The man who had first spoken jumped off his horse. Holding the bridle, he came forward and said, in good, plain Icelandic:
“Why couldn’t you come when I called you?”
“Jon’s meeting with the horsemen”
“I am keeping the road back,” replied Jon; “if I move, I might lose it.”
“Then why did you call us?”
“I was afraid you had lost your way, and might get into the chasm; the storm is so bad you could not see it.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed the first who had spoken.
Jon described the situation as well as he could, and the stranger at last said, in his queer, broken speech: “Lost way—we; can guide—you—know how?”
The storm raged so furiously that it was with great difficulty that Jon heard the words at all; but he thought he understood the meaning. So he looked the man in the face, and nodded, silently.