It couldn’t have been a fox or a wolf since those beasts didn’t climb trees. Jonas Petter thought perhaps their night visitor had been an ape or large wildcat: the animal was long but short legged, and moved as quickly as a monkey.
Fina-Kajsa had her own opinion: “You say he was hairy? Then it must have been Satan himself. He must have tried to fetch you when you were awake alone!”
“If that was the devil, then I’m not afraid of him any longer,” retorted Jonas Petter. “If he is so badly off that he must snoop about nights and try to steal our poor fare, he must be near his end.”
But Fina-Kajsa knew that the devil was afraid of fire only, and if the brand hadn’t been thrown after him, Jonas Petter would have been missing for sure when they awoke.
“Did you hear the screech hoppers?” Ulrika asked. “I thought at first it must be ghosts or goblins. I couldn’t see a sign of them.”
All had heard the continuous screeching noise, but no one had seen the animal producing it. Kristina said that crickets and grasshoppers were, of course, also different in North America — perhaps they were invisible here.
Their walk was continued, but today the immigrants moved at a slower pace than yesterday, their legs weren’t so limber. Karl Oskar was footsore from his heavy boots, and his left leg gave him trouble intermittently. Johan, riding on his shoulders, grew heavier and heavier and he tried to persuade the boy to walk on his own legs. But after a few steps he wanted to ride on his father’s back again: “You carried me before, Father.”
“But don’t you understand, dear child, your father is worn out,” said Kristina.
“He wasn’t worn out before. . ”
Arvid had a strong back and could carry more than his allotted burden — he relieved Karl Oskar and carried the boy now and again. Karl Oskar was more heavily laden than the others, and Kristina felt sorry for him; she could hear him puff and pant as their trail led uphill, and she knew that his left leg wasn’t quite well yet. He didn’t complain, not one single word, but she wondered where his thoughts might be: Hadn’t their troubles and inconveniences been greater than he had anticipated when deciding to emigrate? Here he lumbered along like a beast of burden — had he ever expected to haul his children on his back miles and miles through wilderness in America? She was sure he hadn’t. Yet he would never admit this, he would never admit anything was more difficult than he had thought it would be.
“It’s too much for you to carry two children,” she said.
“You also carry two,” he reminded her.
They kept up their walk during the morning hours when the weather was cool, rested for a while during the noon heat, and continued in the afternoon as the sun grew lower. During the second day they did not meet a single person, either red or white. This did not surprise them. The forests were vast, yet sparsely settled. But as long as they were able to manage by themselves, they were just as pleased to find the forest empty of people — strangers weren’t always trustworthy.
The ridge with the trail wound its way through ravines and clefts in the rocks. The terrain was hilly, the soil poor, and for long distances the ground was bare, with no signs of the trail. Then they walked where the going was easiest and kept close to the river that was to show them the way to Taylors Falls.
The second night they made camp in a cleavage of the ridge. This night no furry animals came to sniff their food boxes, and they were disturbed by no living creature except the mosquitoes.
They had been told they would arrive about evening of the third day. During the afternoon they began to look for the village in the forest where Anders Månsson, Fina-Kajsa’s son, had his home. As yet they had seen no sign of human habitation, no sign of people.
According to her son’s letters, insisted Fina-Kajsa, his home was situated near a river with great cliffs along its shores and many falls and rapids. One place was called The Devil’s Kettle because it was the entrance to Hell. Now they could see how steep the cliffs were along the shore of the St. Croix River. All stopped to look at the rapid current as it came rushing along down the cliffs with a terrific roar. This could well be the region Anders Månsson had described in his letters. But there wasn’t the slightest sign of people living near by.
They walked on a little farther, and Fina-Kajsa was now sure they had lost their way. A farm like the one he had described could not possibly be located in this region — her son couldn’t live near here. She suspected that the little Norwegian who directed their way from Stillwater had been false and unreliable: he had undoubtedly led them astray on purpose. By now the old woman was completely exhausted, dragging her feet, stumbling and falling into holes in the trail, she had to be helped up several times.
“Oh my, oh me! We’ll never get there! Oh my, oh me!” said Fina-Kajsa.
They had only a few hours until darkness would fall and their third day would come to an end. They must again prepare to sleep in the open. And their food was running low, they would hardly have enough for the evening meal. They had eaten a lot of berries during their walk, but berries did not satisfy hunger.
The men were talking about what to do, and all walked with slower, wearier steps as the sun sank lower. Should they make camp or go a little farther? Then they came into an opening in the forest and suddenly discovered a clearing where every pine had been cut down. They stopped short in surprise.
“These trees were only recently cut down!” Karl Oskar exclaimed.
The stumps were new, and branches and logs were strewn about. The stumps were three feet high — yes, those lazy bastards had stood straight backed while felling the trees.
“And there they have left the ax,” said Arvid, and pointed to a tall stump. Karl Oskar quickly stepped up to the ax and loosened it, not only because he wanted to inspect an American tool but for a much more important reason: If a pregnant woman let her eyes fall on an ax stuck in a stump or chopping block, then her child would be born with a harelip, and this was an incurable defect. Karl Oskar hoped that Kristina had not noticed the broad-bladed ax.
Jonas Petter, who was a bit ahead of them, now called out in great happiness: “Folks live back there!”
A few gunshots to the left of their trail, the clearing ended in a green meadow where a cabin could be seen against a stand of leaf trees.
It took only a few minutes to reach the newly built shake-roofed log cabin. A small field near by had growing crops, and two cows grazed in the meadow, fine, fat animals with full udders.
This was a settler’s farm, here they could buy milk; cows with such splendid udders must give many gallons at each milking. They all sat down in the grass outside the cabin, and Karl Oskar brought out his stoup from the knapsack; then he went up to the door and knocked.
A middle-aged, scrawny woman with heavy men’s boots on her feet opened the door. She looked curiously at the group outside. There was fear in her eyes as she turned them on Karl Oskar. Seeing her look of fright, he remembered what Kristina had said about his unkempt beard and hair. Not wishing to be mistaken for a robber he tried to look as friendly as possible and greeted her pleasantly in Swedish. The few English words he had learned he could never remember at such a time, but he talked with his hands and held out his stoup, then he moved it to his lips as if drinking. He tried in this way to tell her that he wanted to buy milk. The woman in the doorway said something incomprehensible and then she just stared at him. He opened his mouth still wider and acted as if gulping gallons from his vessel, at the same time pointing to the cows — the woman must understand what he wanted.