away. Then it laid its head flat upon the snow and died. Ragnar looked
at it and muttered:

"Dead!"

Then he walked to that top of the fallen tree in which I lay, and
again muttered: "Dead! Well, Valhalla holds no braver man than Olaf the
Skald."

Next he went to Steinar and once again exclaimed, "Dead!"

For so he looked, indeed, smothered in the blood of the bear and with
his garments half torn off him. Still, as the words passed Ragnar's lips
he sat up, rubbed his eyes and smiled as a child does when it awakes.

"Are you much hurt?" asked Ragnar.

"I think not," he answered doubtfully, "save that I feel sore and my
head swims. I have had a bad dream." Then his eyes fell on the bear, and
he added: "Oh, I remember now; it was no dream. Where is Olaf?"

"Supping with Odin," answered Ragnar and pointed to me.

Steinar rose to his feet, staggered to where I lay, and stared at me
stretched there as white as the snow, with a smile upon my face and in
my hand a spray of some evergreen bush which I had grasped as I fell.

"Did he die to save me?" asked Steinar.

"Aye," answered Ragnar, "and never did man walk that bridge in better
fashion. You were right. Would that I had not mocked him."

"Would that I had died and not he," said Steinar with a sob. "It is
borne in upon my heart that it were better I had died."

"Then that may well be, for the heart does not lie at such a time. Also
it is true that he was worth both of us. There was something more in him
than there is in us, Steinar. Come, lift him to my back, and if you are
strong enough, go on to the horses and bid the thrall bring one of them.
I follow."

Thus ended the fight with the great white bear.

Some four hours later, in the midst of a raging storm of wind and rain,
I was brought at last to the bridge that spanned the moat of the Hall of
Aar, laid like a corpse across the back of one of the horses. They had
been searching for us at Aar, but in that darkness had found nothing.
Only, at the head of the bridge was Freydisa, a torch in her hand. She
glanced at me by the light of the torch.

"As my heart foretold, so it is," she said. "Bring him in," then turned
and ran to the house.

They bore me up between the double ranks of stabled kine to where the
great fire of turf and wood burned at the head of the hall, and laid me
on a table.

"Is he dead?" asked Thorvald, my father, who had come home that night;
"and if so, how?"

"Aye, father," a