"When the sun rises tomorrow it is likely that we shall see Greenland
ahead of us," growled Egil.

With Sigurd and the Wrestler, he was lounging against the side, watching
the witch-fires run along the waves through the darkness. The new
bower-man stood next to Sigurd, but Egil could not properly be said to
be with him, for the two only spoke under the direst necessity. Around
them, under the awnings, in the light of flaring pine torches, the crew
were sprawled over the rowing-benches killing time with drinking and
riddles.

"It seems to me that it will gladden my heart to see it," Sigurd
responded. "As I think of the matter, I recall great fun in Greenland.
There were excellent wrestling matches between the men of the East and
the West settlements. And do you remember the fine feasts Eric was wont
to make?"

Rolf gently smacked his lips and laid his hands upon his stomach. "By
all means. And remember also the seal hunting and the deer-shooting!"

Sigurd's eyes glistened. "Many good things may be told of Greenland.
There is no place in the world so fine to run over on skees. By Saint
Michael, I shall be glad to get there!" He struck Egil a rousing blow
upon the sullen hump of his shoulders.

Unmoved, the Black One continued to stare out into the darkness, his
chin upon his fists.

"Ugh! Yes. Very likely," he grunted. "Very likely it will be clear
sailing for you, but it is my belief that some of us will run into a