"You will be able to ride long before you reach our journey's end,"
returned the man. "And, lest you should be afraid of falling off,
you will be tied with strong ropes to the horse's back."

"I had rather walk," objected Olaf.

"Slaves must obey their masters," said the man; and he took hold
of the boy to help him to mount. But Olaf drew quickly aside with
a flash of rebellion in his eyes.

Now at that moment a company of horsemen came in sight, led by Sigurd
Erikson, and followed by many mules that were laden with bags of
food and merchandise. All the men were well armed with swords and
spears, bows and arrows. The sight of so many horses at once showed
Olaf that the journey, whatever its destination, was to be made
by land. As they came nearer and halted, his eyes quickly searched
among the men for Thorgils Thoralfson. Yes, there indeed was his
foster brother, mounted on one of the pack mules, with the sunlight
falling on his white kirtle and downbent head! Then Olaf grew calm,
for his master had kept his promise, and it mattered little where
he was to be taken now that Thorgils was to be with him in his
bondage. Sometime--not today, perhaps,--they would have a chance
of speaking together and of contriving an escape.

Sigurd, seated on his beautiful white horse, looked like a king
surrounded by his bodyguard. He watched Olaf springing on the pony's
back, and saw the men securing the boy with ropes. One of the men
took the end of the chain, while the other held the pony's halter;
and thus, with a mounted guard on each side of him, the young slave