It was Inger's idea. And Inger had no doubt her own reasons for
getting Isak out of the place on that particular day.
"If you are going at all, you'd better go today," she said. "The
bull's in fine condition; 'twill fetch a good price at this time of
year. You take him down to the village, and they'll send him to be
sold in town--townsfolk pay anything for their meat."
"Ay," says Isak.
"If only the beast doesn't make trouble on the way down."
Isak made no answer.
"But he's been out and about now this last week, and getting used to
things."
Isak was silent. He took a big knife, hung it in a sheath at his
waist, and led out the bull.
A mighty beast it was, glossy-coated and terrible to look at, swaying
at the buttocks as it walked. A trifle short in the leg; when it ran,
it crushed down the undergrowth with its chest; it was like a railway
engine. Its neck was huge almost to deformity; there was the strength
of an elephant in that neck.
"If only he doesn't get mad with you," said Inger.
Isak thought for a moment.
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