Jack Higgins by East of Desolation Page A

few Norwegians thrown in for good luck, and Greenlanders, some looking pure Scandinavian, others a hundred per cent Eskimo and most of them falling somewhere in between.
    â€œYou know when I was a kid my old man was pretty strict with us,” Jack said as we sat there waiting for the food to arrive. “He died when I was seven and the family had to split up. I went to live with my Aunt Clara in Wisconsin.”
    â€œDid you get on all right with her?”
    â€œCouldn’t have been better. She started taking me to the movies, something my father never allowed. This wasin the silent days mind you. I can remember one old three-reeler I saw, The Spoilers. It’s been remade three or four times. The version I saw starred Noah Beery and Milton Sills and they had one hell of a brawl on a set that looked just like this place. Funny how your memory works. I haven’t thought of that for years.”
    An impudent young Eskimo girl in a black silk dress that was a size too small brought the food, leaning so close to Desforge when she put his plate on the table that her breast was crushed against his shoulder.
    He asked her to bring him a bottle of whisky from the bar and she ogled him shamelessly, fluttering false eyelashes that somehow looked obscene fringing the slanting, almond-shaped eyes. As she moved through the crowd to the bar someone slapped her backside and there was a sudden burst of laughter. She didn’t show the slightest objection when a bearded fisherman in an oilskin jacket pulled her close, kissed her, then passed her on to the man next to him.
    â€œYou know there are times when I feel like throwing up,” Desforge said. “To think of a once proud people reduced to that.”
    â€œIt’s unfortunate, but primitive races seem to acquire all the vices of our kind of civilisation,” I said, “never its virtues.”
    He nodded. “I’ve seen the same thing back home on Sioux Indian reservations. A great people reduced to putting on a circus act for tourists.”
    â€œThere’ll be nowhere left soon.”
    â€œI suppose not.” There was an expression of settled gloom on his face. The girl brought the bottle and acouple of glasses and he poured himself a large whisky.
    â€œI’ve been thinking of doing a little reindeer hunting. I thought it might be a good opportunity while the Stella is in dry-dock.”
    â€œGot any ideas about where to go?”
    â€œThe barman at the hotel suggested Sandvig. It seems there are still a few of the old Viking settlements on view in that region or what’s left of them. Sounds as if it would be worth the trip even if the hunting doesn’t turn out to be a success.”
    â€œYou could do worse,” I said. “There’s a man down there I’d love you to meet—Olaf Rasmussen.”
    â€œRasmussen? Is he anything to do with Gudrid, the chambermaid at the hotel?”
    â€œHer grandfather. He’s about seventy-five, a real old Viking. Has a farm near Sandvig with eight hundred head of sheep, but he spends most of his time on excavation work on the old settlements on his land.”
    â€œDo you think he’d put me up for a few days?”
    â€œNo question of it—hospitality is his second name. Are you trying to run out on Ilana again by any chance?”
    â€œNo, not this time. I’ll take her with me if she’ll come. How do I get there?”
    â€œThat’s up to you. You could charter Arnie if he’s available or you could even squeeze in with us in the morning if you can be on the slipway at seven. We’ll be calling at Sandvig on the way.”
    â€œI’d forgotten such a time existed,” he said. “Still, it’s a thought.”
    Just then I noticed Vogel, Ralph Stratton and Sarah Kelso standing just inside the doorway. Vogel saw me inthe same moment and said something to the others. He was smiling as they came across.
    â€œI’ve