"Makuik! Makuik!"
At the repetition I heard a shriek of pain from Swank and glanced over my shoulder in time to see him rise in the air. The ice block was shattered beneath him and I saw an ugly stub of seal-spear, thrust accurately where he had formerly sat. Directly back of him leaped an ape-like figure as swart and scowling as a Japanese war mask. He carried a terrific weapon, a keen-edged blubber cutter, with which he made directly at me.
At ten paces I recognized him but too late to stop the impending blow. Firing over my shoulder, a tricky shot at best, I shattered the bone blade into a thousand fragments, at the same instant jumping to my feet and shouting—"Makuik! Tapok!"
I had given my name, "Tapok," the Icelandic pronunciation, and at the sound he stopped like a man shot.
"Makuik!" I cried again.
His ferocious scowl faded through stupefaction to astonishment and gleeful recognition.
"Tapok!" he rumbled, spreading his arms wide. "Kata pokok Ikik nakatok!"
I regret that I cannot translate his remark which was highly improper and referred definitely to the woman, Ikik, who stood trembling beside us. She had raised her oomiak and now, to hide her blushes, folded her glorious hair across her face so that she resembled some divine being, half goddess, half skye-terrier. Back of the screen I saw her blue eyes shining and caught a suppressed gurgle of mirth. All, then, was not lost.
In the meantime the cairn was humming like a mighty hive while through a re-opened aperture crawled other individuals, first a younger Eskimo, a mere stripling, followed by four other Eskimos, all radiant blondes. One of them carried a child, slung over her shoulder in her oomiak.