Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Holding the seat with one hand to steady himself, the bandit lunged at Nels with an enormous knife. Nels grabbed the wagon brake, hauling back on both the brake and the reins with a loud shout of “Whoa!” His team responded instantly. The wagon lurched, throwing the attacker off his balance. The knife sliced through Nels’ coat sleeve; he vaguely felt it cut into his arm, but it was not a deep wound. Momentum threw the man backwards onto the floorboard. Nels snatched the pistol from under his seat, shoved the muzzle against the bandit’s chest, and pulled the trigger.

The wagon came to a stop. The man lay dead, bleeding from the mouth, more blood from the exit wound soaking the floorboards beneath him, dripping to the ground. Smoke from the black powder burned Nels’ nose and eyes. He vomited at the sight of the body. The knowledge that he was forced to kill or be killed gave him little comfort. He looked around. Standing behind the wagon were the two riderless horses. He could see the second bandit lying far back in the road, perhaps alive, perhaps dead.

Suddenly, Nels realized that he may still be in danger. He climbed down from the wagon and tied the two saddle-horses to the wagon with a lead rope. His left arm was bleeding, but not seriously. Back in the driver’s seat, he reloaded the pistol before starting off. He looked back, and thought he saw the other thief stirring, although still on the ground. “Let’s go girls, Hey! Hey!” he called.

It took three hours to reach the next farms. In the midst of them was an ancient wood-stave church, alongside a lavish praestegaard (priest’s farm). Nels drove to the stables, where he was met by a farm-hand. “Please fetch the priest,” said Nels. “I have killed a bandit. His body is here in the wagon.” The man ran to the dwelling-house.

The priest emerged, walking quickly to the wagon. “Well, now,” he said, “what have we here?”

“I was attacked by two bandits in the meadowlands to the south,” Nels began. “One of them fell from the wagon on the run. The other one, I shot.” He gestured toward the body, trying not to look at it himself.

“I see.” The priest looked into the wagon at the body. The knife was still in its hand. He looked back at Nels, at his torn clothing and bloody arm. “What of the other man?”

“He was lying in the road when I left. I think he was alive.”

“The sheriff will be here shortly to investigate. He will send men after the other thief, and you can tell us all the details then. First, come inside and tend to your wounds.”

Nels climbed down and realized he had no walking stick. He could not let go of the wagon without it. “I am sorry, Father, I need a stick to help me walk.”

“Was your leg injured in the fight?” asked the priest, looking him over again.

“No, that was years ago, in an accident.”

“And you defeated two bandits?”

“Yes, sir, thanks to the horses and the gun.”

The priest reached for his shoulder. He helped Nels limp to the house. “What is your name, son?”

“Nels Poulsen.”

“I am Pastor Hansen.”

(Continued)