickname given to it by a joker becausethere was so fine an outlook from it and because it bore no resemblancewhatever toa castle. The royal lands belonging to this castleconsisted of a little plot of cultivated soil, a bit of meadow landhere and there, and some heather patches where tiny blueberry bushesand small mountain-cranberryplants grew luxuriantly. The castle'soutbuildings were a shabby cow house and a pigsty. The cow house wasbuilt against the steep hillside, with three walls of loosely builtstone, and its two stalls were dug half theirlength into the hill. Thetiny pigsty was built in the same fashion.      [1] It is customary in Norway for each farm, however small, to      have a name.As for the castle itself, that was a very, very small, turf-roofedcabinlying out on the jutting crag in the middle of the rocky ridge.It had only one small window, with tiny panes of glass, that looked outover the valley. And yet, in whatever part of the surrounding countryone might be, bylooking in that direction--and looking highenough--one could always see that little castle, with its single windowpeering out like a watchful eye over the landscape.Since the castle from which Lisbeth Longfrock came wasno moremagnificent than this, it may easily be understood that she was nodisguised princess, but only a poor little girl. Coming to Hoel Farmfor the first time was for her like visiting an estate that was, invery truth,royal; and besides, she had come on an important "grown-up"errand. She was taking her mother's place and visiting Hoel as aspinning woman.Lisbeth's mother, whose name was Randi,[2] had worked hard for thelastfour years to get food for herself and her children up at PeeroutCastle. Before that the family had been in very comfortablecircumstances; but the father had died, leaving the mother with thecastle, one cow, and thecare of the two children. The children wereJacob, at that time about six years old, and Lisbeth, a couple of yearsyounger. Life was often a hard struggle for the mother; but they had,at any rate, a house over theirheads, and they could get wood withouthaving to go very far for it, since the forest lay almost within astone's throw.      [2] (In the original, Roennaug.) This was the mother's first      name. Her full name would beRandi Newridge, or Randi Peerout.In the summer Randi managed to dig up her tiny plots of ground after afashion, so that she could harvest a few potatoes and a little grain.By cutting grass and stripping off birch leavesshe had thus farmanaged each year to give Bliros, their cow, enough to eat. And wherethere is a cow there is always food.In the winter she spun linen and wool for the women on the farms farand near, but as she hadlived at Hoel Farm as a servant before she wasmarried, it was natural that most of her spinning should be forKjersti[3] Hoel.      [3] Kyare'-stee.In such ways had Randi been able to care for her family. MeanwhileJacob,now ten years old, had grown big enough to earn his own living.In the spring before the last a message had come from Nordrum Farm thata boy was needed to look after the flocks, and Jacob had at onceapplied andbeen accepted. He and Lisbeth had often knelt on the longwooden bench under the little window at Peerout Castle, and gazed uponthe different farms, choosing which they would work on when they werebig enough.Jacob had always chosen Nordrum Farm,--probably because hehad heard Farmer Nordrum spoken of as the big man of the community;while Lisbeth had always thought that it would be pleasanter at HoelFarm becauseit was owned by a woman.When autumn came Farmer Nordrum had concluded that he would have usefor such a boy as Jacob during the winter also, and so Jacob had stayedon. This last Christmas, however, he hadgone home for the whole dayand had taken with him a Christmas present for his sister from a littlegirl at Nordrum. The present was a gray woolen frock,--a very nice one.Jacob had grown extremely pleasant and full offun while at Nordrum,Lisbeth thought. When she tried the frock on and it reached way down tothe ground before and behind, he called her "Lisbeth Longfrock" andLisbeth Longfrock she had remained from thatday.After Christmas, times had been somewhat harder at Peerout Castle.Bliros, who generally gave milk the whole year round, had become dry,and would not give milk for several months. She was to have a calf intheearly summer. During the last few weeks there had not been milkenough even for Randi's and Lisbeth's coffee.To go to Svehaugen,[4] the nearest farm, for milk was no short trip;and milk was scarce there too, asRandi well knew. Besides, she couldnot spare the time to go. She had to finish spinning Kjersti Hoel'swool. When she once got that off her hands, they could have plenty ofmilk for their coffee, and other good thingsbesides. What a relief itwould be when that time came!      [4] Sva-howg-en.So Randi worked steadily at her spinning, Lisbeth being now big enoughto help in carding the wool. For a week she spun almostwithoutceasing, scarcely taking time for meals, but drinking a good deal ofstrong black coffee. Not until very late one evening was Kjersti Hoel'swool all spun and ready. By that time Randi was far from well. Whetherornot her illness was caused, as she thought, by drinking so muchblack coffee, certain it is that when Kjersti Hoel's wool was all spunRandi felt a tightness in her chest, and when she got up the nextmorning and tried toget ready to go to Hoel with the spinning, she wasseized with such a sudden dizziness that she had to go back to bedagain. She was too weak for anything else.Now it was the custom in Norway for the spinning womanto take back tothe different farms the wool she had spun, and for the farmers' wivesto praise her work, treat her to something good to eat and drink, payher, and then give her directions about the way the next spinningwasto be done. All this Randi would have to give up for the present--therewas no help for it; but she wondered how it would do to send Lisbeth toHoel Farm in her stead. The little girl would find her way safely,Randiwas sure, although Randi had never as yet taken her to that farmbecause it was so far off. The payment for the spinning was to be ineatables as well as money, and Lisbeth could bring home part of whatwas due. Then,though they still might lack many things, their drop ofcoffee could have cream in it, as coffee ought to have. The remainderof the payment and the directions for the next spinning Randi herselfcould get when she wasbetter.If she could only be sure that Lisbeth would behave properly and notact like a changeling, a troll child!Lisbeth eagerly promised that if her mother would allow her to go shewould behave exactly as a spinningwoman should,--she would, really!And she remembered perfectly well just how everything was done thattime she had gone with her mother to one of the nearer farms.So Lisbeth put on her long frock, which was usedonly for very best,and her mother wrapped her up snugly in the two shawls. Then the bundleof yarn was slung over her back, the pail was hung in front, manydirections were given to her about the road, and off shestarted.And that is the way Lisbeth Longfrock happened to come toddling afterBearhunter to Hoel Farm on that clear, cold winter's day toward thebeginning of spring.CHAPTER IILISBETH LONGFROCK AS SPINNINGWOMANWhen Lisbeth found herself in the farm dooryard, with the differentbuildings all about her, she really had to stand still and gaze around.Oh, how large everything was!--quite on another scale from thingsathome. Why, the barn door was so broad and high that Peerout Castlecould easily go right through it, and each windowpane in the big housewas as large as their own whole window. And such a goat!--for just thenshecaught sight of Crookhorn, who had come warily up to the doorway,and who only saw fit to draw back as Bearhunter approached. Not thatCrookhorn was afraid of Bearhunter,--no, indeed!The goat was larger than mostgoats,--about as large as a good-sizedcalf. If the cows belonging to Hoel Farm were as much larger thanordinary cows, thought Lisbeth, they would be able to eat grass fromthe roof of Peerout Castle while standing,just as usual, on theground.[5] She glanced searchingly at the cow-house door. No, it wasnot larger than such doors usually were, so the cows were evidently nobigger than other cows.      [5] Norwegian children incountry districts are accustomed to see      goats walking about on the roofs of turf-covered huts, nibbling      the herbage; but the idea of a creature so large as to be able to      eat from the roof while standing on theground was very      astonishing to Lisbeth.Bearhunter had followed after Crookhorn until the latter was well outof the way; then he had come back again, and now stood wagging his tailand turning toward the housedoor as if coaxing Lisbeth to go in. Yes,she must attend to her errand and not stay out there staring ateverything.So she followed after Bearhunter and went into the hall way. She liftedthe latch of the inner door, turnedherself around carefully as shewent in so as to make room for her bundle, fastened the door behindher--and there she stood inside the big kitchen at Hoel![Illustration: THE BIG KITCHEN AT HOEL FARM]There were onlytwo people in the kitchen,--one a young servant maid inthe middle of the room spinning, and the other the mistress herself,Kjersti Hoel, over by the white wall of the big open fireplace,grinding coffee.Both looked upwhen they heard the door open.Lisbeth Longfrock stood still for a moment, then made a deep courtesyunder her long frock and said in a grown-up way, just as she had heardher mother say, "Good day, and God blessyour work."Kjersti Hoel had to smile when she saw the little roly-poly bundle overby the door, talking in such a grown-up fashion. But she answered assoberly as if she also were talking to a grown-up person: "Goodday. Isthis a young stranger out for a walk?""Yes.""And what is the stranger's name, and where is she from? I see that Ido not know her.""No, you could not be expected to. My mother and Jacob call me


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                                   EASY "A"                                                           Written by                                                          Bert V.Royal                                                                                FIRST DRAFT                                                   August 3,2008                                                     IN DARKNESS:                                    OLIVE (V.O.)           The rumors of my promiscuity have           been greatlyexaggerated.                                                   FADE IN:                                                            INT. OLIVE'S BEDROOM - PRESENT DAY                                   OLIVE PENDERGHAST (17), a cuteteenager, speaks directly into          the WEBCAM atop her computer.                                                   OLIVE           Let the record show that I, Olive           Penderghast, being of sound mind,           amplebreast size and the           occasional corny knock knock joke,           do enter this video blog into           evidence in the case against me.           Because I'm being judged by a jury           of my peers, I will attemptto           insert `like' and `totally' into my           confession as much as possible. So           here it goes... I confess I'm, in           no small part, to blame for the           vociferous gossip that has turned           myVarsity letter scarlet, but -           for anyone hoping that the sizzling           details of my sordid past will           provide you with a reason to lock           the door and make love to a dollop           of your sister'smoisturizing           lotion - you'll be gravely           disappointed.           (Beat.)           Look, I just need to set the record           straight and what better way to do           that, than to broadcast it onthe           Internet. So, here it is -- Part           One: The Shudder-Inducing and           Cliched, However Totally False           Account Of How I Lost My Virginity           To A Guy At A Community College In           ANeighboring Town.           (Beat.)           Let me just begin by saying that           there are two sides to every story.           This is my side, the right one.           (Beat.)           Like,totally.           2.                                                            INT. CAFETERIA - DAY                                   Olive sits with her best friend, RHIANNON ABERNATHY (17), a          brash teenager. It wouldbe safe to say that these girls are          definitely on the "B List" at their school.                                                   RHIANNON           Fuck off! George is not a `sexy'           name. George is like what youname           your teddy bear, not the name you           wanna scream out during an orgasm.                                                   OLIVE           That's bullshit. There are lots of           sexyGeorges.                                                   RHIANNON           Name three.                                   Olive starts to say something, but Rhiannon interruptsher.                                                   RHIANNON (CONT'D)           Besides Clooney. Too easy.                                                   OLIVE           Shouldn't that alone beenough?                                                   RHIANNON           Fine. That's one. Number two?                                                   OLIVE                          (THINKING)           Okay. George...Ummmm... Reeves!                                                   RHIANNON           Who's that?                                                   OLIVE           Superman. From way back. Hewas           hot.                                                   RHIANNON           No way. Teddy bear.                                                   OLIVE           Bullshit. Ben Affleck played him           in thatmovie!                                                   RHIANNON           So what? Charlize Theron played           that butt-fucking-ugly lesbo serial           killer. Besides he's fromanother           century.                          (MORE)           3.                                                   RHIANNON (CONT'D)           We're speaking present day. I           mean, Jesus, Mortimer wasprobably           a sexy name in some era.                                                   OLIVE           George Stephanopolous.                                                   RHIANNON           What are you?Fifty?                                                   OLIVE                          (THINKING HARD)           George...                                                   RHIANNON           Bush? Yeah. He's onehot           mutherfucker. Just face it.           There's no such thing as a sexy           George.                                                   OLIVE           Well, mine is. So, I think we           should just put thisconversation           to bed.                                                   RHIANNON           Fine. Don't come. I hate you.                                   Rhiannon folds her arms andpouts.                                                            INT. OLIVE'S BEDROOM - PRESENT DAY                                   Olive continues to narrate into herwebcam.                                                   OLIVE           Let me back up. I don't know if           any of you have ever met them, but           Rhiannon's parents are quite           possibly the creepiest people ina           four county radius.                                                            INT. THE ABERNATHY LIVING ROOM                                   MR. and MRS. ABERNATHY (50's) sit on their couch, smiling at          thetelevision, in their horrifically rustic home.                                   MR. ABERNATHY bares a striking resemblance to ukelele player,          Tiny Tim. (Although the man we're looking at has an even          morefrightening smile.)                                   MRS. ABERNATHY has hair to her ankles and dresses like a          Mormon.           4.                                                             OLIVE (V.O.)           I'vealways felt sort of sorry for           Rhiannon, but not enough to do what           she was asking me to do.                                   We float upwards to -                                                            INT. RHIANNON'SROOM - CONTINUOUS                                   Rhiannon is on the phone, agitated.                                                   RHIANNON           (Into the phone)           PLEASE. Please. I'm beggingyou.           I'll pay you.                                                            INT. OLIVE'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS                                   Olive is on the other end of the phoneconversation.                                   We INTERCUT between the two sides.                                                   OLIVE           Rhi, I can't. I told you Ihave           plans.                                                   RHIANNON           You're lying. You're a lying bitch           and I hate you so much rightnow.                                                   OLIVE                          (LYING)           I'm not lying. I promise I'm not.           I really would love to go camping           with your family this weekend.I           had fun with your family last year.                                                            EXT. WOODS - LAST YEAR - NIGHT                                   Olive, uncomfortable, and Rhiannon, bored, sit arounda          campfire with the Abernathys.                                   The couple stare at the fire with the same creepy smile          plastered on their faces.                                   There is an excruciatingly long and painfulsilence.                                    MR. ABERNATHY           Would you like a marshmallow, Olive           Oil?           5.                                                            Mrs. Abernathy squeaks out a meek titterthat is annoyingly          high-pitched.                                    MRS. ABERNATHY           Olive oil. That's funny. Very,           veryfunny.                                                   OLIVE                          (POLITELY)           No thank you, Mr. Abernathy.                                    MR. ABERNATHY           You can call meMortimer, Olive           Branch.                                   Mrs. Abernathy titters again. Rhiannon rolls her eyes.                                   There is another awkwardly long silence, while the Abernathys          grin away attheir fire.                                                            INT. RHIANNON'S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER                                   Rhiannon is getting increasingly angrier at herfriend.                                                   RHIANNON           (Into the phone)           Why don't you just say it? You           don't like my parents. You think           they're hopelessly pathetic and           devoidof souls and wish that you           could live with normal people who           didn't meet at a Star Trek           convention!!                                   She quickly catches her faux pas and stopstalking.                                                   OLIVE           (Sympathetic to her                          FRIEND)           Rhi, I like your parents. They're           sweet. But I can't go campingthis           weekend.                                                   RHIANNON           Quick. Hurry and make up a lie.                                                   OLIVE           I have adate.                                                   RHIANNON           Liar.           6.                                                                            OLIVE                          (LYING)           No. Ido.                                                   RHIANNON           With who?                                                   OLIVE           You don't knowhim.                                                   RHIANNON           And neither do you, you selfish           bitch!                                                   OLIVE           I'm serious. He goes to the           communitycollege with my brother           in Denton.                                                   RHIANNON           What's his name then?                                                   OLIVE                          (WAXINGCUTE)           Who? My brother?                                                   RHIANNON           Stop stalling. You're totally           trying to come up with a name.           Just sayit.                                                            INT. OLIVE'S BEDROOM - PRESENT DAY                                   Into the webcam --                                                   OLIVE           I'm not proud of this.Less about           the lie and more about the           unoriginality of it. Okay, have           you guys ever watched `The Brady           Bunch'? Of course you haven't.           You're busy watching fakepeople           pretend to be real on MTV. That's           why I knew I could get away with           it. See, there was this episode           where Jan - the awkward middle           child - made up a boyfriend