This accomplished, he organised his men into three bands, which were to be commanded respectively by Biarne, Thorward, and himself. These were appointed to particular localities and duties in the little fortress—for it was now almost entitled to such an appellation. When night drew on, sentinels were posted as before. But there was no alarm during the night. The savages appeared to have had enough of fighting for that time, and next morning’s sun arose, as it was wont to do, on a peaceful scene.
“Do you think they will attack us again?” asked Gudrid as she sat at breakfast.
“I think not,” replied her husband. “They cannot but know that we are troublesome fellows to deal with, even when taken unawares.”
“I hope they won’t go off without giving us a chance to show that we desire to be friendly,” observed Thorward.
“No fear of that,” said Biarne; “we have got one of their chiefs—at least I think he is so, for he looks like one—and that is as good as a string tied to their great toe.”
“By the way, how is the chief, Bertha?” asked Karlsefin.
“Much better this morning. He slept well, and is even now sitting up on his bed. He looked so well, indeed, that I took the precaution to fasten the door on the outside when I left him just now.”
“Ha! Didst fasten the window, wench?” cried Thorward, starting up and hastening from the room.
“Truly, no,” remarked the girl, with a somewhat confused look; “I never thought of the window.”
Thorward returned a minute later with a peculiar smile.