t those on the side toward
Sellanraa, to have the shortest way to cart his timber up to the
sawmill.

And so one morning he gives the beasts an extra feed, to last them
till the evening, shuts all doors behind him, and goes out felling
trees. Besides his ax and a basket of food, he carried a rake to clear
the snow away. The weather was mild, there had been a heavy snowstorm
the day before, but now it had stopped. He follows the telegraph line
all the way to the spot, then pulls off his jacket and falls to work.
As the trees are felled, he strips off the branches, leaving the clean
trunks, and piles up the small wood in heaps.

Brede Olsen comes by on his way up--trouble on the line, no doubt,
after yesterday's storm. Or maybe Brede was out on no particular
errand, but simply from pure zeal--ho, he was mighty keen on his duty
of late, was Brede! The two men did not speak, did not so much as lift
a hand in greeting.

The weather is changing again, the wind is getting up. Axel marks it,
but goes on with his work. It is long past noon, and he has not yet
eaten. Then, felling a big fir, he manages to get in the way of its
fall, and is thrown to the ground. He hardly knew how it happened--but
there it was. A big fir swaying from the root: a man will have it fall
one way, the storm says another--and the storm it is that wins. He
might have got clear after all, but the lie of the ground was hidden
by snow. Axel made a false step, lost his footing, and came down in a
cleft of rock, astride of a boulder, pinned down by the weight of a
tree.

Well, and what then? He might still have got clear, but, as it
chanced, he had fallen awkwardly as could be--no bones broken, as far
as he could tell, but twisted somehow, and unable to drag himself out.
After a while he gets one hand free, supporting himself on the other,
but the ax is beyond his reach. He looks round, takes thought, as any
other beast in a trap would do; looks round and takes thought and
tries to work his way out from under the tree. Brede must be coming by
on his way down before long, he thinks to himself, and gives himself a
breathing-space.

He does not let it trouble him much at first, it was only annoying to
lose time at his work; there is no thought in his mind of being in
danger, let alone in peril of his life. True, he can feel the hand
that supports him growing numbed and dead, his foot in the cleft
growing cold and helpless too; but no matter, Brede must be