Alwin was too wild with delight to remember any-thing else. "For that, I thank you as for a crown!" he gasped.
Even as he stepped out to meet the foe, Leif smiled ironically. "Certainly you are better called the Fearless than the Courteous," he said. "It would have been no more than polite for you to have wished me luck."
Anything further was drowned in the bear's roar, as he took a swift waddling step forward and threw out his terrible paws. Even Leif's huge frame could not withstand the shock of the meeting. His left hand caught the beast by the throat and, with sinews of iron, held off his foaming jaws; but the shock of the grappling lost him his footing. They fell, clenched, and rolled over and over on the ground; those terrible hind feet drawing up and striking down with surer and surer aim.
Alwin could endure it no longer. "Let me have him now!" he implored. "It is time to leave him to me. The next stroke, he will tear you to pieces. I claim my turn."
It is doubtful if anyone heard him: at that moment, swaying and staggering, the wrestlers got to their feet. In rising, Leif's hold on the bear's throat slipped and the shaggy head shot sideways and fastened its jaws on his naked arm, with a horrible snarling sound. But at the same moment, the man's right arm, knife in hand, shot toward the mark it had been seeking. Into the exposed body it drove the blade up to its hilt, then swerved to the left and went upward. The stroke which the chisel-shod paws had tried for in vain, the little strip of steel achieved. A roar that echoed and re-echoed between the low hills, a convulsive movement of the mighty limbs, and then the beast's muscles relaxed, stiffening while they straightened; and the huge body swayed backward, dead.
From the chief came much the same kind of a grunt as had come from the bear at the fall of his foe. Glancing with only a kind of contemptuous curiosity at his wounded arm, he stepped quickly to the side of his prostrate follower and bent over him.
"You have got what you deserve for breaking my orders," he said, grimly. "Yet turn over that I may attend to your wounds before you bleed to death."
In the activity which followed, Robert of Normandy took no part. He leaned against a tree with his arms folded upon his breast, his eyes upon the slain bear which half of the party were hastily converting into steaks and hide. The men muttered to each other that the Southerner was in a rage because he had lost his chance, but that was only a part of the truth. His fixed eyes no longer saw the bear; his ears were deaf to the voices around him. He saw again a shadowy room, lit by leaping flames and shifting eyes; and once more a lisping voice hissed its "jargon" into his ear.
"I see Leif Ericsson standing upon earth where never man stood before; and I see you standing by his side, though you do not look as you look now, for your hair is long and black... I see that it is in this new land that it will be settled whether your luck is to be good or bad..."
He said slowly to himself, like a man talking in his sleep, "It has been settled, and it is to be bad."