"Can't get 'em straight," said Jarvis. "But them three 'eathen that's
talkin' loudest, them's 'eathen from another tribe 'er somethin'.
They're not the right color. Their eyes hain't right an' they don't speak
the language right. I think they got it in their 'eads that we h'ought
ter be pinched fer trespassin' 'er somethin' the like. But we'll fight
the bloomin' 'eathen, we will, h'if they start a bloomin' rumpus."

"What with?" smiled Dave.

The old seaman looked nonplused for a moment.

"Ho, well," he grinned, then. "Can't be any 'arm in goin' with the
bloomin' idgits a piece, h'if they request it."

The horde of natives did, at last, request it in a rather forceful and
threatening way. The three men, whom Jarvis had singled out as "'eathen
from another tribe," became so insulting that Dave could scarcely
restrain Jarvis from braining their leader on the spot.

They were led to the edge of the ice-floe where, hidden in a remote
corner, was an oomiak, a native boat of skins.

From here they were quickly paddled over to the shore. They were then
led up a steep bank, down a street lined with innumerable dome-like
houses covered with walrus-skin, and were finally dragged into the
largest of these houses and rudely thrust into an inner room. The door
slammed, and Jarvis laughed.

"Humph!" he chuckled. "Fancy putting a man in a bloomin' jail made
of deer skin. Much 'ead as the bloomin' 'eathen 'ave. Let's 'ave a