lest thing, although a hundred leagues
away, cannot be hidden from him.

To Heimdal, then, the heralds hastened, bearing the words which Odin
had spoken, and the watchful warder of the mid-world came at once to
the call of the All-Father.

"Turn your eyes to the sombre mountains that guard the shadowy Mist
Land from the sea," said Odin. "Now look far down into the rocky gorge
in which the Fanander Cataract pours, and tell me what you see."

Heimdal did as he was bidden.

"I see a shape," said he, "sitting by the torrent's side. It is Loki's
shape, and he seems strangely busy with strong strings and cords."

"Call all our folk together!" commanded Odin. "The wily Mischief-maker
plots our hurt. He must be driven from his hiding place, and put where
he can do no further harm."

Great stir was there then in Asgard. Every one hastened to answer
Odin's call, and to join in the quest for the Mischief-maker. Thor
came on foot, with his hammer tightly grasped in his hands, and
lightning flashing from beneath his red brows. Tyr, the one-handed,
came with his sword. Then followed Bragi the Wise, with his harp and
his sage counsels; then Hermod the Nimble, with his quick wit and ready
hands; and lastly, a great company of elves and wood-sprites and
trolls. Then a whirlwind caught them up in its swirling arms, and
carried them through the air, over the hilltops and the countryside,
and the meadows and the mountains, and set them down in the gorge of
the Fanander Force.

But Loki was not caught napping. His wakeful ears had heard the tumult
in the air, and he guessed who it was that was coming. He threw the
net, which he had just finished, into the fire, and jumped quickly into
the swift torrent, where, changing himself into a salmon, he lay hidden
beneath the foaming water.

When the eager Asa-folk reached Loki's dwelling, they found that he
whom they sought had fled; and although they searched high and low,
among the rocks and the caves and the snowy crags, they could see no
signs of the cunning fugitive. Then they went back to his house again
to consult what next to do. And, while standing by the hearth, Kwaser,
a sharp-sighted elf, whose eyes were quicker than the sunbeam, saw the
white ashes of the burned net lying undisturbed in the still hot
embers, the woven meshes unbroken and whole.

"See what the cunning fellow has been making!" cried the elf. "It must
have been a trap for catching fish."

"Or ra