He could feel that gadfly constantly stinging in his left shoulder. He nosed the place, but only found the hole where the gadfly had crept in. His skin bled from the bite of that gadfly which bit into him, when the thunder roared, over near Morsæter. What a strange gadfly!
But that gadfly was lying close by a bone, on the shoulder-blade. It was hard and thick and flat. Once it had lived inside the barrel of Gaupa’s rifle, but the night had been so bright and it had flown out into the moonlight.
Another day came into being.
The man abed in the mountain hut cried out aloud again and again, “Bjönn!” he called, and each time the dog crept up to lick the man’s face.
About noon a wind arose, blowing somewhat hard. The broken pane rattled and there was a draught in the room. The wind falling down the chimney played a little with some fine cobweb under a beam in the roof and escaped through the window again.
The wind blew hard and then calmed down, blew hard and calmed down once more, and between each gust the hut only seemed to wait for the next.
Suddenly there was a sharp noise in the lock of the door and Bjönn jumped down from the bed, barking. But the door swung on its hinges, and made a yawning gulf out towards the sunlight outside. Probably the wind did it, or was it the forewarning spirit of a man following behind? Several hours passed and no man entered, so it could not have been a spirit after all.
And there was another night and another day.
Outside Bjönn wailed to the heavens, while the wind thrashed the forest till it waved like a dark green sea.
After a while the dog trotted eastwards along the path by the lake. He grew smaller as the distance increased, he trotted steadily along the beaten path. When there was a dip or a mound he disappeared, to dive up again soon afterwards, but finally there was no reappearance.