“I fear, Krake, that you have eaten too much, or by some other means have spoilt your powers of interpretation,” said Leif with a laugh, as the puzzled interpreter shook his head for the fifth time at an energetic young savage with a red spot on his chin, and a blue stripe on his nose, who had been gesticulating—we might almost say agonising—before him for some time.
“’Tis beyond my powers entirely,” said Krake. “Try it again, Bluenose,” he added, turning once more to the savage with resolute intensity of concentration; “drive about your limbs and looks a little harder. I’ll make ye out if it’s in the power of man.”
Thus adjured, the young savage opened his mouth wide, pointed with his finger down his throat, then up at the sky, spread both hands abroad in a vague manner, and exclaimed “ho!” as though to say, “that’s plain enough, surely!”
“Oh, for shame! Is it eaten too much ye have? Is that what ye want to say?”
That was evidently not what he wanted to say, for the poor savage looked round with quite a disconsolate aspect.
“Come hither, Powlet,” cried Biarne; “you’re a smart boy; see if you can make the matter somewhat plainer.”
Powlet at all events understood his name, and Biarne’s beckoning finger, for he rose and went to him. Biarne confronted him with the young savage, and told the two to talk with each other by means of signs, which consisted in his touching the lips of both and thrusting their heads together.
The young savage smiled intelligently and spoke to Powlet, who thereupon turned to Biarne, and, rolling his eyes for a few seconds, uttered a low wail.
“Sure it isn’t pains you’re troubled with?” asked Krake, in a voice of pity.
“I do believe it must be that they refer to some one whom we have wounded during the fight,” suggested Leif, “and that they think we have him concealed in the hamlet.”