PIRACY.
On the Miami, Swede was saying to Nick and Cicero, "I tank it vos
Yimmy."
"Then why the hell didn't you and Cicero pot him, instead of the
Viking?" ejaculated Fratelli disgustedly. "But it couldn't possibly
have been Jimmy--he don't know how to fly."
"Beginner's luck," explained Cicero Tony sagely, adding, "But we got
the Viking, anyhow."
"Yah, ve got him," assented Swede, but he didn't seem particularly
elated about it. He seemed to have a growing fellow-feeling for these
tall blond Norsemen.
"Look, there he crashes!" shouted Nick. "Quick, Cicero, the engines!
I'll take the wheel."
But though they searched the water, and even the near-by shore, with
great care, they found no trace of their former leader. Finally they
gave up the search, and returned to their anchorage. Nick Fratelli was
elated. His usually sour features glowed.
"Dead, that's a cinch!" he chortled. "This gets rid of the only man
in this country with more brains than I got. I'll be the Vikings'
king--I'll be their emperor--why, I may even be their Mussolini!"
Following the attack by the glider, Nick, Altoonah and the impromptu
interpreter Friday conferred again, while Charley Loy, assisted by
several of the Skraelings, prepared a delectable venison stew, of a
colossal prehistoric Irish elk, with chopped breadfruit to take the
place of both potatoes and chestnuts, and with bits of orange-peel to
give it an acid tang.
The result was really a work of culinary art, and was hailed as a great
success by the members of both races. Try it, the next time you kill an
Irish elk where there are breadfruit in abundance.
Finally the terms of the alliance were concluded, and the bargain was
sealed by the two chiefs solemnly clasping hands over a ring, a Viking
custom, one of the many copied by the Skraeling chief. They had to
use a deck-ring for the purpose, no other sort of large ring being
available.
Then all the remaining rifles, about a hundred in number, were unloaded
from the hold, and the pick of Altoonah's warriors, who had by this
time arrived, were selected as a rifle company, to be trained under
the personal instruction of the three gangsters. This rifle company
consisted of one hundred and fifty savages, so as to allow for
casualties and still keep the strength up to the available number of
Springfields.
The picked Skraeling warriors were very proud of having been chosen,
and were anxious to try out the rifles at once; but Nick Fratelli knew
from World War experience that recruits should not be given firearms
until they had mastered at least the rudiments of discipline and
squad-movements.
Nick was not worrying about any attack from the Vikings just yet. The
Vikings would probably wait for two or three days before sending out a
searching party or another glider; and he could count on about three
days additional thereafter, before the enemy would arrive on the scene,
for he calculated that his present position was three days' march from
the plateau.
Given thus the five or six days leeway that he expected, he could whip
his new troops into such shape so that, if they did not break and run
at the first attack, their hundred rifles, shooting however wild, would
be more than a match for the four to six which the Vikings could muster.
The gangster issued rifles and a little ammunition to Altoonah and his
bodyguard, more as an evidence of good faith than because they could be
expected to know how to use them.
* * * * *
In the morning--which of course was marked by no sunrise, but merely by
enough of them waking up to disturb and rouse the others--the squads
were formed again, and Nick, in the august presence of King Altoonah
and his staff, began the superhuman task of making modern soldiers
out of a rabble of naked savages. Yet superhuman as it was, it was
absolutely essential to his plans of conquest.
According to Nick's calculations, the enemy against whom he was
training these men were still in their rocky fortress many miles to the
northward; whereas, in actuality, the enemy were almost upon him.
A fairly level bowlder-dotted field bordered the beach, where the
Skraeling horde stood, or reclined, or squatted. In the center of the
field were drawn up the two ranks of the incipient rifle company. In
front of them, in a group, stood Nick the Rat, with Cicero, Swede and
Friday. Also Altoonah, the Skraeling chieftain, with his bodyguard.
Charley Loy leaned over the ship's rail, an interested spectator.
Nick issued the commands, with explanations assisted by Friday.
Altoonah reënforced his authority.
That edge of the field furthest from the sea was backed by a ledge of
rocks, topped by a thicket of small trees; and from this thicket a
score or more of hostile eyes took in every detail of the scene below.
Tom Jones, Mike Murphy and Little Arty---for they were among these
spies in the thicket--withdrew stealthily out of earshot, and discussed
the situation. The Viking commander of the expedition withdrew with
them, although of course he could not contribute very much to the
discussion.
"Altoonah?" they asked him.
"_Yah_," he replied, for he had recognized the crutches.
Then said Tom, "Nick has made an alliance with the Skraeling king,
just as we feared. Nick carries his right arm in a sling. Swede's left
hand and Cicero's right shoulder are bandaged. And we found Scutari
dead back there. So I guess our five Vikings did some very creditable
fighting before they were finally slaughtered by modern firearms. But
what is more to the point, these wounds mean that none of the three
white men is very formidable with a rifle right now. And none of the
three has his rifle with him at the moment. Altoonah and the savages
grouped around him have rifles; but, as they must have got them off the
Miami, I doubt if any of them has the slightest idea how to use them,
except possibly Altoonah himself, and he'd have difficulty handling
one on crutches. We four have rifles, know how to use them, and are
uninjured. Shall we wait for reënforcements, while Nick arms and trains
these savages, or shall we sneak back to the edge of the ridge and
shoot up the party?"
"The Skraelings will probably attack us, the moment we open fire,"
answered Murphy. "There are enough of them to overpower us in spite of
our guns."
"Yeah?" sneered Little Arty. "Scared of getting nudged by a hunk of
lead, are you? Well, if we bump off the wop, and the squarehead, and
Cicero, what difference will it make what happens to us after that?
Where is your nerve, flat-foot?"
"Let's go," said Tom.
"It's okeh with me," the ex-cop, stung, hastened to agree.
"That makes it anonymous," said the little jockey. "Come on."
Turning to the Viking, Tom patted his own rifle, pointed in the
direction of the enemy, crooked his finger a number of times, and said
brilliantly, "Bang, bang, bang!"
The Viking smiled and nodded.
"_Yah!_" said he.
* * * * *
The four of them crawled back to the top of the ledge. The positions of
the enemy were practically unchanged. Tom pointed out to the Viking the
group on which they were to fire first. Then all four drew a careful
bead on Nick Fratelli. It seemed inevitable that at least one of them
would be sure to bring down their victim.
But at just that moment they, or some of their followers, were glimpsed
by one of the Skraelings.
"Vikings!" rang out the cry.
Instantly the scene on the plain below shifted like a kaleidoscope.
Altoonah might not be versed in modern squad-formations, but, in spite
of his inheriting the rank from his father Goovah, he could not have
held his kingship over the wild hordes if he had not developed an
uncanny ability to direct large bodies of men on the field of battle.
A few words of command shouted by him, and his warriors were charging
in a body up the slope. Instinctively Tom, Mike, Arty and their ally
depressed their muzzles to aim at the coming attack, and only too
late realized that they ought to have pulled their triggers at Nick
Fratelli before doing so. Back up swung their muzzles. But Nick and
his two henchmen and even Altoonah had taken advantage of the respite
to drop behind protecting bowlders. Friday had joined the rush of the
Skraelings.
The four on the ledge now fired repeatedly into the oncoming mob, but
their shots stopped only individuals. Rather than be engulfed, they
slowly fell back inland. Their plan having failed, there was no point
in their remaining to be massacred.
As the first impetuousness of the Skraeling charge wore off, the
savages advanced more cautiously, and this enabled the Vikings
to collect their forces and beat an orderly retreat. They knew,
which their assailants did not, that they were falling back upon
reënforcements.
Altoonah's bodyguard had instinctively dropped their rifles and
reverted to their native spears, when the fighting started. Their king
alone kept hold of his firearm, and had hobbled after his men as soon
as the Vikings had been driven from their position.
Crawling cautiously from behind their protective rocks, the three
gangsters recovered the fallen guns, took them back to the ship and
passed them up to Charley Loy.
"We really ought to get into this fight," stated Nick, standing on the
beach and looking back toward the battle.
"Vy?" asked Swede.
"Well, it's our fight," explained Nick. "If it weren't for these damn'
wounds, we could make those crooks eat lead."
"Let's get out of here while the getting is good," suggested Cicero
shamelessly.
"I suppose Altoonah really doesn't need any help," ruminated Nick.
"He's got enough men to do them Vikings up, in spite of their guns. We
ought to be off after Helga Redmond anyhow. You two go on board and get
the Miami ready to start, while I have a word with Altoonah."
And he lumbered off in the direction of the fighting.
Altoonah was too canny to lead a charge against modern firearms,
especially in his crippled condition, so Fratelli found him in the rear
directing the attack. In a few hurried words their plans were made.
Altoonah was to turn over the command to a lieutenant, and with nine
picked men was to return to the Miami, which was then to start south
to intercept the ship bearing Helga Redmond. When the Skraelings had
annihilated Tom Jones's party of Vikings, the prospective rifle company
were to march south along the shore, keeping an eye out for the Miami.
The rest of the Skraelings were to go into camp and hold off as long as
possible any counter-attacking parties of Vikings.
These plans decided on, Altoonah turned over the command and gave the
necessary instructions to his lieutenant. Friday was located in the
mêlée, and the group went back to the boat, which they found with
engines purring, all ready to depart.
* * * * *
So they set out to the southward, and it was not long before they
sighted the painted sail and high prow of the Viking freighter, bound
north. She was making good headway, under the influence of her oars and
a following wind.
As the motor yacht approached, all those on the Viking ship who were
neither rowing nor steering, crowded forward to see the strange
sight--a boat moving at an unbelievable speed, without either sails
or oars. Among the Vikings could be seen a regal young woman, richly
dressed, with rich yellow hair.
The Miami sped by, then circled, and slowing down her speed to that of
the Viking craft, drew up alongside. Nick Fratelli was at the wheel,
Cicero at the engines, Swede and Friday at the bow machine gun, and
Altoonah, with only his shield and crutches, beside them in the bow.
The rest of the Skraelings and Charley Loy were ranged along the deck,
aft.
Nick had never felt so short-handed. He needed Cicero both at the
engines and to assist Swede with the bow machine gun, where Friday was
but a poor substitute. He would have liked to have manned the stern
gun, too, but that was out of the question.
Some of the Vikings were nervously fitting arrows to their bows, as
Altoonah began the conversation. It was dangerous, coming thus within
range of the enemy, but the swish of the oars and the chug of the motor
made intercourse impossible out of bowshot, so the chance had to be
taken.
"Who is in command?" shouted Altoonah in Norse.
Helga Redmond stepped to the rail and replied, "I, the Princess Helga.
What sort of a godless ship is yours, that sails without sails, and
rows without oars? Who are you? And come you for peace or for war?"
"We come for peace, most beautiful Helga," answered the Skraeling
chieftain. "This boat is the magic ship of the Innuits, which we have
built to prove our superiority over your people, who still rely on
clumsy sails and oars. Do you not recognize your former lover, the
great Altoonah, King of the Innuits? I have come for you, Helga Uppri,
as I promised when you married Eric Redmond."
"You are vile," shouted the princess. "If you do not at once withdraw
the insult, I shall have you shot, unarmed and a cripple though you be.
The wife of Eric Redmond, and the daughter of Thorvald Uppri, is not
for any Skraeling scum."
Now it never does to call a Skraeling a "Skraeling," for their word for
themselves is "Innuits." "Skraeling" is like the French word for the
Germans, namely "Boches."
Yet Altoonah smiled as he answered, "And Altoonah is not unarmed.
You know the magic slingshots which Eric and Angus brought from the
mythical land beyond the northern ice? Well, we Innuits have an even
greater weapon, which can devastate your entire ship's company at one
blast. If you will come peaceably aboard us, we shall spare their
lives. Otherwise they die."
Helga's reply was a sharp command, and the twang of many bowstrings,
and the hum of many arrows.