“Have you a good breed of cattle here?”
“Not particularly. We get all ours from Fyrrisdal, four Norsk miles to the east of this. The best ‘qvaeg-răcĕ’ in all Norway is to be found there.”
“I see all your horses are stallions. They must be very troublesome. I drove two or three marked with severe bites.”
“That may be; but the bonders here, most of whom have only one horse, find them answer their purpose best. The stallion is never off his feed, even after the hardest work, and will eat anything. Besides which, he is much more enduring, and can manage to drive off a wolf, provided he is not hobbled.”
“Are there many bears about this summer?”
“Yes, indeed. A man called Herjus, of Hyllestad, which you will pass, has been some weeks in our doctor’s hands from wounds received from a bear. He and another were in the forest, when they fell in with a young bear, which immediately climbed up a tree. The other man went to cut a stick, while Herjus threw stones at the cub. Suddenly he hears a terrific growl, and at the same moment receives a tremendous blow on the head. It was the female bear, who, like all female bears in a passion, had walked up to him, biped fashion, and, with a ‘take that for meddling with my bairn,’ felled him to the ground. Over him,” continued the parson, “fell the bear, so blinded with rage, that she struck two or three blows beyond him. His companion had made a clean pair of heels of it. The bear next seized the unfortunate wight in her arms, and dragged him to a precipice for the purpose of hurling him over. Herjus at once feigned to be dead, that he might not become so. The bear perceiving this, and thinking it no use to give herself any more trouble about a dead man, left him. Fearful lest she should return, he scrambled down the steep, and got over a stream below. It is said that the bears, like witches, don’t like to cross a running stream; that was the reason of his movement. It was lucky he did so, for no sooner was he over than the bear came back to see that all was right, and perceived that she had been hoaxed, but did not attempt to follow.”
“But do the bears really drag people over precipices?”[7]
“It is said so. Near Stavanger a poor fellow was attacked by a bear, who skinned his face from scalp to chin, and then dragged him through the trees to a precipice. At this horrible instant the poor wretch clutched a tree, and hung to it with such desperation, that the bear, who heard help coming, left him, and retreated. The king has given him a pension of thirty-five dollars a-year.”
“And the wolves?” asked I.