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Boyhood in Norway-Part6_Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen(1848-1895)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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open slope, covered with an unbroken surface of glittering snow.



The sun (which at midwinter is but a few hours above the horizon)

had set; and the stars were flashing forth with dazzling



brilliancy. Ralph stopped, as he reached the clearing, to give

Biceps an opportunity to overtake him; for Biceps, like all



marine animals, moved with less dexterity on the dry land.

"Ralph," he whispered breathlessly, as he pushed himself up to



his companion with a vigorousthrust of his skee-staff, "there

are two awful chaps close behind us. I distinctly heard them



speak."

"Fiddlesticks," said Ralph; "now let us see what you are made of!



Don't take my track, or you may impale me like a roast pig on a

spit. Now, ready!--one, two, three!"



"Hold on there, or I shoot," yelled a hoarse voice from out of

the underbrush; but it was too late; for at the same instant the



two boys slid out over the steep slope, and, wrapped in a whirl

of loose snow, were scudding at a dizzying speed down the



precipitous hill-side. Thump, thump, thump, they went, where

hidden wood-piles or fences obstructed their path, and out they



shot into space, but each time came down firmly on their feet,

and dashed ahead with undiminished ardor. Their calves ached,



the cold air whistled in their ears, and their eyelids became

stiff and their sight half obscured with the hoar-frost that



fringed their lashes. But onward they sped, keeping their

balance with wonderful skill, until they reached the gentler



slope which formed the banks of the great river. Then for the

first time Ralph had an opportunity to look behind him, and he



saw two moving whirls of snow darting downward, not far from his

own track. His heart beat in his throat; for those fellows had



both endurance and skill, and he feared that he was no match for

them. But suddenly--he could have yelled with delight--the



foremost figure leaped into the air, turned a tremendous

somersault, and, coming down on his head, broke through the crust



of the snow and vanished, while his skees started on an

independent journey down the hill-side. He had struck an exposed



fence-rail, which, abruptly checking his speed, had sent him

flying like a rocket.



The other poacher had barely time to change his course, so as to

avoid the snag; but he was unable to stop and render assistance



to his fallen comrade. The boys, just as they were shooting out

upon the ice, saw by his motions that he was hesitating whether



or not he should give up the chase. He used his staff as a brake

for a few moments, so as to retard his speed; but discovering,



perhaps, by the brightening starlight, that his adversaries were

not full-grown men, he took courage, started forward again, and



tried to make up for the time he had lost. If he could but reach

the sheriff's house before the boys did, he could have them



arrested and collect the informer's fee, instead of being himself

arrested and fined as a poacher. It was a prize worth racing



for! And, moreover, there were two elks, worth twenty-five

dollars apiece, buried in the snow under logs. These also would



belong to the victor! The poacher dashed ahead, straining every

nerve, and reached safely the foot of the steep declivity. The



boys were now but a few hundred yards ahead of him.

"Hold on there," he yelled again, "or I shoot!"



He was not within range, but he thought he could frighten the

youngsters into abandoning the race. The sheriff's house was but



a short distance up the river. Its tall, black chimneys could he

seen looming up against the starlit sky. There was no slope now



to accelerate their speed. They had to peg away for dear life,

pushing themselves forward with their skee-staves, laboring like



plough-horses, panting, snorting, perspiring. Ralph turned his

head once more. The poacher was gaining upon them; there could



be no doubt of it. He was within the range of Ralph's rifle; and

a sturdy fellow he was, who seemed good for a couple of miles



yet. Should Ralph send a bullet over his head to frighten him?

No; that might give the poacher an excuse for sending back a



bullet with a less innocent purpose. Poor Biceps, he was panting

and puffing in his heavy wraps like a steamboat! He did not once



open his mouth to speak; but, exerting his vaunted muscle to the

utmost, kept abreast of his friend, and sometimes pushed a pace



or two ahead of him. But it cost him a mighty effort! And yet




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