d
Jason and Michael Sunlocks, the same that had passed them in the
hummock, where the carcase of the dog still lay.

Then Jorgen Jorgensen received news that terrified him.

Michael Sunlocks had escaped, and Red Jason had escaped with him.
They had not been seen at Hafnafiord, and no ship had set sail from
there since yesterday. Never a trace of them had been found on any of
the paths from Krisuvik, and it was certain that they must be in the
interior still. Would his Excellency lend them ten men more to scour
the country?

Such was the message of the guards, and at hearing it Jorgen's anger
and fear overmastered him.

"Fools! Blockheads! Asses!" he cried. "The man is making for
Reykjavik. He knows what he is doing if you do not. Is not this the
time of Althing, and must I not leave Reykjavik for Thingvellir? He
is making for Reykjavik now! Once let him set foot there, and these
damned Icelanders will rise at the sight of him. Then you may scour
the country till you fall dead and turn black, and he will only laugh
at the sight of you. Back, you blockheads, back! Back to Reykjavik,
every man of you! And I am going back with you."

Thus driven by his frantic terror, Jorgen Jorgensen returned to the
capital and searched every house and hovel, every hole and sty, for
the two fugitives; and when he had satisfied himself that they were
not anywhere within range of Reykjavik, his fears remembered
Thingvellir, and what mischief might be going forward in his absence.
So next day he left his body-guard with the guard from Krisuvik to
watch the capital, and set out alone for the Mount of Laws.

III.

The lonely valley of Thingvellir was alive that morning with a great
throng of people. They came from the west by the Chasm of All Men,
from the east by the Chasm of Ravens, and from the south by the lake.
Troop after troop flowed into the vast amphitheatre that lies between
dark hills and great jokulls tipped with snow. They pitched their
tents on the green patch, under the fells to the north, and tying
their ponies together, head to tail, they turned them loose to graze.
Hundreds of tents were there by early morning, gleaming white in the
sunlight, and tens of hundreds of ponies, shaggy and unkempt, grubbed
among the short grass that grew between.

Near the middle of the plain stood the Mount of Laws, a lava island
of oval shape, surrounded by a narrow stream, and bounded by
overhanging walls cut deep with fissures. Aro