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Updated: April 30, 2025
And accordingly when Erling the Lop-Sided handed him his gun to pass on to the chief, Skull-Splitter started forward, flung the gun to his cheek, and blazed away at the little bear once more, entirely heedless of consequences. It was a random, unskilful shot, which was about equally shared by the cub and its mother. And the latter was not in a mood to be trifled with.
Skull-Splitter, by way of diversion, plumped backward into the brook, and sat down in the cool pool up to his waist. But nobody laughed at his mishap; because they had their minds full of more serious thoughts. Wolf-in-the-Temple, who had climbed up on a big moss-grown boulder, stood, gun in hand, and peered in among the bushes. "Boys," he whispered, "drop down on your bellies quick."
"It smells like a menagerie," said the Skull-Splitter, as he handed it to Thore the Hound. "But the bread and the biscuit smell just the same," said Thore the Hound; "in fact, it is the air that smells like a menagerie." "Boys," cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, "do you see that track in the mud?" "Yes; it is the track of a barefooted man," suggested the innocent Skull-Splitter.
After holding the jarldom for a long term, Torf-Einar died in his bed, as the Saga contemptuously tells us, probably in or after the year 920, leaving three sons, Arnkell, Erlend, and Thorfinn Hausa-kliufr or Skull-splitter, of whom the two first, Arnkell and Erlend, fell with Eric Bloody-axe, king of Norway, in England.
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