Chapter XV: War to the Hilt

As the strings of Helga's bowmen twanged, Altoonah, with the speed of light, swung his protecting shield in front of himself and his two companions. The arrows clattered harmlessly off it.

"Spare the girl! Fire!" he shouted.

Swede heard and understood. Before the archers could reload, the machine gun was belching flame to a staccato accompaniment.

As Friday fed in the belts of ammunition, Swede swept the stream of bullets along the deck of the Viking ship like the stream of water from a garden hose. One traverse of the deck, and not a person stood alive on it except Helga. Then a sweep back at a slightly lower level, and every rower on the near side slumped in his seat.

Right through the shields, hung along the gunwales, cut the singing bullets, and many of them reached even the rowers on the farther side. The rowing stopped. Quick as a flash, the Miami was steered alongside the Viking ship, crunching the oars between the two boats; and then Swede and Friday clambered aboard, followed by Altoonah, agile of arm despite his palsied legs.

But as they came, Helga snatched a jeweled dagger from the gold chain which encircled her waist, and held it aloft, its tip pointed not at the enemy, but at her own breast. Suddenly left alone amid the shambles that had a moment before been her brave and lusty countrymen, what did there remain for her but death? Even death were preferable to captivity with a member of the despised race of Skraelings, king though he was.

But, just as the dagger fell, there stepped to her side four oarsmen, the only ones who still remained alive out of all the carnage. With drawn swords they sprang to defend their princess to the death and one of them snatched the knife from her hand.

Then the automatics of Swede and Friday barked several times, and Altoonah hobbled to the side of the fainting Helga. Every other Viking lay dead or dying.

Altoonah's Skraelings now surged over the side, slit the throats of the wounded, and pillaged the boat, finding amid the loot enough provisions to stock the Miami for a month.

Helga's inert form was carried into the cabin by Swede and Friday, and her hands were shackled with the decidedly convenient handcuffs which formerly had belonged to Policeman Murphy. Swede brought water and threw it in the girl's face.

When her senses had thoroughly been restored, she sat up on the couch where they had laid her, and fearlessly faced Altoonah, Swede, and Friday. Fratelli, who had left the boat drifting, had also come to look at the captive.

As Fratelli gazed at her, his eyes narrowed, and the face of Helga Redmond eclipsed that of Theresa Ferreira from his mind. Not that he altogether abandoned his lust for little Terry, but rather he formulated the idea of establishing a harem, as king of this country, and of having Helga as his principal and favorite wife. This, of course, would necessitate getting rid of Altoonah, instead of using him as an ally; but doubtless that slight matter could be arranged, all in due time.

Luckily Altoonah did not catch Nick's look; but Swede did, and it intensified his growing dislike for his boss. Ever since Swede had come in contact with the Norsemen of the interior of the earth's shell, he had felt an ancestral urge calling across the centuries, to draw him closer to these people of his own race and blood. This girl was a Viking and a lady. Swede was a descendant of Vikings, although not exactly a gentleman. Nick the Rat was only scum, according to Swede's views.

It was all right for Altoonah to aspire to the lady's hand, for Altoonah was a king, even though he was a Skraeling and a cripple. But Nick Fratelli was a different matter. Swede began to wish that he had stuck with Scarface Boston Jimmy. Then, in a moment, he was glad he had not, for here he might be of service to one of his own kind. Swede was rapidly turning the clock back eight hundred years.

* * * * *

Sounds of confusion were heard on deck outside.

"You guard the skirt, Swede," commanded Fratelli, "while the king and I go out and quiet his Innuits, who seem to be staging a roughhouse. You can understand her lingo. Perhaps you can pump some ideas out of her that may be of use to us."

When the two allies had left, Swede with as gentlemanly an air as he could muster, began in his native tongue, "Gracious lady--"

Helga jumped, and interjected. "So you are what my Eric calls a Svenska, one of the Vikings of the outside world, like my Eric. That horrid man, who leered at me, looks like a Skraeling, although he wears the clothes of the outer world. So does the man who boarded my ship with you and Altoonah. So does one other whom I saw standing with the native warriors in the stern of your ship during the battle."

She smiled wryly at the word "battle," and went on, "rather, massacre. But you look like a Viking, and your voice sounds like one. Tell me, what are you doing in such evil company? Are you a renegade to your own people?"

Swede listened, enthralled and concerned.

"Gracious lady," he replied in the nearest approach he could make to Norse, "I was not always one of these men. I was born in Sweden."

"Your language is so like that of my Eric when he first came to these lands," said she, "that I am sure you must be a brave and good man like him. What is your name, Viking?"

"Yon Yonson, gracious lady," he replied. "And my life is at your service."

"Then you must get me out of here," she pleaded, "away from those awful men."

By this time, the noise outside had subsided, and Nick and Altoonah reentered. As they came in, Nick was making some bombastic remark to his ally, and translated it for Swede's benefit.

Said Nick, "I was telling him that one Italian was a match for a hundred Vikings."

It was the wrong time to make a remark like that to Johnson.

"It vos a Swede and a Eskimo did it, though," remonstrated the latter.

"Yeah?" replied Fratelli. "Well, get this: it was an Italian's brains that directed the whole show."

"I tank--" began Swede.

"Shut up," exclaimed Nick. "None of that line now. How are you getting along with the moll?"

"I tank she tell me a lot."

"All right, pump her dry. Then guard the door. When you get too tired, come and wake Cicero to take your place."

The other two withdrew, and soon the engines could be heard throbbing again. At last the boat slowed, orders were given outside with much running to and fro, and the anchor dropped. Footsteps retired aft, and then silence. The victors were resting.

Swede turned to the captive princess and said: "I tank ve go ashore." Then in Swedish, "Oh, excuse me. I talked the wrong language. Every one will be asleep soon. They plan to go north in the morning to join Altoonah's army."

"Then we must flee north," interjected Helga.

"No! South," asserted Swede, surprised at her suggestion.

"Don't you see?" explained Helga. "They know that you know that they are going north. So they will expect us to flee in the other direction. Accordingly, they will pursue us south; and, if we have gone north, we shall escape."

It was too subtle for Yon Yonson. "Maybe so."

* * * * *

It seemed absurd to be sneaking away from the ship in broad daylight. But after an interval the two tiptoed out of the cabin into the mess-room. There Swede paused and scratched his head for a moment, then whispered, "We've got to take a chance on waking them, for we can't go without food and weapons."

So he tiptoed into the bunk room, presently emerging with two rifles, two ammunition belts, two automatic pistols, two packs, and a broad grin.

Leading Helga onto the deck, and handing her all the equipment except one pistol and belt, and the two packs, he signed to her to stand still, and then he sneaked aft to the door of the galley. There he paused and shook his head sadly for a moment; but finally, pulling himself together, he entered. The cause of his hesitation had been that the Chinaman was sitting asleep in a chair tilted back against the wall, directly across the galley from the door.

But Helga and he must have food for their journey. If the Chink made a move, Swede was prepared to ship out his gun, and bind and gag Charley, under threat of death.

The intruder knew exactly where the compressed rations were kept, having often helped Charley in the kitchen. So he quickly filled both knapsacks. But to do so, it was necessary for him to turn his back on the Chinaman.

The moment his back was turned, the slit-eyes of the Oriental opened slightly and took in the scene without the slightest change in expression or any bodily movement.

Some sixth sense must have warned Swede that he was observed, for suddenly he wheeled around from his work, snatching out his automatic as he turned. But some sixth sense must have warned Charley Loy, too, for Swede saw merely the placid benign face of a sleeping Chinaman.

Charley made no further move, and Swede at last departed with both his packs well-filled with provisions, and rejoined Helga on deck. Not a soul stirred as, Swede helping Helga, because of the manacled condition of her hands, they made their way ashore, and to a protecting fringe of trees. As the fugitives disappeared, two slant eyes in a yellow face watched them from one of the portholes of the Miami. And then, if any one could have looked at that moment into the ship's kitchen, they would have seen a surprising sight. They would have seen Charley Loy doing a double shuffle dance, with glee writ large on his usually inscrutable face. But, luckily for his reputation as an imperturbable Oriental, no one saw him, for all others on the Miami were sound asleep. Then Charley returned to his chair, refolded his hands across his chest, and resumed his interrupted nap.

* * * * *

Swede and Helga, having gained the cover of the trees, were proceeding northward along the shore at a rapid pace.

As soon as they had gone about a mile, and thus were presumably out of hearing of the Miami, Swede got two large stones from the beach, and bashed the handcuffs between them, until he had freed his companion. Thus ended the eventful career of Mike Murphy's police manacles.

Although the two fugitives were due to have slept at the very time they started forth yet, tired as they were, they did not dare stop until they had struggled on for about eight hours, under the beating central sun. Then they slept, but whether for a few minutes, or a few hours, or a few days, there was no way of telling. The scene and the time of day on which they reopened their eyes were exactly the same as those on which they had closed them.

They had camped beside a little stream, which flowed tinkling to the sea. Now they roused themselves, washed, ate, and hurried on.

A hundred yards or so beyond the brook, the shore made a decided bend inland, so Swede parted the fringe of bushes to get the lay of the land. He found that they were at the tip of the first of two capes which bounded a harbor about a mile long and half a mile across at the mouth.

The opposite shore was devoid of trees, and there he saw what startled, but did not surprise him--a body of about a hundred and fifty Skraelings on the march south. Hastily withdrawing his head, he informed Helga that Altoonah's newly-formed rifle corps were about to arrive on the scene, on their way to rejoin the Miami.

Being a city man, he had no plans. There were here no alleys, down which to duck; no vacant lots to cross; no cellars, in which to hide.

Finally Helga suggested, "Let's hurry back to the little brook, and then go inland in the shelter of the trees and bushes of its ravine."

The idea seemed a good one, so they hastened to put it into execution. Fortunately their progress was assisted by a well-marked animal-trail which paralleled the stream.

As the path ascended, they more and more often caught glimpses of the enemy, until it became evident that, if they went much farther, they would by the same token be in more and more frequent danger of being seen themselves. Besides they were breathless from the speed with which they had made the ascent. So they sat down in the concealment of some bushes, to watch until the enemy should have passed by.

Now the two fugitives saw the Miami steam into sight from the southward. It anchored at the mouth of the little brook at whose headwaters Helga and her Swedish protector were hiding, and Fratelli made contact with his Skraeling rifle company. Nick had reasoned, as Helga had expected, that the fugitives had headed south. But she had not foreseen that he would do what he did--steam south, land a search party to work northward and thus head them off, while he sailed the yacht back to meet his rifle corps.