Ah, woe to Riga in the chimney! two quiet figures suddenly came straight to the pole, and one began to mount. To mount? Yes; and seeing Riga, to seize him by the foot and sternly bid him be silent and go out.
In spite of his sturdy saintship, the surprised Riga was frightened to death by the knife in Svorovitch’s hand; and not daring to disobey, he tremblingly did as he was told.
He was speedily followed by Lopka and Svorovitch. Holding him well, and forcing him to assist them, the youths fastened to a sled three of the best and fleetest deer of the herd, which Riga very well knew did not belong to them. That done, they paid no attention to his entreaties, but taking him with them in the sled, the long, steady pace of the deer soon left their home behind them.
Riga now began to cry and beg them to spare his life. “You are going to cut my throat and bury me in the toondra,” he said. “You had better not, or I will do you some harm as soon as I am a saint.”
Svorovitch burst into a loud laugh. “Cut your throat!” he said; “child, the tempest and the cold may kill you, but we shan’t. No, you might be safe this minute if we could have trusted you to go back and be quiet. But we know you would have waked the whole tribe to ask questions of what we were about, and they would have followed us.”
From what Lopka and Svorovitch spoke of after this, Riga learned they were bound on a journey to some distant point and were racing to reach it against the storm. Further than that he learned nothing, for he was too sleepy now to be inquisitive and, carefully sheltered by his companions, he soon lost all consciousness of even his own fat little person.
An Arctic winter storm on the great toondra—do you know what that means? Fancy three of the worst snow-storms that ever you have seen, taking place at one and the same time, the fierce, icy bitter wind roaring and sweeping with terrible force across an endless plain, the air blinding, sight impossible, and you will know why Lopka and Svorovitch, and even Riga, gazed often and anxiously at the clouds throughout the following day. With eyes and ears always on the alert, and well on the alert at that, our little saint thought he heard now and then strange sounds of great distant winds nearing them, and at last he began to discover, as he peered upwards, the thick look in the air that tells that snow is on the way.
“The wind is rising,” said Riga. “You ought to take me home;” but though he wished to cry, he kept his tears back bravely. Suddenly he cried out, “The storm!”