"H'it was a man. 'E popped 'is 'ead out, then beat it. One o' them
bloomin' 'eathens."

"Probably we'd better turn back."

"Huh!" sniffed the old man. "'Oo cares for the bloomin' 'eathen? 'Armless
they is, 'armless as babies."

They continued their travel, but the old man seemed distinctly uneasy. He
saw heads here and there. And soon, Dave, who did not have the trained
eye of the seaman, saw one also. At once he decided that they must turn
back to the submarine.

Hardly had they taken this course, when heads seemed to be peering out at
them from every ice-pile. It was when they were crossing a broad, flat
pan that matters came to a crisis. Suddenly brown, fur-clad figures
emerged from the piles at the edge of the pan and approached them. Their
soft, rawhide boots made no sound on the ice. Their lips were ominously
silent. There was a sinister gleam to the spears which they bore.

Half-way to the men, at a sign from the leader, they all paused. Then a
little knot gathered about the leader. Three men did the greater part of
the talking. They appeared to be urging the leader to action.

Dave, who knew that the old seaman was acquainted with several native
dialects, said:

"What do you make of it?"