The horses could not have strayed far, not only because they were hobbled, but also because the Tongue where they had been turned loose was a narrow strip of land between two rivers; but then the slope was considerable in places, and the meal-bag might have rolled down into the water.
As Grettir was running about hunting for his bag, he saw another man in the same predicament. What is more, he saw that the rest of the party, impatient to get on their way, would tarry no longer for them, and were defiling down the hill to cross the river.
Grettir was in great distress. Just then he saw the man run very directly in one course, and at the same moment Grettir saw something white lying under a mass of lava. It was towards this that the fellow was running. Grettir ran towards it also. It was a meal-sack. The man reached it first, and threw it over his shoulder.
"What have you got there?" asked Grettir, coming up panting.
"My meal-sack," answered the fellow.
"Let me look at it," said Grettir. "It may be mine, not yours. Let me look before you appropriate it."
This the man refused to do.
Grettir's suspicion was confirmed, and he made a catch at the sack, and tried to drag it away from the fellow.
"Oh, yes!" sneered the man—who was a servant at a farm called The Ridge, in Waterdale, and his name Skeggi,—"Oh, yes! you Middlefirthers think you will have everything your own way."
"That is not it," answered Grettir. "Let each man take his own. If the sack be yours, keep it; if mine, I will have it."