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Updated: June 1, 2025
And a laugh went up a veritable storm of laughter which swept through the entire crowd and re-echoed with a ghostly hilarity from the mountains. John Garvestad in the meanwhile had managed to pick himself out of the horse-trough, and while he stood snorting, spitting, and dripping, Captain Carstens and his son politely lifted their hats to him and rode away.
His grief at the loss of Lady Clare began to tell on his health; and his perpetual plans for getting even with John Garvestad amounted almost to a mania, and caused his father both trouble and anxiety. It was therefore determined to send him to the military academy in the capital. Four or five years passed and Erik became a lieutenant.
Erik had no need of being told that the horse which had attacked Lady Clare was Valders-Roan; and though he would scarcely have been able to prove it, he felt positive that John Garvestad had arranged and probably watched the fight. Having a wholesome dread of jail, he had not dared to steal Lady Clare; but he had chosen this contemptible method to satisfy his senseless jealousy.
"She is not mine to sell," the captain replied. "Lady Clare belongs to my son." "Well, what will you take for her, then?" Garvestad repeated, swaggeringly, turning to Erik. "Not all the gold in the world could buy her," retorted Erik, warmly. Valders-Roan, unable to resist the charms of Lady Clare, had in the meanwhile been making some cautious overtures toward an acquaintance.
"Look at that horse," cried young and old, with eyes as big as saucers, pointing with their fingers at Lady Clare. "Handsome carcass that mare has," remarked a stoutish man, who knew what he was talking about; "and head and legs to match." "She beats your Valders-Roan all hollow, John Garvestad," said a young tease who stood next to him in the crowd.
The captain, anxious to avoid a row, therefore broke in, in a voice of friendly remonstrance: "My dear Mr. Garvestad, do let us drop this matter. If you will permit us, we should like to dismount and drink a toast to your health, wishing you a long life and much happiness." "Ah, yes, I understand your smooth palaver," the bridegroom growled between his teeth.
With a puzzled frown he stared at the youth and finally broke out: "Then you won't sell her at no price? Anyway, the day you change your mind don't forget to notify John Garvestad. If it's spondulix you are after, then here's where there's plenty of 'em."
"What do you hold your mare at to-day?" "I thought we had settled that matter once for all," the boy replied, quietly. "I have no more intention of selling Lady Clare now than I ever had." "Then will ye trade her off for Valders-Roan?" ejaculated Garvestad, eagerly. "No, I won't trade her for Valders-Roan or any other horse in creation."
That was John Garvestad, the owner of Valders-Roan. John was the richest man in the parish, and always made a point of keeping fine horses. Valders-Roan, a heavily built, powerful horse, with a tremendous neck and chest and long tassels on his fetlocks, but rather squat in the legs, had hitherto held undisputed rank as the finest horse in all Sogn.
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