Chapter X: Guests or Prisoners?

It was, indeed, a task for superhuman ingenuity to attempt to explain to the Norse warriors that there was a gasoline yacht somewhere to the southward, and that repossession of that boat was of vital importance. You can't make gestures indicative of a motor boat; and to say "_Phut-phut-phut!_" means nothing to a person who has never heard a motor.

After scratching his head for a few minutes in perplexity, Scarface Jimmy took a piece of dead wood, and whittled out a rough model of a canoe, while the Vikings suppressed their impatience at his apparently childish occupation, and maintained a polite semblance of interest.

Placing the completed craft in the water of the little brook, "Boat," said he.

"_Yah, boat_," replied the young leader of the warriors. Evidently the Norse word was very much like the English, though the sound was very much flatter.

Meanwhile, under Jimmy's direction, the others of his party had been carving little wooden figures of men. These were now placed in the boat.

"Men in boat," explained the gangster. Then, pointing first to himself and then to the southward, he said, "My boat."

Walking with exaggerated steps to the south, he picked up the boat, hugged it to his breast, and then walked north again.

"Gee, Mr. Jimmy," exclaimed Theresa, laughing in spite of her grief, "they'll think you mean you want to go somewhere, and get some toy boats and wooden dolls to play with."

Arty snickered audibly. Murphy grinned. But Tom Jones and Scarface were deadly serious. However, the blond youth in the chain mail seemed to catch on--after a fashion.

Holding up one finger, he pointed to the toy boat and to the south. Then holding up one, two, three, four, all fingers, and opening and closing his hand several times, he pointed to the north, beckoned the others to follow him, and resumed the march.

His meaning was obvious: if his guest wanted a canoe, there were plenty to be had at the plateau city; come on! And he strode off to the northward.

"I guess we'll have to wait till we get to the plateau," asserted Tom Jones. "Let's hope one of the two Milwaukee aviators is there to interpret for us. Terry, will you walk with me?"

The girl tossed her head, and replied saucily, "Thanks a lot, Mr. Jones, but I'm walking with my new boy friend here."

And she ranged herself alongside the mail-clad warrior.

Tom Jones's views on the subject of Vikings underwent a sudden change. Heretofore they had seemed to him to be splendid heroic creatures out of the romantic past. Now they suddenly became crude, rough and untutored savages in his eyes. They really did not "belong." To a Harvard man, this was final!

Dropping back in the line of march to a position beside Scarface Boston Jimmy, he said, "You know, chief, you may be right in your plans to fight these fellows. There may be a chance yet."

Scarface looked long and penetratingly at his young protégé, then glanced ahead at Theresa swinging happily along at the side of the Viking leader, whose hand rested protectingly on her elbow. The gangster smiled understandingly, but said nothing.

* * * * *

Their next meal was long over-due ere they reached the plateau, and clambered up, one after the other, through the chimneylike entrance. Their approach must have been noted, for the stone slab had been removed from the top, and a group of tall blond men and women were awaiting them there.

An explanation, in an unknown tongue, ensued among the Vikings, with much pointing at their five guests--or prisoners.

Then one of the Vikings ordered, "_Komm!_"

Something in the way in which this man included her with her four male companions caused Theresa to realize suddenly that these Vikings all regarded her as a little boy. And why not, when it had taken the gangsters so long to discover the secret of her true sex!

This put an entirely different light on the interest which the young chieftain in chain mail had shown in her. He had just been big-brotherly, that was all. The idea!

Theresa promptly determined to right the matter at once. Walking over to a group of women, she pointed to herself and then to them. But they misunderstood her and shooed her away. Then she made a motion with both hands around her legs to indicate a skirt, pretended to do up her closely-cropped hair in a pug, and pointed to herself.

Her four fellow-countrymen nodded their heads vigorously and waved her away. This time the women got the idea, and led Theresa off with them, while the men led Scarface, Tom, Mike and Arty away to a house, where they were fed, and given blankets and wooden benches to sleep on.

This did not at all suit Scarface. The lack of communication between him and his hosts--or captors--was getting on his nerves, as was the delay in taking steps to recover possession of the Miami, and to thwart whatever diabolical plans Nick the Rat might have in mind. The fact that, as soon as Scarface regained the gasoline-yacht, his own plans might become just as diabolical as Nick's, did not seem to him to be in the least inconsistent.

"Say, don't any of you speak English?" he asked. "I want to see Angus Selkirk or Eric Redmond at once! Do you get me? Angus Selkirk! Eric Redmond! At once! Now! Immediately! _Pronto!_ What's the Swede for 'quick'?"

"_Yah, yah, yarl, imorgen_," replied one of the Vikings.

"Sounds to me for all the world like a college yell," Scarface remarked to Tom. "Say, you're a college man. What do you make out of it?"

"Well," replied Jones dubiously, "'_Yah_' means 'yes,' and '_yarl_' means 'earl,' the title held by Eric and Angus. So the other funny word must mean when they are going to let us see one of them. Sounded like _Morgen_, the German for 'to-morrow.' I guess we'll just have to wait until that time comes, whenever it is."

"Then let's turn in," said Scarface, resignedly.

"I wish they was a radio here," grumbled Little Arty.

"I believe this is a jail," asserted Mike Murphy. "That bird you were just talking to is the spitting image of one of the deputy sheriffs of Suffolk County."

* * * * *

The next morning they were ushered out of the building. Theresa was waiting outside, with several of the Viking women. But such a different Theresa! Gone was her natty sailor costume, and in its place she wore the same sort of clothing as the women about her. Her boyish bob didn't quite fit; but, for all that, she looked very regal for such an impudent little sprite.

"Gee, Mr. Jimmy," she greeted them, "will you look at the clothes! These ladies took away all my own things, so I had to put on these. Do they look awful?"

"Not at all bad," admired Tom earnestly.

But she ignored him with a toss of her head, and continued, "You know those kind of things you clean sinks with? Made up of lots of little iron rings hitched together?"

"I never cleaned any sinks," replied Scarface, amused but a bit puzzled as to the point of her remarks, "but I think I know what you mean."

"Well you know that boy, who had the shirt made out of that same kind of stuff? The boy I walked with?"

Tom Jones scowled unhappily.

Terry went on, "Well, I saw him again this morning, and him and me got along fine. We couldn't talk much, but I told him my name was Theresa Ferreira, and then he pointed to himself and said, 'Nils Uppri.'"

"What?" gasped Scarface and Tom in unison.

"Say that again," Tom demanded.

"Nils Uppri," she repeated. "What of it? Ain't that a nice enough name?"

"Sure it's a nice enough name," replied Scarface, "only it happens to be the name of the bishop of all this country. Nils Uppri! What do you know about that!"

It was now Terry's turn to be surprised.

"A bishop!" she exclaimed, her lip curling scornfully. "The dirty pup! A priest, making up to a poor girl like me. He'd oughta known better. I ask you, Mr. Murphy, is it right?"

"It sure don't sound right to me," asserted the Irishman, shaking his head. Then brightening, "But perhaps he's an Episcopal bishop. Sure, that would be a fine match for ye, Terry."

"No such thing," asserted Tom. "It's a dirty trick for him to--"

"You're all wrong!" explained Scarface Jimmy. "Bishops in this country are like kings. The title descends from father to son. Nils Uppri is Bishop, merely because his father, Thorvald Uppri, was the Bishop. And so on, clear back to Eric Uppri, first Christian Bishop of Greenland."

"I don't care what they're like," stated Theresa, pouting, "Bishops oughtn't to marry, and that's all there is to it."

"Did he ask you to marry him?" asked Scarface in surprise.

"No, he didn't. That is--Oh, I don't know what you're talking about. I think you're perfectly horrid." And Theresa blushed violently.

"Gee!" whistled Little Arty expressively.

"You shut up!" snapped Tom, to Arty's great astonishment.

Just then one of the Vikings relieved the situation by saying, "_Komm!_"

As they followed him, the girl remarked, half to herself, "Perhaps he isn't a bishop, after all."

* * * * *

They were led to a large building, which seemed to be a sort of assembly hall. In it, benches were arranged as in a church, and these were occupied by groups of warriors chatting together in a low tone of voice. At the end where the pulpit should have been, there was a long carved wooden table, with several high-backed chairs behind it.

The center chair, with the highest back, was occupied by a tall broad-shouldered Viking, with sandy locks and a massive red beard. On his right sat the young leader of the expedition which had brought them hither. The other chairs were vacant.

Scarface, Theresa, Tom, Mike and Arty were led down the aisle to a position facing the Vikings seated at the table. As their conductor bowed low before these Vikings, the Americans did likewise; but there was something unconsciously regal in the courteous bow of Scarface.

The red-bearded Viking, his poker-face inscrutable, studied each of them in turn with his gray-blue eyes.

Then said he, in excellent English, "Who are you and what are you doing in our country?"

Was it possible that this dignified and authoritative Norse warrior could be one of the two young Milwaukee aviators, Eric and Angus? It seemed hardly likely. And yet could they, in so short a time, have taught such perfect English to one of the Vikings? That was equally unlikely.

"And whom have we the honor of addressing?" replied Scarface.

The Viking frowned as he said, "A bad beginning, my friend. But I will tell you. I am Angus Selkirk, formerly of Milwaukee, and now a _yarl_ among these Greenlanders. And you?"

Scarface assumed his most disarming and engaging smile.

"We are honored," said he. "For three days we have been trying to get in touch with either you or Eric Redmond on a matter of vital importance to us all. My name is James Lefavour of Chicago. May I present Miss Theresa Ferreira of Edgartown, Mass.; Mr. Thomas Jones, Harvard, 1929; Sergeant Michael J. Murphy, formerly of the Cambridge police; and Mr. Arthur Doe of Chicago."

"And the important matter?" prompted Selkirk, unimpressed.

"We came to your country in a seventy-five-foot motor yacht, after being blown into the polar ice in a storm," continued Scarface. "There has been mutiny aboard our ship, and fighting between the two factions, each losing one man. At present the ship is in the hands of a thoroughgoing scoundrel, named Nick Fratelli, with four other thugs," (Scarface did not yet know of the death of Scutari) "and one Chinaman. They have practically all the arms and ammunition, including two machine guns."

"Hm," ruminated the Scot. "And how did ye happen to be associating with such rascals?"