It grew dark quickly, and he sent Sigrid into the wagon. "Get to bed," he told her, "and wrap yourself up warmly. The first good rock I come to I shall shelter the cattle."
"And what will you do yourself?" she wanted to know.
"I shall turn the wagon back to the wind," he said, "and cover the oxen. Then I will do the best for myself I can."
She wasn't satisfied and seemed unwilling to leave him, but he told her again to go to bed. "Well," she said, "I will go, but you shall kiss me first." It was the first time she had ever asked that of him, and he gave her what she wanted, though he had other things to think about then, and plenty of them.
She went away after that, and he trudged along. The snow was coming thick now; he felt it like gnats against his face, and that his beard was stiff with it. The front of his clothes was like a board, and his knees ached with the strain. The oxen stopped several times; but he hued them on, and often gave a hand to the wheel. But he had to stop as often to let them breathe themselves, and every time he did so they were the harder to move. The fury of the wind drove the snow in wreaths; banks of it formed, through which the cattle stumbled, or failed to stumble. When they failed he had to kick a passage for them.
The point came beyond which he could not get them to move. It was at a bend of the road between high rocks. The wind came down the channel in fury, the snow was blinding. He felt, for he could not see, the trembling beasts, and understood that there was no moving them. Sigrid within the curtains made no sign. Gunnar considered that here they must remain until the storm ceased.
He found stones for the hind wheels of the wain, unyoked the oxen and led them into the lew, out of the fury of the weather. He sought in the choked underpart for their coverings, but could not find them there. They would be in the wagon, and he must have them by all means. He gave them fodder, however, and then wondered what he should do to get their clothing, and to help himself. He was not cold, for his exertions had been too severe, but he would soon become so. Should he make himself a rampart of snow and crouch under that? He knew there was danger of swooning, and rejected the thought. Should he then stamp up and down, flapping his arms until daybreak? He knew that he could not.
"It seems I am to perish for the sake of a wooden god!" His heart grew hot within him. "Accursed idol," he said, "if I had you here I would fight it out with you! And I vow that if I come through this pass with safety, and see again my own land, I will take King Olaf's religion, which does not send fair women to sleep with painted stocks."
"Sigrid has little love to spare for the like of me," he thought. "What knows she whether I live or die? There she snuggles asleep, with Frey in her arms." He heard the voice of Sigrid then, with tears in it. "No, no, I do not. Come in and you shall see."