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Updated: May 27, 2025
The other, Vantti he was called, a sturdy, thick-set fellow, stood with his hands in his pockets and a cigar between his teeth. Vantti came from the north-east, from Karelen, and was proud of it, as he was proud of his Karelen dialect and his enormous Karelen boots huge, crook-toed thigh-boots that seemed to swallow him up to the waist. Moisio came up to the two.
He draws nearer she looks up, and gives him one deep, warm glance, and looks down again her cheeks flushed. Olof's face lights up, and he lifts his hat as he passes. Then the crowd surges round him with shouts of applause. "Bravo! Well done! Here's the man that's beaten Kohiseva! Who's the best man now?" Vantti steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, lad!
"Ay, if that's the way of it," says Vantti at last, and offers his hand. Falk takes it, and turns to face the crowd. "Listen," he says aloud. "Vantti, here, and I, we take you to witness that we've called off our bet here and now. So there's none can blame us afterwards. If the two men who've entered for the match will cry off too, there's an end of it. If not, 'tis their own affair."
"What's this about the rapids?" he said sternly. "If you've put up a match, as they're saying here, then I've come to say you'd better put it off before harm comes of it. Five men's lives the river's taken here in my time. And we've no wish for more." "Easy, Moisio," says Vantti, taking the cigar from his mouth, and spitting a thin jet sideways. "No call to take it that way.
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