The Icelandic Canadian - 01.10.1942, Blaðsíða 27

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
23
reverberation unto the flats below,
where the rioting waters formed a
menacing whirlpool at the bottom of
the falls.
Giant Falls they were called, and
when Jon was younger it had seemed
to him that the three-headed giants of
the fairy tales must have had their
home under these dark and deadly
waters.
But the awesome scene was not the
reason for his fear of Death Leap Gorge.
It lay deeper than that. For generations
his ancestors had lived at Holmar. The
eldest boy was always named Jon, and
was expected to become master of the
farm and there was an ancient super-
stition which held that a Jon of
Holmar must never try to jump Death
Leap Gorge for he would certainly be
drowned; yet should he succeed, the
curse would be lifted. The last victim
of the savage waters had been Jon’s
uncle—his mother’s favorite brother—
and still the gorge howled for prey.
Jon had not heard any of this from
his parents. They did not take much
stock in old wives' tales. But his aged
grandmother never failed to warn him,
when she knew he was heading for the
mountains: “Beware of Death Leap
Gorge,” and the warning uttered in her
toothless quaver, made him shudder.
All the same, some day he meant to
conquer his fear. He knew he could
jump the gorge even now. Wasn’t it to
that end he had practiced leaping
hurdles till he was the best among his
chums? Why he could easily clear
fifteen feet in a running jump, and
Death Leap Gorge was only twelve.
Nevertheless when he stood on the deep
brink and watched the wild strength
of the water a paralyzing sensation
siezed upon him. He hated himself for
it, and hated Death Leap Gorge doubly
because of it.
While these thoughts had been racing
through his mind he had forgotten to
watch the eagle. But now, on looking
up, he saw the great bird high in the
heavens, directly above the falls. Sud-
denly, it dropped straight down like a
plummet to the surface of the river
just below the whirlpool. Fascinated,
Jon watched it, expecting it to rise
immediately with its prey. But no! In-
stead of victory it seemed pinioned,
flapping its mighty wings, in. obvious
defeat. Jon guessed the reason. The
eagle had got its talons in a salmon too
heavy for its strength, and was doom-
ed. Either the salmon would carry it
into the whirlpool to be drowned, or
both exhausted, they would drift down
the river to an equally certain death in
the rapids below. What an ignoble end
for the King of the Skies! It was like a
human soul being carried to its death
by greedy appetites!
Jon was tremendously moved. It was
as though he were seeing his own
ambitions swept to death and ignoble
defeat. But couldn’t he do something?
The distraught eagle kept flapping its
wings defiantly, but the great strokes
were weakening.
Jon thought of Goldmane, grazing at
the bottom of the dell. But it would
take too long to fetch him and to ford
the river. There was only one way. He
must leap Death Leap Gorge.
For a moment the old fear seemed to
close upon him with its paralyzing
effect. He felt his body grow limp and
his feet turn to lead. Another look at
the eagle: it was beginning to spin
around on the outskirts of the whirl-
pool as an object did before it is sucked
under, and then his decision was made.
He knew he would lose something
precious of his life if he let the eagle
perish. It would be like deserting a
friend in dire need.
He tied the long leather reins of
Goldmane’s bridle around his waist;
took a long look around at the proud
mountains, now bathed in gold, for the
fog had lifted from the valley. Far
down below he saw the fjord, like a
broad band of silver. How beautiful it
all was!