The Saga of Red Clothe

By Steve Nelson

Mathias Blacklund was a young boy who dreamed of high adventure. After completing the eighth grade his greatest desire was to travel out west and partner up with his hero, Kit Carson. However, he was conflicted because he was at the same time in love with a childhood sweetheart who believed him to be a dreamer. He set out to earn money to purchase a team of horses for which to come courting. A fellow classmate convinces him to sign up for the Union army as a drummer boy. As with the best laid plans, they often go awry. Mathias Blacklund, now Matt Black was reassigned to the artillery.
It was while serving in the artillery he acquired a superb horse, sword, red kerchief and reputation as the infamous Red Rider. At the wars end he was a decorated commissioned officer. His plans to lead a cavalry troop out west were dashed when to army wanted to demote him and make him a recruiting sergeant.
Disillusioned and dismayed he and his famous horse, Ragnar, head to Texas in search of adventure. Along the way he meets Abby, the love of his life, and lifetime partner. Arriving in Texas, they settled on a small ranch. Matt supplemented his income by first becoming a Texas Ranger, and then a US Marshal. With his partner, Virgil Cameron they would become two of the most feared law enforcement officers of Texas. This is a saga of their lives and of their families.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781469173559

Steve Nelson

Born in California while his Dad was in the Air Force, Steve Nelson is today a resident of North Ogden, Utah.He has worked for over 30 years at Business Ownership and in the Handyman/Maintenance field & also delivery. He is a H.S. Graduate.Steve has done many things in an attempt to make a decent income. Currently he drives a Very Dangerous 26' Box Truck, delivering Medical supplies, As Fast As Possible, and he writes eBooks!Steve has always wanted to find something that might really make an income so he could take real good care for his family, something that could sell and make him a good income no matter where he and his family moved to. And so, one of his earliest books became a reality; the Action/Adventure Science Fiction eBook; The Maintenance Engineer.The Maintenance Engineer was first published as a desktop paper version, with a lot of mistakes. In today's world, its nearly impossible for a new author to get published by a Real Legitimate publishing house, as there are a lot of 'Vanity" publishers out there willing to take your money and give you a lot of false promises.However Steve did extensive research, just like he does for every book he writes, and he soon found Smashwords. Steve has found that Smashwords is a most helpful site. A place where you can publish, (as an eBook), your work for FREE! And they even have a nifty invention called the, "Meat Grinder," which is a computer system that examines your work and points out changes that you need to make, and lets you make all the changes that you need, to make your work look really outstanding. Since his association with Smashwords, Steve has also found it amazing that a lot of people are too Lazy to follow Mr. Coker's easy advice in the Smashwords publication, (the FREE) 'Style Guide,' so that they can easily make their work professional and sell-able. "Oh well," says Steve, "If they won't make their work look good, I certainly will!"Also Steve has written several other books, and so, he began testing out the Smashwords system on all his creations.Not being fully computer literate he found it pretty tough to get it right the first time out, but after several attempts, Steve finally got the Smashwords system figured out and, in no particular order, he began publishing his other works with Smashwords in rapid fire sequence!In 2012 Steve published at Smashwords; ‘The Problem Eliminators!’ and ‘Escape from the ORDER!’ These two Action/Adventure somewhat Science Fiction eBooks are Great for Everyone!And then Steve produced, (as a FREE Public Service), ‘100+ Quotable Quotes By & About Dr. Ron Paul~ A Real Amer-I-Can!’ This FREE eBook now has almost 2000 downloads.Steve next tried his hand at children’s books. He wrote and published at Smashwords his first Children’s eBook; ‘Nibly the Bear~ Visits the People Town.’You see, Steve had visited Canada and even lived there for a summer, and wanted to write about the quaint little town of Nelson BC, and so, he made up the character of Nibly, to introduce the town to his readers.Sometime later a new idea entered Steve’s mind and he began research into a new book. New ideas really get Steve going! Many of Steve’s works are filled with lots of art & pics. Plus Steve does extensive research on each and every story that he produces. Steve has even produced models, and photographed them in fine Hollywood fashion for several of his eBooks here at Smashwords.Then, in January of 2013, Steve published right here at Smashwords his next Science Fiction eBook; ‘In the 47th Generation.’ This eBook is based on a Real scientific paper by a Real MIT scientist.The idea was simple, what would become of earth after all human life on the surface was killed off with the radiation and chemicals of 20th century man? What would earth look like after about 1000 years? What kinds of mutations might there be?In February of 2013 Steve again visited the quaint little town of Nelson BC with his favorite Bear, Nibly. This time in; ‘Nibly the Bear~ Gone Fish ‘in,’ In this Fun Children's eBook, Steve produced even more art work and scenic pics of the area.Then Steve produced another Freebee for helpful information to the general public; ‘The Deliberate Poisoning of Earth.’ Because Earth's poisoning of today is No accident! This FREE eBook may Shock You, and it should! (This eBook currently has almost 2000 downloads). *Also Steve is constantly improving his work, and from time to time he updates his eBooks for a better experience to the readers.In 2015, Steve produced another Fantastic Science Fiction novel of incredible significance to the modern era. This eBook; ‘The Creator’s Sentinel,’ is much more than just a retelling of the Creation story; it’s an Action/Adventure, a Love story, and a story of New faith in a world gone mad with greed and corruption.Steve sincerely hopes that all will enjoy; 'The Creator's Sentinel,' And Steve plans new adventures for NIBLY in the very near future, as well as other Fantastic works!Oh, and by the way, some of those first eBooks that Steve published here at Smashwords, such as; ‘The Problem Eliminators!’ & 'Escape From The Order!' Have gone through some major upgrades recently and they are Steve’s top selling eBooks! As has been said, Steve upgrades and improves almost everything, all the time!Steve likes to write stories so that they are easy for the reader to read. Steve doesn’t like boring and difficult stories himself. He likes to have fun and hopes that you do too!***New in 2020 is his Action/Adventure, Historical Fiction full length novel; The First Civilization of Earth. Look for it here at Smashwords.So buy an eBook Today! And Have a Real Nice Day!!

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Steve Nelson.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2012903561

ISBN:      Hardcover         978-1-4691-7354-2

                Softcover         978-1-4691-7353-5

                Ebook            978-1-4691-7355-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 07/12/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Antiques Roadshow, Houston Texas

Muskego

Olaf

The Bearcat

Willow

Drummer boy

Square head gunner

Gettysburg

The legend of the Red Rider

The Spaniard

Orchard Ridge Road

Return of the Red Rider

The Homecoming

With Malice Toward None

Abigail

The Road West

Georgia

A New Beginning

Vision Quest

Texas

Buffalo Black

Rancho San Paulo, Texas 1852

The Comancheros

The Swine King

Rosa

The Last Ranger

Deliverance

Two fingers

Oliver Loving

Keeping the Peace

Centralia

The Heart of a Lion

Making things right

A Proper Southern Lady

A twist of fate

The Paladin Society

The Golden Bell

For every season, there is a purpose…

Black Malcolm

Transitions

Growing up

The Price Charming Affair

An Officer and a Gentleman

Serving the People

Elizabeth

Congressman and Mrs. Black

Justice for All

I’m happy I only throw Colts.

The Redemption of Rufallo Diaz

Well, it ain’t Texas

Our Treasure

Muskego Wisconsin, September, a year after Andreas’s wedding

Antiques Roadshow,

Houston Texas

Can you tell me something about what you brought in today? said the well-dressed appraiser in the open collared shirt and dark blazer. He was speaking to a weather worn cowboy sitting across from him. The man was a middle-aged rancher, lean and fit; testament of work hardened toughness. His greying hair and flinty blue eyes were offset by his sharp chin and pointed nose. His tanned freckled skin was heavily lined, each line telling its own story of years of toil. He was dressed in a blue-checkered western shirt with pearl snap buttons and a bolo tie with an enameled headpiece of a pinto horse.

In between the two gentlemen was a display board displaying a large glossy black and white photograph. To the right of the picture was an open page of an old hand written journal. Directly below the display a Civil War era LeMat revolver was mounted on a display rack.

The cowboy pointed to the picture of a western family sitting in front of their ranch house. There were 5 children seated around their mother with the patriarch of the family pictured mounted on top of a pinto horse.

Well this here is my great grandfather sitting on our foundation stallion, ’Ol Baldy. We are the oldest continuous breeders of painted horses in the state of Texas. The man boasted. During the 1930’s, the film director John Ford used to send people to our ranch to buy painted horses for his western movies.

The appraiser interrupted his tale and directed the attention to the revolver. This revolver was his too, was it not? He asked.

Yes it was. Answered the cowboy.

The appraiser pointed to the pistol and began his dialog. This is a French made nine shot revolver with a tenth barrel, a 20 gauge shotgun right here in the center. All you had to do was depress this lever on the hammer to fire it. There were only about 2900 of these in service, most used by the Confederacy The thing that is special about the gun is not that your relative had it but was who owned it before him. Do you know who that was?

The cowboy answered in a deep baritone Texas drawl. Wol, Great Grandpa was illiterate, and couldn’t read or write, but his daughter could. She wrote down his life story telling about his life as a confederate soldier and his perilous journey he made home after the war. He told her how he came to get the pistol and ’Ol Baldy..

The pistol in itself is not particularly valuable except for the fact that it belonged to Matt Black. Have you every heard of him? Asked the appraiser.

No, can’t say that I have. Replied the cowboy.

Matt Black is the most famous old west gunfighter of whom most people have never heard. He was also a decorated civil war hero. Matt Black was thought to be the inspiration for such western characters as the Red Ryder, Paladin, Matt Dillon, Ben Cartwright and believe it or not the Lone Ranger. Said the appraiser. The famous gunslinger, John Wesley Hardin said there were only three gunfighters he feared: Wild Bill Hickok, Doc Holiday and Matt Black. He continued telling his story.

Very few of the guns he owned are unaccounted for. He kept most of them and they are now in the hands of the Black family estate. This gun however, was the one he used in the battle of the Orchard Ridge road, where he single handedly shot it out with a squad of Southern Cavalry. The journal kept by your ancestor and a biography of Matt Black both tell in exact detail of how your grandparent happened to receive this gun. Had this been just a LeMat revolver it might be worth a few thousand dollars. However, considering its provenance, and whom it belonged to; to a collector of civil war memorabilia, or western firearms… . I might estimate its value anywhere from sixty to one hundred thousand dollars.

The cowboy snapped his head back in amazement. Wol, this is a family heirloom and it ain’t going nowheres. Can you tell me, why hasn’t anyone heard about Matt Black?

The appraiser replied. Because of Ned Buntline. Matt Black was angry about what he wrote about his wife. He threatened to shoot him if he ever used his name in any of his books. Much of the documented exploits of Matt Black are often attributed to other people, fact or fictional.

Matt Black LeMat pistol: $60-100,000

Muskego

Look Mathias, a hornets nest! shouted an excited Anton Blacklund as he pointed to the paper wasp nest hanging from a tree branch. He and his brother had passed this way dozens of times and never noticed the large dome shaped paper wasp nest. The boys had often walked home this way from school, yet had never seen the paper wasp nest. Today they were returning from fishing for bluegills down in the millpond on the river.

Betcha I can hit it before you do! Anton challenged his older brother. Mathias was the older of the two, just having graduated from 8th grade the past spring. He readily accepted his brother’s challenge and began to chuck stones at the tempting target. Their throws were an object in futility until Mathias reached down on the dirt road and found the perfect rock. It was an egg-sized piece of rose quartz. He picked it up held it up to his left eye; then threw it at the nest with all his might. The rock hit the nest broadside, tearing a gaping hole in the bottom third of the nest. The assault on their hive caused a mass retaliation by the bees. They came pouring out of the nest looking for the perpetrators.

Run Anton! Mathias shouted to his brother as they fled into the woods and down the hillside as the bees fanned out over a larger area seeking the molesters of the home.

As luck would have it, a team of horses and wagon was just turning the bend in the forest road. It was an army wagon loaded with supplies headed for Camp Randall. The wagon was driven by a soldier, with another soldier armed with a musket serving as an armed guard. When the wagon approached the hornet’s nest the angry bees immediately set upon them. They attacked the team, stinging the horses profusely. The injured and frightened horses responded by bolting off the roadside, tipping over the wagon, spilling its contents and the soldiers into the forest. The two shaken soldiers jumped to their feet and ran after the escaping team.

Hurry Will, we gotta catch ’em before they run clean all the way to Watertown! exclaimed the bewildered corporal. The two soldiers scrambled up the hill on to the road and ran after the departed team.

Mathias and Anton had been watching the attack and resulting accident from the cover of the forest. Curiosity drew them to see what was in the wagon.

Look Mathias, guns! Anton said in an astonished voice as he pointed to a box in the upturned wagon. The wagon was loaded with weapons and ordinance bound for the troops at Camp Randall. There were crates labeled RIFLES: 50 CAL. SPRINGFIELD ARMORY, metal tins of percussion caps, boxes of lead bars and bullet molds, and several kegs of black powder. While the two boys stared at the goods and paraphernalia lying about them Mathias noticed an odd shape hiding under a group of ferns. It was the butt of a musket. The guard soldier must have lost it when he was tossed from the wagon. As he gazed at the rifle, an idea came to him.

Anton, help me with this and be quick. Mathias said as he picked up the musket. Grab some tins of caps and follow me. He commanded. Anton did as he was told and followed his brother through the underbrush down to the stream. Mathias waded into the shallow water, and then stashed the gun up under the tree roots of the river embankment.

Hurry up, we need to get some powder before they come back. panted Mathias as they scrambled back up the hill. Mathias quickly scanned the goods lying on the ground and in the wagon. He handled a small keg labeled POWDER: MUSKET to his brother and then took more powder, caps, molds and lead from the wagon.

Here they come, we got to go! Whispered Mathias as they ferreted their contraband down the hill to hide with the rest of the cache of goods. The boys waded into the stream to another overhang on the bank and pushed the kegs up under the vegetation, wedging them securely in the embankment. The boy’s stelthfully retrieved their fishing poles and stringer of bluegills and melted into the forest as if they were the Indians they so often imitated. As they departed the soldiers began the tedious job of unloading the wagon, re-righting and reloading it; unbeknownst of the theft that just had taken place.

Mathias and Anton returned to the Blacklund farm later that afternoon to show their stringer of fish to Papa. He carefully examined the stringer of fish giving them an approving nod. Fishing wasn’t just a recreational activity; it was food gathering. The more food they glean from the land meant more profit they could earn selling food. The boys did not tell their father what they had done that afternoon. They had discussed the matter while they were driving the milk cows home to the barn. They agreed it would be best to tell him later when the circumstances were better. Or maybe it would be best to not tell him at all. Whatever was the plan, the decision would be made for them a few days later. Early one morning an army officer and 4 troopers came riding into the Blacklund homestead.

The officer told Andreas Blacklund of how an army supply wagon had tipped over, and certain military items had been stolen from the wagon while the soldiers were chasing the team. Andreas told them he knew nothing of the incident; however the officer persisted.

Your farm is very close to where this happened, the officer said in an interrogational tone. You should know that stealing government property is punishable by imprisonment in a federal prison!

Andreas Blacklund said nothing and did nothing except bite down hard on the stem of his pipe. The officer speaking to Andreas was obviously a German, and the Norwegians did not like the Germans. Mostly it was because of their arrogance and the fact they felt themselves superior to the Norwegians.

All the while Andreas was talking to the soldiers, Anton and Mathias had been working in the barn. Curiosity drew them to the yard. They began to wonder," Have they come here to arrest us?" The two boys slowly approached the mounted troopers. Mathias recognized the corporal as the one who had been riding on the wagon. He was mounted on a beautiful black mare with a blaze face. All of his life Mathias loved horses. He drew pictures of horses at school. He dreamed of being a wild Indian riding across the plains. He and his brother would ride their large draft horses pretending they were Knights of the Round Table, jousting with each other using willow poles as lances. He couldn’t resist walking up to this beautiful animal and stroking its shoulder.

"Get away Daumkauf!" The corporal shouted at Mathias. He removed his foot from the stirrup and kicked Mathias in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

That will be enough! Shouted Andréas. He ran over to Mathias and helped the startled boy to his feet. I have said we know nothing, that’s all I have to say to you! Go! He stared defiantly at the officer, pointing to the gate at the end of the driveway.

You damn Norse is all alike! Sneered the officer. All you want is to milk your cows, grow your wheat and sit around and gossip like old women. What have you done to help this country? Why don’t you join the army and fight like we Germans do! He paused for a moment then continued, Ya, I think we are better without you!

The officer abruptly wheeled his horse around, galloped through the gate and down the road.

Andreas inspected his son, then turned about and returned to his chores mumbling something in Norwegian that translated as German son-of-a-bitch!

Mathias took Anton aside to tell him of his plan. We’ll go fishing again in a couple of days and tell Papa we were searching for the rifle and powder where the soldiers did not look. I think Papa was so angry at them he will let us keep it!

Anton listened to his bother and nodded his head in wishful agreement. Thursday afternoon the boys returned from fishing with joyful excitement. They were carrying a keg of powder and a musket.

Look what we found Papa, the boys shouted in joyful excitement. Those guys didn’t look in the right place. Can we keep it Papa, can we? They pleaded.

What would you do with a gun? Andreas asked.

Hunt Papa replied Mathias. The hotel pays money for all the game you can bring in. There’s not a lot of meat to be had and the hotel pays for any duck, or prairie chicken or rabbit you have to sell. They told us at school a deer hide was worth a whole dollar! Papa, if we shot enough game we might get enough money to buy one of those fancy grain seeders.

Andreas took the gun from Mathias’s hands and eyed it speculatively. Without speaking he took the gun into the tool shed attached to the barn. He placed the gun into a vice and began to file on the barrel with a series of short strokes. Soon all identification numbers and markings were eradicated. He finished by burnishing it with rotten stone. When he was finished he handed the gun back to Mathias.

Dare, now she belong to nobody! He stated matter of factly. You boys can go hunting, but only after work is done. You bring what you get to me and I’ll sell it for us. The boys both knew their father would keep the money, but the idea of shooting animals was reward enough.

The first attempt at hunting was an object in futility. More often than not they improperly loaded the gun, putting in too much or too little powder. When they did shoot at something they rarely hit it. If they shot a bird like a quail with a 50 caliber bullet, they blew it all to pieces. Their hunting adventure would have died because futility if it hadn’t been for Grandpa Enoch. As a youth, Grandpa had been a mercenary soldier in the Swedish army. He was well versed in the care and maintence of guns and with the fine points of marksmen ship. The first thing he had them do was to disassemble the gun and clean it properly and to see that was done each time they used it. He had them find the horns from a dead cow to make a powder horn that would properly load the correct amount of charge.

The next skill they learned was how to shoot.

Line up the sights, the bead inside the groove, then raise the gun up from below; when the bead touches the target, squeeze the trigger. He instructed. Once you can hit the target from 10 paces, move back to 20, then 40, then 50 until you get gudt!

Do you shoot the same way with a pistol? Asked Mathias.

No. replied Grandpa. He demonstrated by using his cane. With a pistol you come down on the target like dis. Mathias had a reason for asked that question. He had another secret he hadn’t shared with his father. When they went to retrieve the stashed items from the creek, Mathias spied a strange shape lying in the underbrush. It was a horse pistol. The guard had a single shot percussion pistol stuck in his belt. When he was tossed off the wagon, the gun must have been thrown into the underbrush, out of the sight of the soldier. Mathias hastily picked up the pistol and showed it to his brother. The excited pair took turns pointing the pistol at imaginary Indians or pirates they saw hiding between the trees.

We can’t show this to Papa. Mathias said. He might think we are too young to have a pistol. So it was decided to keep the pistol out of their father’s sight, taking it out only for practice.

It didn’t take long for the boys to become excellent marksmen under their Grandfather’s tutelage.

Grandpa looked them sternly in the eye and pointed his finger at each of them.

You must remember to keep a cool head, whether you shoot at a deer, a bird or a man even. Aim careful, shoot true, den you live to be an old man like me. He said in his heavily accented Norwegian.

The two boys soon found it was futile to shoot birds with the large caliber gun. There was virtually nothing left of the bird worth keeping. Again they sought out Grandpa for advice. He told them they needed birdshot for game birds except for maybe large birds like swans or cranes.

We don’t have any bullet molds for making shot. Mathias said.

Grandpa’s reply was from years of expedient knowledge.

We always make our own shot in the old days. All you need it a metal pan and lead, lots and lots of lead. He explained.

The boys knew they must find another supply of lead, because the few bars they had left wouldn’t last long. It was their father that solved problem by suggesting they should go to the old canal. He told them how they used iron ropes attached to lead weights that didn’t rust in the water. They might find some left behind. The next day the boy traveled to a canal and went wading into the leech infected water looking for any abandoned weights. After a morning of fighting mosquitoes and leeches, they finally found four—10 pound bobs of lead. When they returned to Grandpa’s that afternoon he was waiting for them. He had found an old metal pan in which he carefully drilled tiny pinholes. He had already started a charcoal fire in his forge where they placed the melting pot for the lead.

He led the boys to the barn to show them the procedure to make shot.

When the lead is melted, we take up to the loft and we pour it into the pan you put in the yoke up dare. Ya? The lead comes out of the holes in the pan and falls to the ground forming little balls. We catch the shot in the rain barrel below here, and soon we had all the shot you need." Grandpa explained.

Grandpa’s plan work to perfection and soon the boys had a large bag of shot that they used to hunt birds. Every night after milking they would search the woods, fields and ponds for game. The availability of a vast variety of birds and game such as rabbits and squirrels made hunting easy. Each night they would return with quail, prairie chickens, snipe, cranes, and any number type of ducks they found. Sometimes the boys got lucky and found the roosting tree of passenger pigeons. They would stay there for a good portion of the night shooting scores of birds.

Mathias always carried his horse pistol with him. Often times he would use it to shoot jackrabbits that they found in abundance in the grasslands south of their farm. He would flush them from hiding then wait for them to stand on their hind legs looking for a predator. Mathias would take careful aim drilling them through the head. He was steadily becoming a deadly marksman with the pistol.

Upon returning home from each night’s excursion, they placed their quarry in the icehouse until Saturday when they traveled to Milwaukee. They sold their produce to a fancy hotel that prided in its menu of wild game. It soon became apparent the boys had a very lucrative business. Their stack of powder and caps was dwindling. With the war taking up so many resources, powder was a scarce commodity. The proprietor of the dry goods store suggested they see a certain stevedore at the docks, for hard cash he might find some powder and caps the army had left behind. The boys took Grandpa with them because he could speak a little German, and all the dockworkers were Germans. Grandpa found the dockworker in question and after a certain amount of obligatory haggling, the boys replenished their powder and cap supply.

The hunting prowess of the boys was noticed throughout the neighborhood. However, some did not meet it favorably.

Doze darn Blacklund boys, dae shoot ever-ting! Soon dare won’t be any-ting for us! Grumbled some of their neighbors. This did not bother Andreas Blacklund; his boys were bringing in a tidy some of money. More than he made on his sheep or pigs. If things kept going as it had been, they might just make enough to buy that new grain seeder.

Summer was drawing to a close; the grass was growing high and dry in the forest meadow where Anton and Mathias were hunting one afternoon. As they entered the edge of the glen, they saw movement just ahead of them. It was a large whitetail buck, still retaining his velvet covering. Without hesitation, Mathias raised his horse pistol, aimed at the deer’s heart and fired. When the smoke cleared, no trace of the deer could be found.

Awe, ya missed him! Complained a dejected Anton.

No I didn’t. Mathias said with an air of confidence. Let’s look and see.

The boys crossed the glen, then into the woods following a trail of blood to find crumpled body of the buck. Bringing home such a large prize created much excitement on the Blacklund farm.

This is better than a barrel of doves! stated Papa. Be careful when you skin it, his hide is worth a whole dollar. They use them to make gloves for fancy gentleman.

Mathias’s luck would hold as he shot another deer a week later, this time a small doe.

I think we eat this one when threshing crew comes. Papa announced. This was good for Andreas because now he wouldn’t have to slaughter one of his hogs or a veal calf to feed the hungry workers.

Mathias was feeling a little disheartened. He had hoped his father would be more generous in sharing some of the good fortune his hunting had brought the family. He was somewhat reinvigorated when Papa came home from Milwaukee the next week. He approached both boys, and with a broad smile gave them each a silver dollar! Each boy had an idea as to how they would spend their money.

What do you want to do with your money Mathias? asked an inquisitive Anton.

Mathis knew exactly what he would do with his money.

I am going to save up and buy an Indian pony, just like the one Kit Carson has! he said with hopeful enthusiasm. Then I can ride all over Wisconsin, maybe out west even!

Anton nodded his head in agreement, Maybe I’ll do that too. He concurred.

Most all of the Norwegian community around the Blacklunds went to Our Saviors Lutheran Church on Sundays. As with most teenage boys, the Blacklunds were not overly enthusiastic about church attendence. The hour and a half service spoken in Norwegian seemed tedious to the antsy youth. But one thing kept bringing Mathias back each week. That thing was a girl, Karin Amundson. Mathias had been in love with her since they were in the sixth grade. Last year he had stolen a kiss from her behind the school. Tall, golden haired and beautiful, Mathias longed for the day he would marry her. Marry her after he had gone out west to meet Kit Carson and to fight Indians. Each Sunday he would sit on the men’s side of the church where he could sit and look across at her. And sometimes she would look back at him and smile.

This Sunday was the annual fall festival, a time when parishioners would bring in produce, canning, meats and other home made farm wares to sell with the money being donated to the church. After the bazaar, the church held a potluck supper. Mathias and a few friends were standing about, eating candy apples and talking about hunting. All the while this was happening Matthias kept looking for Karin. "Why wasn’t she here? He wondered. "I wish she would come so I could tell her of all the adventures I’ve had this summer." He thought.

He grandiose dreams were dashed a few moments later when he saw Karin arrive in a carriage driven by Carl Herium. Carl was older than either Karin or him. He was twenty-two and had a farm of his own. Tall, skinny, with a big head, weak chin and a pronounced square upper lip, Carl didn’t cut much of a figure of a man. At least not from Mathias’s perspective. Mathias’s heart was aching as he watched her being escorted to the church on his arm. He bided his time until he found the opportunity to catch her alone. He wet his lips and walked up to her and smiled.

Karin, so good to see you. How have you been since school? he said awkwardly.

Quite well. she replied. Leaving the conversation at that. Mathias broke a period of uncomfortable silence; he began to tell his tales of being a meat hunter, and how soon he would have enough money to buy a horse. She interrupted his story with a statement of dismissal.

Oh Mathias, you are such a dreamer! Always with the stories of Kit Carson, or the wild Indians. She said. Look at Carl, he already has a team of horses! He has a farm and a future. You have the dreams of a child! She said as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes halfway.

Mathias was shocked as if he had been dowsed with cold water. Here was the woman he most loved and admired who had just crushed his dreams. Mathias was struggling to think of something he could say to boost his esteem when Carl came walking up.

Hello Mathias. He said. Karin, shall we go?

Mathias thought quickly of something to say so they wouldn’t leave.

Nice looking team you got Carl. He said, gesturing to the team of chestnut driving ponies.

Ya, Hackneys, I bought them in Milwaukee. Cost me a pretty penny I tell you. Let’s go Karin. He said as he held out his arm for her.

She took his arm and they strolled to the carriage. Karin looked back at him and smiled as they left. Was she flirting with him or mocking him? He wasn’t sure. One thing he was sure, Carl Hereum was the wrong man for her. He was too old. Besides he wasn’t good at anything except feeding pigs. He couldn’t climb trees, skip rocks or wrestle worth spit. All he had was a team of fancy driving horses.

Matthias walked home from church that afternoon, kicking clods of dirt while he mulled over his possibilities and his possible course of action. When he walked to the barn for milking that night he approached his father.

Papa, I want a bigger share of the profits we get from hunting.

Andreas was seated on his milking stool busily filling the pail from his brindle cow. He turned his head to Mathias and spoke.

You get enough now. Get busy with milking! He said tersely.

But Papa, I… He was abruptly cut off by his father’s stern warning.

You get enough, now go milk or I give you not-ting. Papa answered with finality.

The next afternoon Andreas came into the barn to find Mathias spreading straw on the cow stalls.

Mathias, why aren’t you out hunting? He asked.

If I’m not getting paid, I won’t go. He defiantly stated.

Well then, Anton can go by himself! His father answered in a similar tone. Anton went hunting that afternoon, however without the aid of his brother; he returned empty handed. A fact that did not go unnoticed by his father. That night while they were milking Andreas asked his son, Mathias, why do think you need more money?

I want to buy a team. Mathias replied.

Andreas smiled when he heard the answer. At last his son was thinking like a man and not the dreamer boy. If Mathias bought a team, then they could plow more ground to grow wheat. The Union army needed more and more food, causing the price of wheat to soar. This could mean more profit for the family. Little did he know what was Mathias’s definition of a team!

He smiled at his son and said. It’s good what you want. You shall have your team.

Mathias set out hunting the next day with renewed fever. Soon Karin would have a second choice, a better choice.

Olaf

Mathias was in a particularly foul mood when he returned from hunting one November evening. Game was getting scarce; today he shot only one Canada goose. To add to his misery he had to wade into the waist deep water of a slough to retrieve it. Matthias leaned his gun against the corner of the porch entryway and proceeded into the kitchen. Andreas’s voice beckoned him into the parlor.

Mathias come here, there is someone I want you to meet.

Mathias walked into the parlor to encounter one of the biggest men he had ever seen. The man was at least six foot four inches tall, with broad muscular shoulders developed from years of rowing a boat. His head was covered by shoulder length sandy blond hair he kept in place with a leather cord. His broad face, high cheekbones, Roman nose, ivory teeth and heavy jaw gave him a rugged handsomeness an indication of his Viking heritage. He was dressed in a red and black voyager shirt and curiously, brown buckskin pants. When Mathias walked up to meet him he stood up and extended a hand as big as a bear’s paw.

Mathias, this is your uncle, Olaf Byrrud; he has come to visit with us for awhile. Papa said.

Olaf Byrrud was the legionary character in Byrrud family chronicles.

He was Mathias’ mother’s youngest brother, the son of Inger and Enoch Byrrud. He had always led a colorful and adventurous life; North Atlantic fisherman, ship builder, Maine lumber jack, Great lakes sailor, and now a fisherman and trapper on the shores of Lake Superior.

So how did you fair today? Asked Papa.

Just one goose. Replied Mathias.

Good! Said Papa. We’ll have him for dinner tomorrow.

This did not set well with Mathias; he knew what his father was thinking. If they ate the wild goose, he would not have to delve into his own flock. Of course this cut into Mathias’s profit, a profit that was steadily dwindling as winter due close.

The next day the members of the family who were not in school sat at the Blacklund’a table for a traditional Norwegian dinner of roast goose, potatoes, parsnips, and risengrot, a rice pudding with raisons.

Uncle Olaf charmed the groups with his tales of fishing and trapping on the Great Lake, living with the Indians and surviving the harsh climate.

Olaf turned to Mathias and said: They tell me you are quite a hunter. How successful have you been? He queried. Matthias told of how he an Anton had harvested many barrels of small game and also about the deer he shot.

Olaf seemed dutifully impressed, and he made an offer to Mathias.

How would you like to come live with me this winter and help me run my trappline? He asked in between bites of parsnip.

Mathias was shocked, he had never thought of such a thing. His first question for Olaf was: How much money will I make?

Ha! It’s money you think of, not the adventure? Exclaimed Olaf as he leaned back against his chair. Well I tell you, we share and share alike. If you trap well, you could make fifty to sixty dollars by spring, providing game is plentiful.

Well I guess it’s up to Papa. Mathias responded with a tone of hopeful resignation.

Andreas thought for a while, mulling the offer over in his mind. He was apprehensive about turning his oldest son over to a man with such a dubious reputation as Olaf. However, the thought of Matthias earning enough money to buy a team was too much of a temptation. If Mathias could earn that much money, he could buy a team, just in time for spring planting season.

Ya, it would be good for Mathias to see some other place than Muskego. He can go, but he must be home he planting time. Andreas stated affirmatively.

Olaf slapped his hand on the table. Good it’s settled then! I will be in Duluth on December 5th. Be there early or I will leave without you.

What should I bring with me? Mathias asked.

Warm clothes, lots of warm clothes and boots. Olaf replied.

Matthias boarded the train in Milwaukee early Thursday morning. The trip to Duluth would take him all day and through the night with several stops for fuel and water. The trip to Duluth was tedious, slow and dirty. The weather was turning colder and colder as the train approached the shoreline of Lake Superior. The pot bellied stove used to heat the passenger car proved to be wholly inadequate. Mathias and a few of the other passengers discovered they needed to walk about just to keep their circulation going and elevate their body heat. When he arrived at the station in Duluth he found Uncle Olaf waiting for him on the loading dock. His blond hair was braided into two braids giving more of the look of a Viking. He was wearing a pullover fur coat with an attached hood, the like Mathias had never seen before. He glanced at Mathias’s canvas bag and asked; Got everything? Mathias nodded and off they headed to the water front dock.

When they got to the dock, they found Olaf’s 13-foot skiff. It was an exact copy of the ones used by the Vikings century’s ago. Mathias looked the boat and then to the waves breaking into shore.

We’re not going out in that are we? He asked with a tone of concern.

If we don’t we walk and that is a long ways. Olaf laughed. Grab the oars and I’ll shove off he said as he shoved the boat into the angry lake. They grabbed the oars and set out rowing out into the lake. The cold grey water splashed on Mathias sending shivers throughout his body. Having never rowed a real boat before Mathias, found himself getting tired.

Don’t give up Mathias. Cautioned Olaf. If this boat gets swamped, we both drown. The water is too cold, you freeze to death before you ever get to shore! He laughed.

Mathias got a second wind and soon learned to keep pace with the steady pace Olaf set. Olaf pointed to a rocky beach and said: We go here for the night, waves are too large now. They drove the boat out of the water and Olaf said: Help me take the boat up to the shoreline. If we leave it in the water it will be kindling by tomorrow. They carried the boat up to the snowline turning its bottom to the lake.

Here. Said Olaf as he handed a short broad head ax to Mathias. Go cut some spruce or balsam boughs, lots and lots of boughs. Then gather as much maple leaves as you can find. Mathias did as he was told and laid the boughs and leaves behind the boat windbreak. Olaf had made a fire and handed Mathias a stick with a piece of meat on it for roasting.

What kind of meat is this? Asked Mathias.

Beaver, it will give you energy for tomorrow. Olaf said with a grin. Whatever it was, Mathias didn’t care. He had eaten little on the train ride and was thoroughly famished.

Here, drink. He said as he threw a leather water skin to Mathias. The dehydrated Mathias took several gulps of the excessively sweet liquid.

What is this? He asked.

Mead, it’s made from honey, it will give you energy and make you sleep well. Olaf answered.

Olaf was right; as soon as his head hit the sleeping furs he fell sound asleep until next morning when Olaf slapped him on the rear.

After inspecting the waves, Olaf suggested they hold off a bit before they started to travel. They hunkered down behind the boat to eat breakfast.

Here, said Olaf as he handed Mathias a piece of soft flat bread.

What is this, Lefsa? Asked Mathias.

Fry bread, the Indians make it, replied Olaf. Out here we eat like the wolf. Something light in the morning to take the curse off; then one large meal we eat when the work is done at night. This was vastly different from what Mathias was used to, three large meals at morning, noon and night. He wondered how he could function.

A short while later Olaf looked at the water; it had calmed down with only small waves rolling to the beach.

We go now before the lake changes her mind. Olaf command. Soon they where rowing around the point of land and down into a sheltered bay.

See there, He said as he pointed to the distance islands. The French named them the Apostle Islands after the 12 Apostles. The Indians called them Spirit Islands; that’s where they believe the spirits of little children go. I think I like the Indian version the best.

Olaf guided the boat to a beach covered by small brown, rounded stones. What Mathias saw must have been what greeted the Viking fisherman who ventured home centuries ago. Olaf’s small hamlet had a log post rack for his skiff to the left, behind it were several fish drying racks. To the right of the pathway a three sided lean-to faced south. Insulated by 2 feet of moss; it served as Olaf’s wood working area. To the left of it was a birch wicker fence where he had fur pelts stretching and drying. As Matthias was helping Olaf drag the boat up on to the beach he was stopped dead in his tracks by a hideous figure. Olaf had carved a grotesque looking 3-foot troll from a pine log.

That’s Loki. He chuckled. He scares away evil spirits and pilfering Indians.

A perfectly manicured pebbled walkway led to up to the hillside to a scaled down model of a Viking longhouse. Unlike the log building’s common to most of the country, Norse cabins were made of vertical logs. Each log was piled into the ground and each end was wedged together by dovetailed joints. Chinking between the gaps made the building windproof and cozy. The two gables at each end were notched cross planks with each board ending in a carved dragon’s head. Olaf had finished the roof by laying thick layers of willow thatch and moss to make it snow proof and warm. As the pair walked up the path to the entryway Mathias noticed there were no windows or doors. What appeared to be the entry was a carved doorframe of ornate Norse decorations.

Where’s the door? Asked Mathias.

There. Olaf replied as he pointed to a hide covered three foot opening at ground level. That keeps the cold wind out and just like in the old days, if an invader tries to enter your house, you chop his head off. Olaf laughed.

They were half way up the path when a strange looking dog appeared from behind the house. The dog was gray and white with small pointed ears that gave it a wolf like appearance. The dog gave a bark of recognition and ran to Olaf. She ran to Olaf and cowered at his feet, joyfully licking his boots.

Good girl Freya. Olaf said as he reached down and stroked her head. The pair continued up the hill to the house with Freya jumping at Olaf’s side in playful excitement. Olaf led the way as they crawled through the opening in the long house. After Matthias eyes adjusted to the darkness he gazed about at the Spartan dwelling. There were two raised platform beds on each side of the longhouse. Each bed had a thick layer of rice straw covered by a sheepskin. The beds had some gray wool trade blankets and what appeared to be wolf skins for coverings. The end of the house had several wooden barrels with who knows what stored in them. In the center of the house between the beds was a hollow bowl shaped fire pit lined with rock. Smoke from the fire left through to a smoke hole in the roof, the only visible opening in the building. The house was littered with a variety of animal skins that where being stretched or were stacked for packaging. The skins gave the house a musky and pungent odor. Matthias looked about the house from top to bottom, stamping his toe on the floor that was covered by large flat pieces of rock.

That’s brownstone, he said. The same rock they mine and send to New York to make buildings.

Why the pegs in the wall? Asked Mathias. Pointing to random pegs in each side of the building.

Peep holes. he explained. He pulled one out of the socket to reveal the light pouring in. I use these to see if something is outside.

What if you need to escape, there is only one door? asked Mathias in a concerned tone.

Every fox den has an escape hole. Replied Olaf. He walked to the end of the house, lifted up a wooden bar that held a square window in place. The opening revealed a dark tunnel.

This tunnel goes under the wood pile and out to a brush pile in the back. If someone thinks they can sneak up on me, I will climb out and sneak up on them. Olaf chuckled.

Matthias thought to himself: "I bet he has already used this tunnel before".

Put your gear in the bunk over dare. he said. I get supper, tonight we eat like kings! Olaf started a fire from the remnants of some smoldering embers. Soon the house was warm and cozy. Matthias sat on a wing armchair that had been carved from the end a single log. As he gazed at the intricate carving of the chair Olaf spoke.

Sometimes in the winter I find things to do. I like wood; I like to carve so I make things, like these chairs.

What else have you made? Inquired Matthias.

Some day I show you, was the curt response. Come eat now.

Olaf laid the food out on platters on his small wooden table. He presented a large smoked lake trout, a loaf of sourdough bread he had been cooking in a Dutch oven and a small keg of Mead. He cut a large slice of bread for each of them and then cut a large slice of onion to place on it.

You don’t like onion Mathias? he asked.

Not on my bread. Do you have any butter? Mathias asked.

No butter, try this. Olaf reached out and took a large earthen crock from the shelf. He ladled a thick, dark viscous substance on his bread.

What is this? Asked Mathias as he wrinkled his nose at the strange liquid.

Blueberries, try, you like. Olaf reassured.

Mathias gingerly tried the tart material. It was one of the best foods he had ever eaten!

Olaf observed the expression of delight. See, I told you. Have some mead, it will keep you well. Mead is made from honey. Did you know that there were no bees in North America until the Norwegians brought them? Well that’s what they tell me. He said with a grin.

After supper Mathias stowed his gear in his bunk. Olaf noticed the horse pistol he brought.

That pistol won’t be much use up here. He said. I’ll let you use one of my rifles. Olaf reached behind his bunk and produced 2 rifles; a 50 caliber Hawken and a 40-caliber Pennsylvania rifle. He held out the Pennsylvania rifle to Mathias.

These are flintlocks. Mathias said in a somewhat dismissive tone.

Ya, flintlocks are best out here in the wilderness. You never have to worry about running out of caps or losing them. You can always find flint here. With flintlocks you can start a fire. I don’t even use lead. He said.

What do you use then? Asked Mathias.

Copper. Answered Olaf, It’s all over around here, you just have to know where to look.

He produced an odd shaped bullet in the form of an hourglass.

I make these bullets; they kill hard. He said in a voice of firm confidence.

Good, now let’s get some sleep, tomorrow we learn how to trap. said Olaf. One other thing, Mathias is not a name for the woods; I call you Matt.

The Bearcat

The sun was just rising over Lake Superior when Olaf and Matt ventured out for breakfast. The trudged through the crisp air up to Olaf’s three-sided lean to. The house harbored a fire pit, a large pine worktable, 2 large split log benches and a vast assortment of tools and containers hanging from the wall. Olaf started a fire in his rock lined fire pit then set up a metal tripod stand. He strung a hammered round bottom copper pot from a chain and filled the pot with fresh snow. After the pot was boiling He tossed in a large handful of what Matt thought was barley from a birch bucket.

What is that? Inquired Matt of the strange grain.

Indian rice. It grows in the shallows of the local lakes. You have to harvest it in a canoe. Olaf responded. Olaf cut up some potato for thickening and a little bacon for flavoring. After boiling the porridge for an acceptable time, Olaf ladled a generous portion into Matt’s wooden bowl. Matt’s was surprised how delicious the nut-like cereal tasted.

This is good! He said to Olaf.

Ya, it will stick to your ribs. Said Olaf. You’ll need it after a long day of running the trap line.

They finished their meal, and then washed out their bowls with snow. Olaf took Matt to the trap shed where they gathered the traps and other paraphernalia they would need.

Here, put these on. Olaf instructed. The strange devices Olaf held looked like paddles except they where made of bent split willow bows bound together with cross threading of leather.

These are snowshoes. Olaf explained. Without these you could go nowheres.

Olaf showed Matt how to bind them and the proper technique to shuffle across the top of the snow. Matt took a brisk jaunt through the deep snow only to find the things that appear simple, often are not. Twice he lost his balance and fell over, each time re-righting him self with a great deal of difficulty.

A somewhat frustrated Olaf handed him two willow poles.

Here, use these until you’re are sure of yourself. He said as he handed the sticks to Matt. Put on your backpack and we be off.

Aren’t we going to take any guns with us? asked a concerned Matt.

Guns weigh too much, besides we don’t need guns. Olaf brusquely replied.

What about bears? Asked Matt?

Bears hibernate now, was Olaf’s terse reply.

How about the wolves? Matt asked.

Wolves are more afraid of you than you are of them. They see you, you not see them. Olaf said as he set a brisk pace through the timber.

How about the Indians? Asked Matt, recalling the stories about Indians he had read in his Kit Carson books.

The Indians have their territory, I have mine. We don’t often see each other. Olaf said as he stopped for a moment. See here, this is the only thing a true woodsman should never be without. He pulled an odd looking ax from his belt. It had a short handle attached to a head that had a hammer on one side and a long narrow bladed axe on the other.

This is all a man needs to survive in the woods! Olaf said. You can start a fire, build a shelter, get food, all just with this axe.

He handed it to Matt.

Here, never lose this; it could save your life someday.

Matt inspected the blade almost reverently, pushed it into his belt then tried to run to catch up to the giant steps of his uncle.

As they walked through the woods, Olaf gave him a short course in woodsman ship. He told him how to always have a reference point, a tall tree or rock point so as not to get lost. To find north look for moss on a tree that grows on the north side of a tree. Spruce tree branches grow longer and thicker on the south side of a tree. Matt soon found that walking through the snow on snowshoes was exhausting and he was huffing and puffing just trying to stay in step with the giant strides of Uncle Olaf. Olaf explained the different types of traps and snares they would use. Deadman, jump trap, cannibell traps, spring snares, loop snares and dead falls all have different purposes for different animals.

I trap anything with fur that has value. Each animal requires special trap, a special bait and you have to know where to find them." Olaf explained.

"What will we be trapping? Matt asked.

Everything. Beaver, otter, lynx, mink, martin, sable, ermine, fox, rabbit even, those we eat mostly. Olaf replied. We visit beaver traps last so I don’t have to carry the heavy carcass too far."

What about wolves, do we trap wolves? Matt asked.

No, too smart, it’s a waste of time. was his Uncle’s matter of fact answer.

Olaf advised Matt to use caution when approaching the traps. If you don’t see game in the trap, pass by and got to the next trap. The first trap to have game in it was an ermine snare. They re-baited and set the snare, placing the snow-white animal in the pack and went on. The animal they found next was a mink. They reset the trap and moved on. When they approached a large spruce tree, Olaf held up his hand signaling for Matt to stop. He pulled his hatchet out of his belt and grabbed one of Matt’s walking sticks from his hand. Matt heard a growl that sounded like and angry tomcat coming from beneath the tree. A very large cat he thought. Suddenly, a lynx with one leg in a trap lunged at Olaf from under the tree. Olaf parried the lynx’s paw with the pole and dispatched it with one powerful swing of the axe to its head. Matt was caught totally by surprise by the quickness of the attack, He would not admit it to Olaf, but the hair on the back of his head was standing on end and his body was flushed with adrenalin.

This is why we don’t use guns; they would ruin this beautiful pelt. Olaf explained as he stroked the thick buff colored pelt of the lynx. No use to reset the trap, there will only be one lynx in the area this winter. He added.

They took the trap and the heavy carcass and moved on. With Matt to help him, Olaf was expanding his trap line. They had only one stop left. They came upon a wooden stick cage up on the branch of a pine tree.

How are you my little friend? asked Olaf as he peered at the tiny red pine squirrel in the cage. Olaf reached into a pouch he was carrying and poked some fresh pinecones into the cage.

I use the little fella as bait for martins and fishers. He said. Some of the squirrels chew out of the cage and escape, but some like this fella likes the food I bring him and I think he likes the mead. Olaf poured a dilute mixture of water and mead into a brown crockery tube with a lip at the bottom.

They like mead; it reminds them of spring tree sap! Olaf laughed. Olaf smiled as he watched his little bait friend lapped up the mead. They then moved on to check the beaver traps down along the river before heading for home.

Night was falling as they returned home. They locked their pelts in the shed until tomorrow. That night made Olaf made them a meal of boiled fish and turnips; and as always with mead to wash it down.

Mead gives you energy and keeps you healthy. Olaf reminded.

After they had eaten Olaf took a block of wood off the shelf and began to whittle on it with a small curve bladed knife.

I do this for no reason, just fun. Olaf said as he stealth fully sliced a small chip and threw it into the fire. He handled a whittling knife and a block of wood to Matt.

Here, you try. He said.

"What should I carve? Matt inquired.

Whatever you like, I do things I see. Olaf replied, and then gestured to a shelf along the wall. The shelf displayed many of the carvings he had done through the years. There were carvings of the animals he trapped: otter, fox, lynx, and beaver. Other animals such as bears, wolves, a large deer-like animal as well as many ducks and other shore birds adorned the shelf. His eyes were drawn to some larger carvings on the top self. There was a replica of a fishing boat; a detailed model of what Matt reasoned must be a Viking ship, and a lifelike carving of a beautiful Indian woman.

Olaf gave Matt a chunk of wood and said: This is basswood, best there is for carving. What you think you want to carve? He asked

Matt looked at the wood introspectively, to see if any form would jump out at him. He replied: A horse I think.

Olaf made a facial expression of agreement then said, A busy project. Good!

What are you carving Olaf? Matt asked.

Olaf pointed to the partially finished figure. This is Leif the Lucky. You ever hear about him? Some say he discovered North America before Columbus.

Matt shook his head no, to indicate he had not heard of him.

Well, let me tell you. Olaf gleefully responded.

For the next few nights they would carve together. Each night Olaf would tell a story of a famous Norse hero. His recurrent question always was: You never heard of him? Matt listened intently to Olaf’s stories, visualizing the adventures of the ancient warriors. Olaf asked if Matt had heard the sagas of the Norse gods like Odin and Thor. Again Matt answered that he had not.

Your Grandpa never tell you? Olaf asked in disbelief.

Again Matt replied he had not. "Maybe Grandpa thought the old stories should be left in the old country." Olaf reasoned.

As Matt would listen to the stories he was doggedly working on his horse carving. So far, most of the proto types ended up being tossed in the fire due to misstep that caused a tail to break off, or the legs being twice as long as the horse was tall. With a little encouragement and a few carving tips, Matt finished what was a respectable replication.

Olaf inspected the finished product, adding a few detailed cuts for smoothness and accentuation.

Good! He said. Then he placed the finished product up on the shelf for display.

What will you make next? He inquired.

I think I’ll make a team of horses, then the carriage. Matt replied with eager optimism. The next day a powerful blizzard blew in from the north, preventing him from attending to the trap lines. The storm howled and blustered, blowing snow in through the smoke hole to land on the hissing fire. Olaf and Matt hunkered down in the house, drinking mead and carving. Olaf broke the silence when he answered Matt’s question about his life. The mead had loosened the normally tight-lipped Olaf.

I was born in Norway. he began, I was a fisherman from the very beginning. I fished the fjords with Uncle Thorvald, then went out to sea when I was about the same age as you. One fall, a terrible storm came up, and the fishing boat with my two older brothers, Harold and Martin was sunk. They were both drown. Papa was so grief stricken he said I could longer go to sea; so I apprenticed as a carpenter. My oldest brother Nels wrote Papa from America. He told of what a great country this was and how he was earning big wages as a lumberjack in a place called Maine. Papa saw only hardship and death in the old country so we sailed for America. Olaf paused for a while, took another drink and continued.

On the trip over your mother met your father, and kept close contact after they settled. Andreas was not meant to be a fisherman or a lumber jack. When he heard of the cheap farmland in Wisconsin at the Norwegian community of Muskego; he left. "After he