They sailed far up the coast, and then, leaving their ship in a northern fiord, struck inland across the mountains.  The country they were going to lay among the lakes of North Sweden.  Its people were more barbarous than the Norwegians, and had long been in a state of half-subjection to the Norse kings.  There was not likely to be hard fighting; for small as Estein’s force was, the natives were badly armed and little esteemed as warriors.  The country, however, was difficult, so the men marched warily, their arms ready for instant use, and a sharp watch kept all the time.  The sun came out hot by day, but at nights it felt very cold and frosty.  With all the haste they could make they pushed on by the least frequented routes and the most desolate places.  During the first day after they had crossed the mountains, they only saw one farmhouse, in a forest clearing, and that, when they came up to it, was still and deserted.  On the following day they passed a small hamlet on the banks of a river, and a little later another farm.  In neither was there a sign of an inhabitant to be seen, and they seemed for all the world like dwellings of the dead.

“This is passing strange,” said Helgi.  “Unless, perhaps, the Jemtlanders spend the winter in holes and caves, like the bears they resemble in all but courage.”

“The alarm has spread, I fear,” answered Estein.  “We must make the more haste.”

“Ay,” said Ketill; “on, on!”

Towards evening the head of the column emerged into a small clearing, and the foster-brothers, who were marching in the middle, heard a cry from the van.  Then Ketill’s gruff voice called out,—­

“After him!  Nay, slay him not!  Have you got him?  Ay, bring the knave to Estein.”

The little army came to a halt, and a poor-looking man, clad in a skin coat, and trembling violently as they dragged him along, was brought before Estein.

“Spare my life, noble captain!” he pleaded, casting himself on his knees.  “I am but a poor man, I beseech you.”

“Silence, rascal!” thundered Ketill, “or we will have your coward’s tongue out by the root.”

“Tell me, if you value your life, what means this solitude?” Estein demanded sternly.  “Nay, shake not like an old man with palsy, but speak the truth—­if by chance a Jemtlander knows what truth is.  Where are the people?”

“Noble earl, they have heard of your coming, and fled.  No man will await you; you will see none in the country.”

“Do none mean to fight?” asked Helgi.

“Great prince,” replied the fellow, “the Jemtlanders were never a warlike race.  Even the king, I hear, is prepared to fly.”

A contemptuous murmur rose from the Norsemen.

“Let us begin by hanging this man,” said Ketill, “and then fire, fire through the country!”

“I shall see first whether he has spoken the truth,” answered Estein.  “Bind him, and bring him on.”