The robbers were more like savage beasts than men, and lived
somewhere at the top of the mountain in caves and holes in the
ground. They were all called 'Hankur,' and were distinguished
one from another by the name of a colour--blue, grey, red, and so
on, except their chief, who was known as Hankur the Tall. All
this and more rushed into the minds of the two young men as they
saw the flash of their swords in the moonlight.

'It is impossible to fight them--they are twelve to two,'
whispered Geirald, stopping his horse in the path. 'We had much
better ride back and take the lower road. It would be stupid to
throw away our lives like this.'

'Oh, we can't turn back,' answered Rosald, 'we should be ashamed
to look anyone in the face again! And, besides, it is a grand
opportunity to show what we are made of. Let us tie up our
horses here, and climb up the rocks so that we can roll stones
down on them.'

'Well, we might try that, and then we shall always have our
horses,' said Geirald. So they went up the rocks silently and
carefully.

The robbers were lying all ready, expecting every moment to see
their victims coming round the corner a few yards away, when a
shower of huge stones fell on their heads, killing half the band.
The others sprang up the rock, but as they reached the top the
sword of Rosald swung round, and one man after another rolled
down into the valley. At last the chief managed to spring up,
and, grasping Rosald by the waist, flung away his sword, and the