with him
through the midst of the native chiefs, above whose heads he towered
conspicuously, until he stood before Whitepow. Taking off his iron
helmet he bowed to the old chief, an act which appeared to afford that
worthy much satisfaction, for, although he did not venture to return the
bow, he exclaimed "Ho!" with solemn emphasis.

This was all very pleasant, but it was not much. Karlsefin, therefore,
tried his hand at a little gesticulation, while the natives gazed at him
with speechless interest. Whitepow and Utway then replied with a
variety of energetic demonstrations, some of which the Norseman
understood, while of others he could make nothing at all, but the result
of it all was, that Utway made a final proposal, which was very clear,
to the effect that the Norsemen should approach the savages, mingle with
them, and be friends.

To this Karlsefin returned a decided negative, by shaking his head and
frowning portentously. At the same time he stooped and held his hand
about two feet from the ground, as if to indicate something that stood
pretty nearly that height. Then he tenderly patted the top of the
imaginary thing, whatever it was, and took it up in his arms, kissed it,
and laid it on his breast. After that he indicated another thing
somewhat higher, which he also patted on the top. Thereafter he pressed
his arms close to his side and struggled as if to get loose from
something, but could not until he had taken hold of an imaginary knife,
cut the something which bound him, and set his arms free.

All this was apparently understood and immensely relished by the
natives, who nodded to each other and vociferated "Ho!" to such an
extent that the repetition caused it to sound somewhat like a fiendish
laugh. But here Whitepow put in his veto, shook his head and appeared
inexorable, whereupon Karlsefin crossed his arms on his breast and
looked frowningly on the ground.

Things had just reached this uncomfortable pass, when Karlsefin's eye
chanced to fall on the end of a piece of bright scarlet cloth with which
Gudrid had smilingly ornamented his neck before he set out on this
expedition,--just as a young wife might, in chivalrous ages, have tied a
scarf to her knight's arm before sending him off to the wars.

A sudden idea flashed upon him. He unfastened the strip of cloth, and,
advancing, presented it to Whitepow, with a bland smile.

The aged chief was not proof against this. He gazed at the brilli