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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Snare + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: August 11, 2009 [EBook #4515] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: January 29, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SNARE *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE GOLDEN SNARE +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF KAZAN, THE DANGER TRAIL, <BR> +THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE, <BR> +THE GRIZZLY KING, ETC. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">X</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">XXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">XXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">XXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">XXV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">XXVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE GOLDEN SNARE +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +Bram Johnson was an unusual man, even for the northland. He was, above +all other things, a creature of environment—and necessity, and of that +something else which made of him at times a man with a soul, and at +others a brute with the heart of a devil. In this story of Bram, and +the girl, and the other man, Bram himself should not be blamed too +much. He was pathetic, and yet he was terrible. It is doubtful if he +really had what is generally regarded as a soul. If he did, it was +hidden—hidden to the forests and the wild things that had made him. +</P> + +<P> +Bram's story started long before he was born, at least three +generations before. That was before the Johnsons had gone north of +Sixty. But they were wandering, and steadily upward. If one puts a +canoe in the Lower Athabasca and travels northward to the Great Slave +and thence up the Mackenzie to the Arctic he will note a number of +remarkable ethnological changes. The racial characteristics of the +world he is entering change swiftly. The thin-faced Chippewa with his +alert movements and high-bowed canoe turns into the slower moving Cree, +with his broader cheeks, his more slanting eyes, and his racier +birchbark. And even the Cree changes as he lives farther north; each +new tribe is a little different from its southernmost neighbor, until +at last the Cree looks like a Jap, and the Chippewyan takes his place. +And the Chippewyan takes up the story of life where the Cree left off. +Nearer the Arctic his canoe becomes a skin kaiak, his face is still +broader, Ms eyes like a Chinaman's, and writers of human history call +him Eskimo. +</P> + +<P> +The Johnsons, once they started, did not stop at any particular point. +There was probably only one Johnson in the beginning of that hundred +year story which was to have its finality in Bram. But there were more +in time. The Johnson blood mixed itself first with the Chippewa, and +then with the Cree—and the Cree-Chippewa Johnson blood, when at last +it reached the Eskimo, had in it also a strain of Chippewyan. It is +curious how the name itself lived. Johnson! One entered a tepee or a +cabin expecting to find there a white man, and was startled when he +discovered the truth. +</P> + +<P> +Bram, after nearly a century of this intermixing of bloods, was a +throwback—a white man, so far as his skin and his hair and his eyes +went. In other physical ways he held to the type of his half-strain +Eskimo mother, except in size. He was six feet, and a giant in +strength. His face was broad, his cheek-bones high, his lips thick, his +nose flat. And he was WHITE. That was the shocking thing about it all. +Even his hair was a reddish blonde, wild and coarse and ragged like a +lion's mane, and his eyes were sometimes of a curious blue, and at +others—when he was angered—green like a cat's at night-time. +</P> + +<P> +No man knew Bram for a friend. He was a mystery. He never remained at a +post longer than was necessary to exchange his furs for supplies, and +it might be months or even years before he returned to that particular +post again. He was ceaselessly wandering. More or less the Royal +Northwest Mounted Police kept track of him, and in many reports of +faraway patrols filed at Headquarters there are the laconic words, "We +saw Bram and his wolves traveling northward" or "Bram and his wolves +passed us"—always Bram AND HIS WOLVES. For two years the Police lost +track of him. That was when Bram was buried in the heart of the Sulphur +Country east of the Great Bear. After that the Police kept an even +closer watch on him, waiting, and expecting something to happen. And +then—the something came. Bram killed a man. He did it so neatly and so +easily, breaking him as he might have broken a stick, that he was well +off in flight before it was discovered that his victim was dead. The +next tragedy followed quickly—a fortnight later, when Corporal Lee and +a private from the Fort Churchill barracks closed in on him out on the +edge of the Barren. Bram didn't fire a shot. They could hear his great, +strange laugh when they were still a quarter of a mile away from him. +Bram merely set loose his wolves. By a miracle Corporal Lee lived to +drag himself to a half-breed's cabin, where he died a little later, and +the half-breed brought the story to Fort Churchill. +</P> + +<P> +After this, Bram disappeared from the eyes of the world. What he lived +in those four or five years that followed would well be worth his +pardon if his experiences could be made to appear between the covers of +a book. Bram—AND HIS WOLVES! Think of it. Alone. In all that time +without a voice to talk to him. Not once appearing at a post for food. +A loup-garou. An animal-man. A companion of wolves. By the end of the +third year there was not a drop of dog-blood in his pack. It was wolf, +all wolf. From whelps he brought the wolves up, until he had twenty in +his pack. They were monsters, for the under-grown ones he killed. +Perhaps he would have given them freedom in place of death, but these +wolf-beasts of Bram's would not accept freedom. In him they recognized +instinctively the super-beast, and they were his slaves. And Bram, +monstrous and half animal himself, loved them. To him they were +brother, sister, wife—all creation. He slept with them, and ate with +them, and starved with them when food was scarce. They were comradeship +and protection. When Bram wanted meat, and there was meat in the +country, he would set his wolf-horde on the trail of a caribou or a +moose, and if they drove half a dozen miles ahead of Bram himself there +would always be plenty of meat left on the bones when he arrived. Four +years of that! The Police would not believe it. They laughed at the +occasional rumors that drifted in from the far places; rumors that Bram +had been seen, and that his great voice had been heard rising above the +howl of his pack on still winter nights, and that half-breeds and +Indians had come upon his trails, here and there—at widely divergent +places. It was the French half-breed superstition of the chasse-galere +that chiefly made them disbelieve, and the chasse-galere is a thing not +to be laughed at in the northland. It is composed of creatures who have +sold their souls to the devil for the power of navigating the air, and +there were those who swore with their hands on the crucifix of the +Virgin that they had with their own eyes seen Bram and his wolves +pursuing the shadowy forms of great beasts through the skies. +</P> + +<P> +So the Police believed that Bram was dead; and Bram, meanwhile, keeping +himself from all human eyes, was becoming more and more each day like +the wolves who were his brothers. But the white blood in a man dies +hard, and always there flickered in the heart of Bram's huge chest a +great yearning. It must at times have been worse than death—that +yearning to hear a human voice, to have a human creature to speak to, +though never had he loved man or woman. Which brings us at last to the +final tremendous climax in Bram's life—to the girl, and the other man. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +The other man was Raine—Philip Raine. +</P> + +<P> +To-night he sat in Pierre Breault's cabin, with Pierre at the opposite +side of the table between them, and the cabin's sheet iron stove +blazing red just beyond. It was a terrible night outside. Pierre, the +fox hunter, had built his shack at the end of a long slim forefinger of +scrub spruce that reached out into the Barren, and to-night the wind +was wailing and moaning over the open spaces in a way that made Raine +shiver. Close to the east was Hudson's Bay—so close that a few moments +before when Raine had opened the cabin door there came to him the low, +never-ceasing thunder of the under-currents fighting their way down +through the Roes Welcome from the Arctic Ocean, broken now and then by +a growling roar as the giant forces sent a crack, like a great knife, +through one of the frozen mountains. Westward from Pierre's cabin there +stretched the lifeless Barren, illimitable and void, without rock or +bush, and overhung at day by a sky that always made Raine think of a +terrible picture he had once seen of Dore's "Inferno"—a low, thick +sky, like purple and blue granite, always threatening to pitch itself +down in terrific avalanches. And at night, when the white foxes yapped, +and the wind moaned— +</P> + +<P> +"As I have hope of paradise I swear that I saw him—alive, M'sieu," +Pierre was saying again over the table. +</P> + +<P> +Raine, of the Fort Churchill patrol of the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, no longer smiled in disbelief. He knew that Pierre Breault was +a brave man, or he would not have perched himself alone out in the +heart of the Barren to catch the white foxes; and he was not +superstitious, like most of his kind, or the sobbing cries and strife +of the everlasting night-winds would have driven him away. +</P> + +<P> +"I swear it!" repeated Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +Something that was almost eagerness was burning now in Philip's face. +He leaned over the table, his hands gripping tightly. He was +thirty-five; almost slim as Pierre himself, with eyes as steely blue as +Pierre's were black. There was a time, away back, when he wore a dress +suit as no other man in the big western city where he lived; now the +sleeves of his caribou skin coat were frayed and torn, his hands were +knotted, in his face were the lines of storm and wind. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible," he said. "Bram Johnson is dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"He is alive, M'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +In Pierre's voice there was a strange tremble. +</P> + +<P> +"If I had only HEARD, if I had not SEEN, you might disbelieve, M'sieu," +he cried, his eyes glowing with a dark fire. "Yes, I heard the cry of +the pack first, and I went to the door, and opened it, and stood there +listening and looking out into the night. UGH! they went near. I could +hear the hoofs of the caribou. And then I heard a great cry, a voice +that rose above the howl of the wolves like the voice of ten men, and I +knew that Bram Johnson was on the trail of meat. MON DIEU—yes—he is +alive. And that is not all. No. No. That is not all—" +</P> + +<P> +His fingers were twitching. For the third or fourth time in the last +three-quarters of an hour Raine saw him fighting back a strange +excitement. His own incredulity was gone. He was beginning to believe +Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"And after that—you saw him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I would not do again what I did then for all the foxes between +the Athabasca and the Bay, M'sieu. It must have been—I don't know +what. It dragged me out into the night. I followed. I found the trail +of the wolves, and I found the snowshoe tracks of a man. Oui. I still +followed. I came close to the kill, with the wind in my face, and I +could hear the snapping of jaws and the rending of flesh—yes—yes—AND +A MAN'S TERRIBLE LAUGH! If the wind had shifted—if that pack of +devils' souls had caught the smell of me—tonnerre de dieu!" He +shuddered, and the knuckles of his fingers snapped as he clenched and +unclenched his hands. "But I stayed there, M'sieu, half buried in a +snow dune. They went on after a long time. It was so dark I could not +see them. I went to the kill then, and—yes, he had carried away the +two hind quarters of the caribou. It was a bull, too, and heavy. I +followed—clean across that strip of Barren down to the timber, and it +was there that Bram built himself the fire. I could see him then, and I +swear by the Blessed Virgin that it was Bram! Long ago, before he +killed the man, he came twice to my cabin—and he had not changed. And +around him, in the fire-glow, the wolves huddled. It was then that I +came to my reason. I could see him fondling them. I could see their +gleaming fangs. Yes, I could HEAR their bodies, and he was talking to +them and laughing with them through his great beard—and I turned and +fled back to the cabin, running so swiftly that even the wolves would +have had trouble in catching me. And that—that—WAS NOT ALL!" +</P> + +<P> +Again his fingers were clenching and unclenching as he stared at Raine. +</P> + +<P> +"You believe me, M'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems impossible. And yet—you could not have been dreaming, +Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +Breault drew a deep breath of satisfaction, and half rose to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"And you will believe me if I tell you the rest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Swiftly Pierre went to his bunk and returned with the caribou skin +pouch in which he carried his flint and steel and fire material for the +trail. +</P> + +<P> +"The next day I went back, M'sieu," he said, seating himself again +opposite Philip. "Bram and his wolves were gone. He had slept in a +shelter of spruce boughs. And—and—par les mille cornes du diable if +he had even brushed the snow out! His great moccasin tracks were all +about among the tracks of the wolves, and they were big as the spoor of +a monster bear. I searched everywhere for something that he might have +left, and I found—at last—a rabbit snare." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre Breault's eyes, and not his words—and the curious twisting and +interlocking of his long slim fingers about the caribou-skin bag in his +hand stirred Philip with the thrill of a tense and mysterious +anticipation, and as he waited, uttering no word, Pierre's fingers +opened the sack, and he said: +</P> + +<P> +"A rabbit snare, M'sieu, which had dropped from his pocket into the +snow—" +</P> + +<P> +In another moment he had given it into Philip's hands. The oil lamp was +hung straight above them. Its light flooded the table between them, and +from Philip's lips, as he stared at the snare, there broke a gasp of +amazement. Pierre had expected that cry. He had at first been +disbelieved; now his face burned with triumph. It seemed, for a space, +as if Philip had ceased breathing. He stared—stared—while the light +from above him scintillated on the thing he held. It was a snare. There +could be no doubt of that. It was almost a yard in length, with the +curious Chippewyan loop at one end and the double-knot at the other. +</P> + +<P> +The amazing thing about it was that it was made of a woman's golden +hair. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +The process of mental induction occasionally does not pause to reason +its way, but leaps to an immediate and startling finality, which, by +reason of its very suddenness, is for a space like the shock of a +sudden blow. After that one gasp of amazement Philip made no sound. He +spoke no word to Pierre. In a sudden lull of the wind sweeping over the +cabin the ticking of his watch was like the beating of a tiny drum. +Then, slowly, his eyes rose from the silken thread in his fingers and +met Pierre's. Each knew what the other was thinking. If the hair had +been black. If it had been brown. Even had it been of the coarse red of +the blond Eskimo of the upper Mackenzie! But it was gold—shimmering +gold. +</P> + +<P> +Still without speaking, Philip drew a knife from his pocket and cut the +shining thread above the second knot, and worked at the finely wrought +weaving of the silken filaments until a tress of hair, crinkled and +waving, lay on the table before them. If he had possessed a doubt, it +was gone now. He could not remember where he had ever seen just that +colored gold in a woman's hair. Probably he had, at one time or +another. It was not red gold. It possessed no coppery shades and lights +as it rippled there in the lamp glow. It was flaxen, and like spun +silk—so fine that, as he looked at it, he marveled at the patience +that had woven it into a snare. Again he looked at Pierre. The same +question was in their eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be—that Bram has a woman with him," said Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be," said Philip. "Or—" +</P> + +<P> +That final word, its voiceless significance, the inflection which +Philip gave to it as he gazed at Pierre, stood for the one tremendous +question which, for a space, possessed the mind of each. Pierre +shrugged his shoulders. He could not answer it. And as he shrugged his +shoulders he shivered, and at a sudden blast of the wind against the +cabin door he turned quickly, as though he thought the blow might have +been struck by a human hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Diable!" he cried, recovering himself, his white teeth flashing a +smile at Philip. "It has made me nervous—what I saw there in the light +of the campfire, M'sieu. Bram, and his wolves, and THAT!" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded at the shimmering strands. +</P> + +<P> +"You have never seen hair the color of this, Pierre?" +</P> + +<P> +"Non. In all my life—not once." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet you have seen white women at Fort Churchill, at York Factory, +at Lac la Biche, at Cumberland House, and Norway House, and at Fort +Albany?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h-h, and at many other places, M'sieu. At God's Lake, at Lac Seul, +and over on the Mackenzie—and never have I seen hair on a woman like +that." +</P> + +<P> +"And Bram has never been out of the northland, never farther south than +Fort Chippewyan that we know of," said Philip. "It makes one shiver, +eh, Pierre? It makes one think of—WHAT? Can't you answer? Isn't it in +your mind?" +</P> + +<P> +French and Cree were mixed half and half in Pierre's blood. The pupils +of his eyes dilated as he met Philip's steady gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"It makes one think," he replied uneasily, "of the chasse-galere and +the loup-garou, and—and—almost makes one believe. I am not +superstitious, M'sieu—non—non—I am not superstitious," he cried +still more uneasily. "But many strange things are told about Bram and +his wolves;—that he has sold his soul to the devil, and can travel +through the air, and that he can change himself into the form of a wolf +at will. There are those who have heard him singing the Chanson de +Voyageur to the howling of his wolves away up in the sky. I have seen +them, and talked with them, and over on the McLeod I saw a whole tribe +making incantation because they had seen Bram and his wolves building +themselves a conjuror's house in the heart of a thunder-cloud. So—is +it strange that he should snare rabbits with, a woman's hair?" +</P> + +<P> +"And change black into the color of the sun?" added Philip, falling +purposely into the other's humor. +</P> + +<P> +"If the rest is true—" +</P> + +<P> +Pierre did not finish. He caught himself, swallowing hard, as though a +lump had risen in his throat, and for a moment or two Philip saw him +fighting with himself, struggling with the age-old superstitions which +had flared up for an instant like a powder-flash. His jaws tightened, +and he threw back his head. +</P> + +<P> +"But those stories are NOT true, M'sieu," he added in a repressed +voice. "That is why I showed you the snare. Bram Johnson is not dead. +He is alive. And there is a woman with him, or—" +</P> + +<P> +"Or—" +</P> + +<P> +The same thought was in their eyes again. And again neither gave voice +to it. Carefully Philip was gathering up the strands of hair, winding +them about his forefinger, and placing them afterward in a leather +wallet which he took from his pocket. Then, quite casually, he loaded +his pipe and lighted it. He went to the door, opened it, and for a few +moments stood listening to the screech of the wind over the Barren. +Pierre, still seated at the table, watched him attentively. Philip's +mind was made up when he closed the door and faced the half-breed again. +</P> + +<P> +"It is three hundred miles from here to Fort Churchill," he said. "Half +way, at the lower end of Jesuche Lake, MacVeigh and his patrol have +made their headquarters. If I go after Bram, Pierre, I must first make +certain of getting a message to MacVeigh, and he will see that it gets +to Fort Churchill. Can you leave your foxes and poison-baits and your +deadfalls long enough for that?" +</P> + +<P> +A moment Pierre hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +Then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"I will take the message." +</P> + +<P> +Until late that night Philip sat up writing his report. He had started +out to run down a band of Indian thieves. More important business had +crossed his trail, and he explained the whole matter to Superintendent +Fitzgerald, commanding "M" Division at Fort Churchill. He told Pierre +Breault's story as he had heard it. He gave his reasons for believing +it, and that Bram Johnson, three times a murderer, was alive. He asked +that another man be sent after the Indians, and explained, as nearly as +he could, the direction he would take in his pursuit of Bram. +</P> + +<P> +When the report was finished and sealed he had omitted just one thing. +</P> + +<P> +Not a word had he written about the rabbit snare woven from a woman's +hair. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +The next morning the tail of the storm was still sweeping bitterly over +the edge of the Barren, but Philip set out, with Pierre Breault as his +guide, for the place where the half-breed had seen Bram Johnson and his +wolves in camp. Three days had passed since that exciting night, and +when they arrived at the spot where Bram had slept the spruce shelter +was half buried in a windrow of the hard, shot like snow that the +blizzard had rolled in off the open spaces. +</P> + +<P> +From this point Pierre marked off accurately the direction Bram had +taken the morning after the hunt, and Philip drew the point of his +compass to the now invisible trail. Almost instantly he drew his +conclusion. +</P> + +<P> +"Bram is keeping to the scrub timber along the edge of the Barren," he +said to Pierre. "That is where I shall follow. You might add that much +to what I have written to MacVeigh. But about the snare, Pierre +Breault, say not a word. Do you understand? If he is a loup-garou man, +and weaves golden hairs out of the winds—" +</P> + +<P> +"I will say nothing, M'sieu," shuddered Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +They shook hands, and parted in silence. Philip set his face to the +west, and a few moments later, looking back, he could no longer see +Pierre. For an hour after that he was oppressed by the feeling that he +was voluntarily taking a desperate chance. For reasons which he had +arrived at during the night he had left his dogs and sledge with +Pierre, and was traveling light. In his forty-pound pack, fitted snugly +to his shoulders, were a three pound silk service-tent that was +impervious to the fiercest wind, and an equal weight of cooking +utensils. The rest of his burden, outside of his rifle, his Colt's +revolver and his ammunition, was made up of rations, so much of which +was scientifically compressed into dehydrated and powder form that he +carried on his back, in a matter of thirty pounds, food sufficient for +a month if he provided his meat on the trail. The chief article in this +provision was fifteen pounds of flour; four dozen eggs he carried in +one pound of egg powder; twenty-eight pounds of potatoes in four pounds +of the dehydrated article; four pounds of onions in a quarter of a +pound of the concentration, and so on through the list. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed a little grimly as he thought of this concentrated +efficiency in the pack on his shoulders. In a curious sort of way it +reminded him of other days, and he wondered what some of his old-time +friends would say if he could, by some magic endowment, assemble them +here for a feast on the trail. He wondered especially what Mignon +Davenport would say—and do. P-f-f-f! He could see the blue-blooded +horror in her aristocratic face! That wind from over the Barren would +curdle the life in her veins. She would shrivel up and die. He +considered himself a fairly good judge in the matter, for once upon a +time he thought that he was going to marry her. Strange why he should +think of her now, he told himself; but for all that he could not get +rid of her for a time. And thinking of her, his mind traveled back into +the old days, even as he followed over the hidden trail of Bram. +Undoubtedly a great many of his old friends had forgotten him. Five +years was a long time, and friendship in the set to which he belonged +was not famous for its longevity. Nor love, for that matter. Mignon had +convinced him of that. He grimaced, and in the teeth of the wind he +chuckled. Fate was a playful old chap. It was a good joke he had played +on him—first a bit of pneumonia, then a set of bad lungs afflicted +with that "galloping" something-or-other that hollows one's cheeks and +takes the blood out of one's veins. It was then that the horror had +grown larger and larger each day in Mignon's big baby-blue eyes, until +she came out with childish frankness and said that it was terribly +embarrassing to have one's friends know that one was engaged to a +consumptive. +</P> + +<P> +Philip laughed as he thought of that. The laugh came so suddenly and so +explosively that Bram could have heard it a hundred yards away, even +with the wind blowing as it was. A consumptive! Philip doubled up his +arm until the hard muscles in it snapped. He drew in a deep lungful of +air, and forced it out again with a sound like steam escaping from a +valve. The NORTH had done that for him; the north with its wonderful +forests, its vast skies, its rivers, and its lakes, and its deep +snows—the north that makes a man out of the husk of a man if given +half a chance. He loved it. And because he loved it, and the adventure +of it, he had joined the Police two years ago. Some day he would go +back, just for the fun of it; meet his old friends in his old clubs, +and shock baby-eyed Mignon to death with his good health. +</P> + +<P> +He dropped these meditations as he thought of the mysterious man he was +following. During the course of his two years in the Service he had +picked up a great many odds and ends in the history of Bram's life, and +in the lives of the Johnsons who had preceded him. He had never told +any one how deeply interested he was. He had, at times, made efforts to +discuss the quality of Bram's intelligence, but always he had failed to +make others see and understand his point of view. By the Indians and +half-breeds of the country in which he had lived, Bram was regarded as +a monster of the first order possessed of the conjuring powers of the +devil himself. By the police he was earnestly desired as the most +dangerous murderer at large in all the north, and the lucky man who +captured him, dead or alive, was sure of a sergeantcy. Ambition and +hope had run high in many valiant hearts until it was generally +conceded that Bram was dead. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was not thinking of the sergeantcy as he kept steadily along the +edge of the Barren. His service would shortly be up, and he had other +plans for the future. From the moment his fingers had touched the +golden strand of hair he had been filled with a new and curious +emotion. It possessed him even more strongly to-day than it had last +night. He had not given voice to that emotion, or to the thoughts it +had roused, even to Pierre. Perhaps he was ridiculous. But he possessed +imagination, and along with that a great deal of sympathy for +animals—and some human beings. He had, for the time, ceased to be the +cool and calculating man-hunter intent on the possession of another's +life. He knew that his duty was to get Bram and take him back to +headquarters, and he also knew that he would perform his duty when the +opportunity came—unless he had guessed correctly the significance of +the golden snare. +</P> + +<P> +And had he guessed correctly? There was a tremendous doubt in his mind, +and yet he was strangely thrilled. He tried to argue that there were +many ways in which Bram might have secured the golden hairs that had +gone into the making of his snare; and that the snare itself might long +have been carried as a charm against the evils of disease and the devil +by the strange creature whose mind and life were undoubtedly directed +to a large extent by superstition. In that event it was quite logical +that Bram had come into possession of his golden talisman years ago. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of himself, Philip could not believe that this was so. At +noon, when he built a small fire to make tea and warm his bannock, he +took the golden tress from his wallet and examined it even more closely +than last night. It might have come from a woman's head only yesterday, +so bright and shimmery was it in the pale light of the midday sun. He +was amazed at the length and fineness of it, and the splendid texture +of each hair. Possibly there were half a hundred hairs, each of an +equal and unbroken length. +</P> + +<P> +He ate his dinner, and went on. Three days of storm had covered utterly +every trace of the trail made by Bram and his wolves. He was convinced, +however, that Bram would travel in the scrub timber close to the +Barren. He had already made up his mind that this Barren—the Great +Barren of the unmapped north—was the great snow sea in which Bram had +so long found safety from the law. Beaching five hundred miles east and +west, and almost from the Sixtieth degree to the Arctic Ocean, its +un-peopled and treeless wastes formed a tramping ground for him as safe +as the broad Pacific to the pirates of old. He could not repress a +shivering exclamation as his mind dwelt on this world of Bram's. It was +worse than the edge of the Arctic, where one might at least have the +Eskimo for company. +</P> + +<P> +He realized the difficulty of his own quest. His one chance lay in fair +weather, and the discovery of an old trail made by Bram and his pack. +An old trail would lead to fresher ones. Also he was determined to +stick to the edge of the scrub timber, for if the Barren was Bram's +retreat he would sooner or later strike a trail—unless Bram had gone +straight out into the vast white plain shortly after he had made his +camp in the forest near Pierre Breault's cabin. In that event it might +be weeks before Bram would return to the scrub timber again. +</P> + +<P> +That night the last of the blizzard that had raged for days exhausted +itself. For a week clear weather followed. It was intensely cold, but +no snow fell. In that week Philip traveled a hundred and twenty miles +westward. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the eighth night, as he sat near his fire in a thick clump of +dwarf spruce, that the thing happened which Pierre Breault, with a +fatalism born of superstition, knew would come to pass. And it is +curious that on this night, and in the very hour of the strange +happening, Philip had with infinite care and a great deal of trouble +rewoven the fifty hairs back into the form of the golden snare. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +The night was so bright that the spruce trees cast vivid shadows on the +snow. Overhead there were a billion stars in a sky as dear as an open +sea, and the Great Dipper shone like a constellation of tiny suns. The +world did not need a moon. At a distance of three hundred yards Philip +could have seen a caribou if it had passed. He sat close to his fire, +with the heat of it reflected from the blackened face of a huge rock, +finishing the snare which had taken him an hour to weave. For a long +time he had been conscious of the curious, hissing monotone of the +Aurora, the "music of the skies," reaching out through the space of the +earth with a purring sound that was at times like the purr of a cat and +at others like the faint hum of a bee. Absorbed in his work he did not, +for a time, hear the other sound. Not until he had finished, and was +placing the golden snare in his wallet, did the one sound individualize +and separate itself from the other. +</P> + +<P> +He straightened himself suddenly, and listened. Then he jumped to his +feet and ran through fifty feet of low scrub to the edge of the white +plain. +</P> + +<P> +It was coming from off there, a great distance away. Perhaps a mile. It +might be two. The howling of wolves! +</P> + +<P> +It was not a new or unusual sound to him. He had listened to it many +times during the last two years. But never had it thrilled him as it +did now, and he felt the blood leap in sudden swiftness through his +body as the sound bore straight in his direction. In a flash he +remembered all that Pierre Breault had said. Bram and his pack hunted +like that. And it was Bram who was coming. He knew it. +</P> + +<P> +He ran back to his tent and in what remained of the heat of the fire he +warmed for a few moments the breech of his rifle. Then he smothered the +fire by kicking snow over it. Returning to the edge of the plain, he +posted himself near the largest spruce he could find, up which it would +be possible for him to climb a dozen feet or so if necessity drove him +to it. And this necessity bore down upon him like the wind. The pack, +whether guided by man or beast, was driving straight at him, and it was +less than a quarter of a mile away when Philip drew himself up in the +spruce. His breath came quick, and his heart was thumping like a drum, +for as he climbed up the slender refuge that was scarcely larger in +diameter than his arm he remembered the time when he had hung up a +thousand pounds of moose meat on cedars as thick as his leg, and the +wolves had come the next night and gnawed them through as if they had +been paper. From his unsteady perch ten feet off the ground he stared +out into the starlit Barren. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the other sound. It was the swift chug, chug, chug of +galloping feet—of hoofs breaking through the crust of the snow. A +shape loomed up, and Philip knew it was a caribou running for its life. +He drew an easier breath as he saw that the animal was fleeing parallel +with the projecting finger of scrub in which he had made his camp, and +that it would strike the timber a good mile below him. And now, with a +still deeper thrill, he noted the silence of the pursuing wolves. It +meant but one thing. They were so close on the heels of their prey that +they no longer made a sound. Scarcely had the caribou disappeared when +Philip saw the first of them—gray, swiftly moving shapes, spread out +fan-like as they closed in on two sides for attack, so close that he +could hear the patter of their feet and the blood-curdling whines that +came from between their gaping jaws. There were at least twenty of +them, perhaps thirty, and they were gone with the swiftness of shadows +driven by a gale. +</P> + +<P> +From his uncomfortable position Philip lowered himself to the snow +again. With its three or four hundred yard lead he figured that the +caribou would almost reach the timber a mile away before the end came. +Concealed in the shadow of the spruce, he waited. He made no effort to +analyze the confidence with which he watched for Bram. When he at last +heard the curious ZIP—ZIP—ZIP of snowshoes approaching his blood ran +no faster than it had in the preceding minutes of his expectation, so +sure had he been that the man he was after would soon loom up out of +the starlight. In the brief interval after the passing of the wolves he +had made up his mind what he would do. Fate had played a trump card +into his hand. From the first he had figured that strategy would have +much to do in the taking of Bram, who would be practically unassailable +when surrounded by the savage horde which, at a word from him, had +proved themselves ready to tear his enemies into pieces. Now, with the +wolves gorging themselves, his plan was to cut Bram off and make him, a +prisoner. +</P> + +<P> +From his knees he rose slowly to his feet, still hidden in the shadow +of the spruce. His rifle he discarded. In his un-mittened hand he held +his revolver. With staring eyes he looked for Bram out where the wolves +had passed. And then, all at once, came the shock. It was tremendous. +The trickery of sound on the Barren had played an unexpected prank with +his senses, and while he strained his eyes to pierce the hazy starlight +of the plain far out, Bram himself loomed up suddenly along the edge of +the bush not twenty paces away. +</P> + +<P> +Philip choked back the cry on his lips, and in that moment Bram stopped +short, standing full in the starlight, his great lungs taking in and +expelling air with a gasping sound as he listened for his wolves. He +was a giant of a man. A monster, Philip thought. It is probable that +the elusive glow of the night added to his size as he stood there. +About his shoulders fell a mass of unkempt hair that looked like +seaweed. His beard was short and thick, and for a flash Philip saw the +starlight in his eyes—eyes that were shining like the eyes of a cat. +In that same moment he saw the face. It was a terrible, questing +face—the face of a creature that was hunting, and yet hunted; of a +creature half animal and half man. So long as he lived he knew that he +would never forget it; the wild savagery of it, the questing fire that +was in the eyes, the loneliness of it there in the night, set apart +from all mankind; and with the face he would never forget that other +thing that came to him audibly—the throbbing, gasping heartbeat of the +man's body. +</P> + +<P> +In this moment Philip knew that the time to act was at hand. His +fingers gripped tighter about the butt of his revolver as he stepped +forward out of the shadow. +</P> + +<P> +Bram would have seen him then, but in that same instant he had flung +back his head and from his throat there went forth a cry such as Philip +had never heard from man or beast before. It began deep in Bram's +cavernous chest, like the rolling of a great drum, and ended in a +wailing shriek that must have carried for miles over the open +plain—the call of the master to his pack, of the man-beast to his +brothers. It may be that even before the cry was finished some +super-instinct had warned Bram Johnson of a danger which he had not +seen. The cry was cut short. It ended in a hissing gasp, as steam is +cut off by a valve. Before Philip's startled senses had adjusted +themselves to action Bram was off, and as his huge strides carried him +swiftly through the starlight the cry that had been on his lips was +replaced by the strange, mad laugh that Pierre Breault had described +with a shiver of fear. +</P> + +<P> +Without moving, Philip called after him: +</P> + +<P> +"Bram—Bram Johnson—stop! In the name of the King—" +</P> + +<P> +It was the old formula, the words that carried with them the majesty +and power of Law throughout the northland. Bram heard them. But he did +not stop. He sped on more swiftly, and again Philip called his name. +</P> + +<P> +"Bram—Bram Johnson—" +</P> + +<P> +The laugh came back again. It was weird and chuckling, as though Bram +was laughing at him. +</P> + +<P> +In the starlight Philip flung up his revolver. He did not aim to hit. +Twice he fired over Bram's head and shoulders, so close that the +fugitive must have heard the whine of the bullets. +</P> + +<P> +"Bram—Bram Johnson!" he shouted a third time. +</P> + +<P> +His pistol arm relaxed and dropped to his side, and he stood staring +after the great figure that was now no more than a shadow in the gloom. +And then it was swallowed up entirely. Once more he was alone under the +stars, encompassed by a world of nothingness. He felt, all at once, +that he had been a very great fool. He had played his part like a +child; even his voice had trembled as he called out Bram's name. And +Bram—even Bram—had laughed at him. +</P> + +<P> +Very soon he would pay the price of his stupidity—of his slowness to +act. It was thought of that which quickened his pulse as he stared out +into the white space into which Bram had gone. Before the night was +over Bram would return, and with him would come the wolves. +</P> + +<P> +With a shudder Philip thought of Corporal Lee as he turned back through +the scrub to the big rock where he had made his camp. +</P> + +<P> +The picture that flashed into his mind of the fate of the two men from +Churchill added to the painful realization of his own immediate +peril—a danger brought upon himself by an almost inconceivable +stupidity. Philip was no more than the average human with good red +blood in his veins. A certain amount of personal hazard held a +fascination for him, but he had also the very great human desire to +hold a fairly decent hand in any game of chance he entered. It was the +oppressive conviction that he had no chance now that stunned him. For a +few minutes he stood over the spot where his fire had been, a film of +steam rising into his face, trying to adjust his mind to some sort of +logical action. He was not afraid of Bram. He would quite cheerfully +have gone out and fought open-handedly for his man, even though he had +seen that Bram was a giant. This, much he told himself, as he fingered +the breech of his rifle, and listened. +</P> + +<P> +But it was not Bram who would fight. The wolves would come. He probably +would not see Bram again. He would hear only his laugh, or his great +voice urging on his pack, as Corporal Lee and the other man had heard +it. +</P> + +<P> +That Bram would not return for vengeance never for a moment entered his +analysis of the situation. By firing after his man Philip had too +clearly disclosed his identity and his business; and Bram, fighting for +his own existence, would be a fool not to rid himself of an immediate +and dangerous enemy. +</P> + +<P> +And then, for the first time since he had returned from the edge of the +Barren, Philip saw the man again as he had seen him standing under the +white glow of the stars. And it struck him, all at once, that Bram had +been unarmed. Comprehension of this fact, slow as it had been, worked a +swift and sudden hope in him, and his eyes took in quickly the larger +trees about him. From a tree he could fight the pack and kill them one +by one. He had a rifle and a revolver, and plenty of ammunition. The +advantage would lay all with him. But if he was treed, and Bram +happened to have a rifle— +</P> + +<P> +He put on the heavy coat he had thrown off near the fire, filled his +pockets with loose ammunition, and hunted for the tree he wanted. He +found it a hundred yards from his camp. It was a gnarled and wind-blown +spruce six inches in diameter, standing in an open. In this open Philip +knew that he could play havoc with the pack. On the other hand, if Bram +possessed a rifle, the gamble was against him. Perched in the tree, +silhouetted against the stars that made the night like day, he would be +an easy victim. Bram could pick him off without showing himself. But it +was his one chance, and he took it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +An hour later Philip looked at his watch. It was close to midnight. In +that hour his nerves had been keyed to a tension that was almost at the +breaking point. Not a sound came from off the Barren or from out of the +scrub timber that did not hold a mental and physical shock for him. He +believed that Bram and his pack would come up quietly; that he would +not hear the man's footsteps or the soft pads of his beasts until they +were very near. Twice a great snow owl fluttered over his head. A third +time it pounced down upon a white hare back in the shrub, and for an +instant Philip thought the time had come. The little white foxes, +curious as children, startled him most. Half a dozen times they sent +through him the sharp thrill of anticipation, and twice they made him +climb his tree. +</P> + +<P> +After that hour the reaction came, and with the steadying of his nerves +and the quieter pulse of his blood Philip began to ask himself if he +was going to escape the ordeal which a short time before he had +accepted as a certainty. Was it possible that his shots had frightened +Bram? He could not believe that. Cowardice was the last thing he would +associate with the strange man he had seen in the starlight. Vividly he +saw Bram's face again. And now, after the almost unbearable strain he +had been under, a mysterious SOMETHING that had been in that face +impinged itself upon him above all other things. Wild and savage as the +face had been, he had seen in it the unutterable pathos of a creature +without hope. In that moment, even as caution held him listening for +the approach of danger, he no longer felt the quickening thrill of man +on the hunt for man. He could not have explained the change in +himself—the swift reaction of thought and emotion that filled him with +a mastering sympathy for Bram Johnson. +</P> + +<P> +He waited, and less and less grew his fear of the wolves. Even more +clearly he saw Bram as the time passed; the hunted look in the man's +eyes, even as he hunted—the loneliness of him as he had stood +listening for a sound from the only friends he had—the padded beasts +ahead. In spite of Bram's shrieking cry to his pack, and the +strangeness of the laugh that had floated back out of the white night +after the shots, Philip was convinced that he was not mad. He had heard +of men whom loneliness had killed. He had known one—Pelletier, up at +Point Fullerton, on the Arctic. He could repeat by heart the diary +Pelletier had left scribbled on his cabin door. It was worse than +madness. To Pelletier death had come at last as a friend. And Bram had +been like that—dead to human comradeship for years. And yet— +</P> + +<P> +Under it all, in Philip's mind, ran the thought of the woman's hair. In +Pierre Breault's cabin he had not given voice to the suspicion that had +flashed upon him. He had kept it to himself, and Pierre, afraid to +speak because of the horror of it, had remained as silent as he. The +thought oppressed him now. He knew that human hair retained its life +and its gloss indefinitely, and that Bram might have had the golden +snare for years. It was quite reasonable to suppose that he had +bartered for it with some white man in the years before he had become +an outlaw, and that some curious fancy or superstition had inspired him +in its possession. But Philip had ceased to be influenced by reason +alone. Sharply opposed to reason was that consciousness within him +which told him that the hair had been freshly cut from a woman's head. +He had no argument with which to drive home the logic of this belief +even with himself, and yet he found it impossible not to accept that +belief fully and unequivocally. There was, or HAD been, a woman with +Bram—and as he thought of the length and beauty and rare texture of +the silken strand in his pocket he could not repress a shudder at the +possibilities the situation involved. Bram—and a woman! And a woman +with hair like that! +</P> + +<P> +He left his tree after a time. For another hour he paced slowly back +and forth at the edge of the Barren, his senses still keyed to the +highest point of caution. Then he rebuilt his fire, pausing every few +moments in the operation to listen for a suspicious sound. It was very +cold. He noticed, after a little, that the weird sound of the lights +over the Pole had become only a ghostly whisper. The stars were growing +dimmer, and he watched them as they seemed slowly to recede farther and +farther away from the world of which he was a part. This dying out of +the stars always interested him. It was one of the miracles of the +northern world that lay just under the long Arctic night which, a few +hundred miles beyond the Barren, was now at its meridian. It seemed to +him as though ten thousand invisible hands were sweeping under the +heavens extinguishing the lights first in ones and twos and then in +whole constellations. It preceded by perhaps half an hour the utter and +chaotic blackness that comes before the northern dawn, and it was this +darkness that Philip dreaded as he waited beside his fire. +</P> + +<P> +In the impenetrable gloom of that hour Bram might come. It was possible +that he had been waiting for that darkness. Philip looked at his watch. +It was four o'clock. Once more he went to his tree, and waited. In +another quarter of an hour he could not see the tree beside which he +stood. And Bram did not come. With the beginning of the gray dawn +Philip rebuilt his fire for the third time and prepared to cook his +breakfast. He felt the need of coffee—strong coffee—and he boiled +himself a double ration. At seven o'clock he was ready to take up the +trail. +</P> + +<P> +He believed now that some mysterious and potent force had restrained +Bram Johnson from taking advantage of the splendid opportunity of that +night to rid himself of an enemy. As he made his way through the scrub +timber along the edge of the Barren it was with the feeling that he no +longer desired Bram as a prisoner. A thing more interesting than Bram +had entered into the adventure. It was the golden snare. Not with Bram +himself, but only at the end of Bram's trail, would he find what the +golden snare stood for. There he would discover the mystery and the +tragedy of it, if it meant anything at all. He appreciated the extreme +hazard of following Bram to his long hidden retreat. The man he might +outwit in pursuit and overcome in fair fight, if it came to a fight, +but against the pack he was fighting tremendous odds. +</P> + +<P> +What this odds meant had not fully gripped him until he came cautiously +out of the timber half an hour later and saw what was left of the +caribou the pack had killed. The bull had fallen within fifty yards of +the edge of the scrub. For a radius of twenty feet about it the snow +was beaten hard by the footprints of beasts, and this arena was stained +red with blood and scattered thickly with bits of flesh, broken bones +and patches of hide. Philip could see where Bram had come in on the +run, and where he had kicked off his snowshoes. After that his great +moccasin tracks mingled with those of the wolves. Bram had evidently +come in time to save the hind quarters, which had been dragged to a +spot well out of the red ring of slaughter. After that the stars must +have looked down upon an amazing scene. The hungry horde had left +scarcely more than the disemboweled offal. Where Bram had dragged his +meat there was a small circle worn by moccasin tracks, and here, too, +were small bits of flesh, scattered about—the discarded remnants of +Bram's own feast. +</P> + +<P> +The snow told as clearly as a printed page what had happened after +that. Its story amazed Philip. From somewhere Bram had produced a +sledge, and on this sledge he had loaded what remained of the caribou +meat. From the marks in the snow Philip saw that it had been of the low +ootapanask type, but that it was longer and broader than any sledge he +had ever seen. He did not have to guess at what had happened. +Everything was too clear for that. Far back on the Barren Bram had +loosed his pack at sight of the caribou, and the pursuit and kill had +followed. After that, when beasts and man had gorged themselves, they +had returned through the night for the sledge. Bram had made a wide +detour so that he would not again pass near the finger of scrub timber +that concealed his enemy, and with a curious quickening of the blood in +his veins Philip observed how closely the pack hung at his heels. The +man was master—absolutely. Later they had returned with the sledge, +Bram had loaded his meat, and with his pack had struck out straight +north over the Barren. Every wolf was in harness, and Bram rode on the +sledge. +</P> + +<P> +Philip drew a deep breath. He was learning new things about Bram +Johnson. First he assured himself that Bram was not afraid, and that +his disappearance could not be called a flight. If fear of capture had +possessed him he would not have returned for his meat. Suddenly he +recalled Pierre Breault's story of how Bram had carried off the +haunches of a bull upon his shoulders as easily as a child might have +carried a toy gun, and he wondered why Bram—instead of returning for +the meat this night—had not carried the meat to his sledge. It would +have saved time and distance. He was beginning to give Bram credit for +a deeply mysterious strategy. There was some definite reason why he had +not made an attack with his wolves that night. There was a reason for +the wide detour around the point of timber, and there was a still more +inexplicable reason why he had come back with his sledge for the meat, +instead of carrying his meat to the sledge. The caribou haunch had not +weighed more than sixty or seventy pounds, which was scarcely half a +burden for Bram's powerful shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +In the edge of the timber, where he could secure wood for his fire, +Philip began to prepare. He cooked food for six days. Three days he +would follow Bram out into that unmapped and treeless space—the Great +Barren. Beyond that it would be impossible to go without dogs or +sledge. Three days out, and three days back—and even at that he would +be playing a thrilling game with death. In the heart of the Barren a +menace greater than Bram and his wolves would be impending. It was +storm. +</P> + +<P> +His heart sank a little as he set out straight north, marking the +direction by the point of his compass. It was a gray and sunless day. +Beyond him for a distance the Barren was a white plain, and this plain +seemed always to be merging not very far ahead into the purple haze of +the sky. At the end of an hour he was in the center of a vast +amphitheater which was filled with the gloom and the stillness of +death. Behind him the thin fringe of the forest had disappeared. The +rim of the sky was like a leaden thing, widening only as he advanced. +Under that sky, and imprisoned within its circular walls, he knew that +men had gone mad; he felt already the crushing oppression of an +appalling loneliness, and for another hour he fought an almost +irresistible desire to turn back. Not a rock or a shrub rose to break +the monotony, and over his head—so low that at times it seemed as +though he might have flung a stone up to them—dark clouds rolled +sullenly from out of the north and east. +</P> + +<P> +Half a dozen times in those first two hours he looked at his compass. +Not once in that time did Bram diverge from his steady course into the +north. In the gray gloom, without a stone or a tree to mark his way, +his sense of orientation was directing him as infallibly as the +sensitive needle of the instrument which Philip carried. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the third hour, seven or eight miles from the scene of +slaughter, that Philip came upon the first stopping place of the +sledge. The wolves had not broken their traveling rank, and for this +reason he guessed that Bram had paused only long enough to put on his +snowshoes. After this Philip could measure quite accurately the speed +of the outlaw and his pack. Bram's snow-shoe strides were from twelve +to sixteen inches longer than his own, and there was little doubt that +Bram was traveling six miles to his four. +</P> + +<P> +It was one o'clock when Philip stopped to eat his dinner. He figured +that he was fifteen miles from the timber-line. As he ate there pressed +upon him more and more persistently the feeling that he had entered +upon an adventure which was leading toward inevitable disaster for him. +For the first time the significance of Bram's supply of meat, secured +by the outlaw at the last moment before starting out into the Barren, +appeared to him with a clearness that filled him with uneasiness. It +meant that Bram required three or four days' rations for himself and +his pack in crossing this sea of desolation that reached in places to +the Arctic. In that time, if necessity was driving him, he could cover +a hundred and fifty miles, while Philip could make less than a hundred. +</P> + +<P> +Until three o'clock in the afternoon he followed steadily over Bram's +trail. He would have pursued for another hour if a huge and dome-shaped +snowdrift had not risen in his path. In the big drift he decided to +make his house for the night. It was an easy matter—a trick learned of +the Eskimo. With his belt-ax he broke through the thick crust of the +drift, using care that the "door" he thus opened into it was only large +enough for the entrance of his body. Using a snowshoe as a shovel he +then began digging out the soft interior of the drift, burrowing a two +foot tunnel until he was well back from the door, where he made himself +a chamber large enough for his sleeping-bag. The task employed him less +than an hour, and when his bed was made, and he stood in front of the +door to his igloo, his spirits began to return. The assurance that he +had a home at his back in which neither cold nor storm could reach him +inspirited him with an optimism which he had not felt at any time +during the day. +</P> + +<P> +From the timber he had borne a precious bundle of finely split +kindlings of pitch-filled spruce, and with a handful of these he built +himself a tiny fire over which, on a longer stick brought for the +purpose, he suspended his tea pail, packed with snow. The crackling of +the flames set him whistling. Darkness was falling swiftly about him. +By the time his tea was ready and he had warmed his cold bannock and +bacon the gloom was like a black curtain that he might have slit with a +knife. Not a star was visible in the sky. Twenty feet on either side of +him he could not see the surface of the snow. Now and then he added a +bit of his kindling to the dying embers, and in the glow of the last +stick he smoked his pipe, and as he smoked he drew from his wallet the +golden snare. Coiled in the hollow of his hand and catching the red +light of the pitch-laden fagot it shone with the rich luster of rare +metal. Not until the pitch was burning itself out in a final sputter of +flame did Philip replace it in the wallet. +</P> + +<P> +With the going of the fire an utter and chaotic blackness shut him in. +Feeling his way he crawled through the door of his tunnel, over the +inside of which he had fastened as a flap his silk service tent. Then +he stretched himself out in his sleeping-bag. It was surprisingly +comfortable. Since he had left Breault's cabin he had not enjoyed such +a bed. And last night he had not slept at all. He fell into deep sleep. +The hours and the night passed over him. He did not hear the wailing of +the wind that came with the dawn. When day followed dawn there were +other sounds which he did not hear. His inner consciousness, the +guardian of his sleep, cried for him to arouse himself. It pounded like +a little hand in his brain, and at last he began to move restlessly, +and twist in his sleeping-bag. His eyes shot open suddenly. The light +of day filled his tunnel. He looked toward the "door" which he had +covered with his tent. +</P> + +<P> +The tent was gone. +</P> + +<P> +In its place was framed a huge shaggy head, and Philip found himself +staring straight into the eyes of Bram Johnson. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +Philip was not unaccustomed to the occasional mental and physical shock +which is an inevitable accompaniment of the business of Law in the +northland. But never had he felt quite the same stir in his blood as +now—when he found himself looking down the short tunnel into the face +of the man he was hunting. +</P> + +<P> +There come now and then moments in which a curious understanding is +impinged upon one without loss of time in reason and surmise—and this +was one of those moments for Philip. His first thought as he saw the +great wild face in the door of his tunnel was that Bram had been +looking at him for some time—while he was asleep; and that if the +desire to kill had been in the outlaw's breast he might have achieved +his purpose with very little trouble. Equally swift was his observance +of the fact that the tent with which he had covered the aperture was +gone, and that his rifle, with the weight of which he had held the tent +in place, had disappeared. Bram had secured possession of them before +he had roused himself. +</P> + +<P> +It was not the loss of these things, or entirely Bram's sudden and +unexpected appearance, that sent through him the odd thrill, which he +experienced. It was Bram's face, his eyes, the tense and mysterious +earnestness that was in his gaze. It was not the watchfulness of a +victor looking at his victim. In it there was no sign of hatred or of +exultation. There was not even unfriendliness there. Rather it was the +study of one filled with doubt and uneasiness, and confronted by a +question which he could not answer. There was not a line of the face +which Philip could not see now—its high cheek-bones, its wide cheeks, +the low forehead, the flat nose, the thick lips. Only the eyes kept it +from being a terrible face. Straight down through the generations Bram +must have inherited those eyes from some woman of the past. They were +strange things in that wild and hunted creature's face—gray eyes, +large, beautiful. With the face taken away they would have been +wonderful. +</P> + +<P> +For a full minute not a sound passed between the two men. Philip's hand +had slipped to the butt of his revolver, but he had no intention of +using it. Then he found his voice. It seemed the most natural thing in +the world that he should say what he did. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Bram!" +</P> + +<P> +"Boo-joo, m'sieu!" +</P> + +<P> +Only Bram's thick lips moved. His voice was low and guttural. Almost +instantly his head disappeared from the opening. +</P> + +<P> +Philip dug himself quickly from his sleeping-bag. Through the aperture +there came to him now another sound, the yearning whine of beasts. He +could not hear Bram. In spite of the confidence which his first look at +Bram had given him he felt a sudden shiver run up his spine as he faced +the end of the tunnel on his hands and knees, his revolver in his hand. +What a rat in a trap he would be if Bram loosed his wolves! What sport +for the pack—and perhaps for the master himself! He could kill two or +three—and that would be all. They would be in on him like a whirlwind, +diving through his snow walls as easily as a swimmer might cut through +water. Had he twice made a fool of himself? Should he have winged Bram +Johnson, three times a murderer, in place of offering him a greeting? +</P> + +<P> +He began crawling toward the opening, and again he heard the snarl and +whine of the beasts. The sound seemed some distance away. He reached +the end of the tunnel and peered out through the "door" he had made in +the crust. +</P> + +<P> +From his position he could see nothing—nothing but the endless sweep +of the Barren and his old trail leading up to the snow dune. The muzzle +of his revolver was at the aperture when he heard Bram's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu—ze revolv'—ze knife—or I mus' keel yon. Ze wolve plent' +hungr'—" +</P> + +<P> +Bram was standing just outside of his line of vision. He had not spoken +loudly or threateningly, but Philip felt in the words a cold and +unexcited deadliness of purpose against which he knew that it would be +madness for him to fight. Bram had more than the bad man's ordinary +drop on him. In his wolves he possessed not only an advantage but a +certainty. If Philip had doubted this, as he waited for another moment +with the muzzle of his revolver close to the opening, his uncertainty +was swept away by the appearance thirty feet in front of his tunnel of +three of Bram's wolves. They were giants of their kind, and as the +three faced his refuge he could see the snarling gleam of their long +fangs. A fourth and a fifth joined them, and after that they came +within his vision in twos and threes until a score of them were huddled +straight in front of him. They were restless and whining, and the snap +of their jaws was like the clicking of castanets. He caught the glare +of twenty pairs of eyes fastened on his retreat and involuntarily he +shrank back that they might not see him. He knew that it was Bram who +was holding them back, and yet he had heard no word, no command. Even +as he stared a long snakelike shadow uncurled itself swiftly in the air +and the twenty foot lash of Bram's caribou-gut whip cracked viciously +over the heads of the pack. At the warning of the whip the horde of +beasts scattered, and Bram's voice came again. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu—ze revolv'—ze knife—or I loose ze wolve—" +</P> + +<P> +The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Philip's revolver flew +through the opening and dropped in the snow. +</P> + +<P> +"There it is, old man," announced Philip. "And here comes the knife." +</P> + +<P> +His sheath-knife followed the revolver. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I throw out my bed?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +He was making a tremendous effort to appear cheerful. But he could not +forget that last night he had shot at Bram, and that it was not at all +unreasonable to suppose that Bram might knock his brains out when he +stuck his head out of the hole. The fact that Bram made no answer to +his question about the bed did not add to his assurance. He repeated +the question, louder than before, and still there was no answer. In the +face of his perplexity he could not repress a grim chuckle as he rolled +up his blankets. What a report he would have for the Department—if he +lived to make it! On paper there would be a good deal of comedy about +it—this burrowing oneself up like a hibernating woodchuck, and then +being invited out to breakfast by a man with a club and a pack of +brutes with fangs that had gleamed at him like ivory stilettos. He had +guessed at the club, and a moment later as he thrust his sleeping-bag +out through the opening he saw that it was quite obviously a correct +one. Bram was possessing himself of the revolver and the knife. In the +same hand he held his whip and a club. +</P> + +<P> +Seizing the opportunity, Philip followed his bed quickly, and when Bram +faced him he was standing on his feet outside the drift. +</P> + +<P> +"Morning, Bram!" +</P> + +<P> +His greeting was drowned in a chorus of fierce snarls that made his +blood curdle even as he tried to hide from Bram any visible betrayal of +the fact that every nerve up and down his spine was pricking him, like +a pin. From Bram's throat there shot forth at the pack a sudden sharp +clack of Eskimo, and with it the long whip snapped in their faces again. +</P> + +<P> +Then he looked steadily at his prisoner. For the first time Philip saw +the look which he dreaded darkening his face. A greenish fire burned in +the strange eyes. The thick lips were set tightly, the flat nose seemed +flatter, and with a shiver Philip noticed Bram's huge, naked hand +gripping his club until the cords stood out like babiche thongs under +the skin. In that moment he was ready to kill. A wrong word, a wrong +act, and Philip knew that the end was inevitable. +</P> + +<P> +In the same thick guttural voice which he used in his half-breed patois +he demanded, +</P> + +<P> +"Why you shoot—las' night!" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I wanted to talk with you, Bram," replied Philip calmly. "I +didn't shoot to hit you. I fired over your head." +</P> + +<P> +"You want—talk," said Bram, speaking as if each word cost him a +certain amount of effort. "Why—talk?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to ask you why it was that you killed a man down in the God's +Lake country." +</P> + +<P> +The words were out before Philip could stop them. A growl rose in +Bram's chest. It was like the growl of a beast. The greenish fire in +his eyes grew brighter. +</P> + +<P> +"Ze poleece," he said. "KA, ze poleece—like kam from Churchill an' ze +wolve keel!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip's hand was fumbling in his pocket. The wolves were behind him +and he dared not turn to look. It was their ominous silence that filled +him with dread. They were waiting—watching—their animal instinct +telling them that the command for which they yearned was already +trembling on the thick lips of their master. The revolver and the knife +dropped from Bram's hand. He held only the whip and the club. +</P> + +<P> +Philip drew forth the wallet. +</P> + +<P> +"You lost something—when you camped that night near Pierre Breault's +cabin," he said, and his own voice seemed strange and thick to him. +"I've followed you—to give it back. I could have killed you if I had +wanted to—when I fired over your head. But I wanted to stop you. I +wanted to give you—this." +</P> + +<P> +He held out to Bram the golden snare. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +It must have been fully half a minute that Bram stood like a living +creature turned suddenly into dead stone. His eyes had left Philip's +face and were fixed on the woven tress of shining hair. For the first +time his thick lips had fallen agape. He did not seem to breathe. At +the end of the thirty seconds his hand unclenched from about the whip +and the club and they fell into the snow. Slowly, his eyes still fixed +on the snare as if it held for him an overpowering fascination, he +advanced a step, and then another, until he reached out and took from +Philip the thing which he held. He uttered no word. But from his eyes +there disappeared the greenish fire. The lines in his heavy face +softened and his thick lips lost some of their cruelty as he held up +the snare before his eyes so that the light played on its sheen of +gold. It was then that Philip saw that which must have meant a smile in +Bram's face. +</P> + +<P> +Still this strange man made no spoken sound as he coiled the silken +thread around one of his great fingers and then placed it somewhere +inside his coat. He seemed, all at once, utterly oblivious of Philip's +presence. He picked up the revolver, gazed heavily at it for a moment, +and with a grunt which must have reflected his mental decision hurled +it far out over the plain. Instantly the wolves were after it in a mad +rush. The knife followed the revolver; and after that, as coolly as +though breaking firewood, the giant went to Philip's rifle, braced it +across his knee, and with a single effort snapped the stock off close +to the barrel. +</P> + +<P> +"The devil!" growled Philip. +</P> + +<P> +He felt a surge of anger rise in him, and for an instant the +inclination to fling himself at Bram in the defense of his property. If +he had been helpless a few minutes before, he was utterly so now. In +the same breath it flashed upon him that Bram's activity in the +destruction of his weapons meant that his life was spared, at least for +the present. Otherwise Bram would not be taking these precautions. +</P> + +<P> +The futility of speech kept his own lips closed. At last Bram looked at +him, and pointed to his snowshoes where he had placed them last night +against the snow dune. His invitation for Philip to prepare himself for +travel was accompanied by nothing more than a grunt. +</P> + +<P> +The wolves were returning, sneaking in watchfully and alert. Bram +greeted them with the snap of his whip, and when Philip was ready +motioned him to lead the way into the north. Half a dozen paces behind +Philip followed Bram, and twice that distance behind the outlaw came +the pack. Now that his senses were readjusting themselves and his pulse +beating more evenly Philip began to take stock of the situation. It +was, first of all, quite evident that Bram had not accepted him as a +traveling companion, but as a prisoner; and he was equally convinced +that the golden snare had at the last moment served in some mysterious +way to save his life. +</P> + +<P> +It was not long before he saw how Bram had out-generaled him. Two miles +beyond the big drift they came upon the outlaw's huge sledge, from +which Bram and his wolves had made a wide circle in order to stalk him +from behind. The fact puzzled him. Evidently Bram had expected his +unknown enemy to pursue him, and had employed his strategy accordingly. +Why, then, had he not attacked him the night of the caribou kill? +</P> + +<P> +He watched Bram as he got the pack into harness. The wolves obeyed him +like dogs. He could perceive among them a strange comradeship, even an +affection, for the man-monster who was their master. Bram spoke to them +entirely in Eskimo—and the sound of it was like the rapid +CLACK—CLACK—CLACK of dry bones striking together. It was weirdly +different from the thick and guttural tones Bram used in speaking +Chippewyan and the half-breed patois. +</P> + +<P> +Again Philip made an effort to induce Bram to break his oppressive +silence. With a suggestive gesture and a hunch of his shoulders he +nodded toward the pack, just as they were about to start. +</P> + +<P> +"If you thought I tried to kill you night before last why didn't you +set your wolves after me, Bram—as you did those other two over on the +Barren north of Kasba Lake? Why did you wait until this morning? And +where—WHERE in God's name are we going?" +</P> + +<P> +Bram stretched out an arm. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the one question he answered, and he pointed straight as the +needle of a compass into the north. And then, as if his crude sense of +humor had been touched by the other thing Philip had asked, he burst +into a laugh. It made one shudder to see laughter in a face like +Bram's. It transformed his countenance from mere ugliness into one of +the leering gargoyles carven under the cornices of ancient buildings. +It was this laugh, heard almost at Bram's elbow, that made Philip +suddenly grip hard at a new understanding—the laugh and the look in +Bram's eyes. It set him throbbing, and filled him all at once with the +desire to seize his companion by his great shoulders and shake speech +from his thick lips. In that moment, even before the laughter had gone +from Bram's face, he thought again of Pelletier. Pelletier must have +been like this—in those terrible days when he scribbled the random +thoughts of a half-mad man on his cabin door. +</P> + +<P> +Bram was not yet mad. And yet he was fighting the thing that had killed +Pelletier. Loneliness. The fate forced upon him by the law because he +had killed a man. +</P> + +<P> +His face was again heavy and unemotional when with a gesture he made +Philip understand that he was to ride on the sledge. Bram himself went +to the head of the pack. At the sharp clack of his Eskimo the wolves +strained in their traces. Another moment and they were off, with Bram +in the lead. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was amazed at the pace set by the master of the pack. With head +and shoulders hunched low he set off in huge swinging strides that kept +the team on a steady trot behind him. They must have traveled eight +miles an hour. For a few minutes Philip could not keep his eyes from +Bram and the gray backs of the wolves. They fascinated him, and at the +same time the sight of them—straining on ahead of him into a voiceless +and empty world—filled him with a strange and overwhelming compassion. +He saw in them the brotherhood of man and beast. It was splendid. It +was epic. And to this the Law had driven them! +</P> + +<P> +His eyes began to take in the sledge then. On it was a roll of bear +skins—Bram's blankets. One was the skin of a polar bear. Near these +skins were the haunches of caribou meat, and so close to him that he +might have reached out and touched it was Bram's club. At the side of +the club lay a rifle. It was of the old breech-loading, single-shot +type, and Philip wondered why Bram had destroyed his own modern weapon +instead of keeping it in place of this ancient Company relic. It also +made him think of night before last, when he had chosen for his refuge +a tree out in the starlight. +</P> + +<P> +The club, even more than the rifle, bore marks of use. It was of birch, +and three feet in length. Where Bram's hand gripped it the wood was +worn as smooth and dark as mahogany. In many places the striking end of +the club was dented as though it had suffered the impact of tremendous +blows, and it was discolored by suggestive stains. There was no sign of +cooking utensils and no evidence of any other food but the caribou +flesh. On the rear of the sledge was a huge bundle of pitch-soaked +spruce tied with babiche, and out of this stuck the crude handle of an +ax. +</P> + +<P> +Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip most. +He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and the +thought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man ahead of +him struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock. Bram had +evidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident in the +protection of the pack. Or—had he faith in his prisoner? It was this +last question that Philip would liked to have answered in the +affirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a less desire +to escape him. He had forgotten, so far as his personal intentions were +concerned, that he was an agent of the Law—under oath to bring in to +Divisional Headquarters Bram's body dead or alive. Since night before +last Bram had ceased to be a criminal for him. He was like Pelletier, +and through him he was entering upon a strange adventure which held for +him already the thrill and suspense of an anticipation which he had +never experienced in the game of man-hunting. +</P> + +<P> +Had the golden snare been taken from the equation—had he not felt the +thrill of it in his fingers and looked upon the warm fires of it as it +lay unbound on Pierre Breault's table, his present relation with Bram +Johnson he would have considered as a purely physical condition, and he +might then have accepted the presence of the rifle there within his +reach as a direct invitation from Providence. +</P> + +<P> +As it was, he knew that the master of the wolves was speeding swiftly +to the source of the golden snare. From the moment he had seen the +strange transformation it had worked in Bram that belief within him had +become positive. And now, as his eyes turned from the inspection of the +sledge to Bram and his wolves, he wondered where the trail was taking +him. Was it possible that Bram was striking straight north for +Coronation Gulf and the Eskimo? He had noted that the polar bear skin +was only slightly worn—that it had not long been taken from the back +of the animal that had worn it. He recalled what he could remember of +his geography. Their course, if continued in the direction Bram was now +heading, would take them east of the Great Slave and the Great Bear, +and they would hit the Arctic somewhere between Melville Sound and the +Coppermine River. It was a good five hundred miles to the Eskimo +settlements there. Bram and his wolves could make it in ten days, +possibly in eight. +</P> + +<P> +If his guess was correct, and Coronation Gulf was Bram's goal, he had +found at least one possible explanation for the tress of golden hair. +</P> + +<P> +The girl or woman to whom it had belonged had come into the north +aboard a whaling ship. Probably she was the daughter or the wife of the +master. The ship had been lost in the ice—she had been saved by the +Eskimo—and she was among them now, with other white men. Philip +pictured it all vividly. It was unpleasant—horrible. The theory of +other white men being with her he was conscious of forcing upon himself +to offset the more reasonable supposition that, as in the case of the +golden snare, she belonged to Bram. He tried to free himself of that +thought, but it clung to him with a tenaciousness that oppressed him +with a grim and ugly foreboding. What a monstrous fate for a woman! He +shivered. For a few moments every instinct in his body fought to assure +him that such a thing could not happen. And yet he knew that it COULD +happen. A woman up there—with Bram! A woman with hair like spun +gold—and that giant half-mad enormity of a man! +</P> + +<P> +He clenched his hands at the picture his excited brain was painting for +him. He wanted to jump from the sledge, overtake Bram, and demand the +truth from him. He was calm enough to realize the absurdity of such +action. Upon his own strategy depended now whatever answer he might +make to the message chance had sent to him through the golden snare. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour he marked Bram's course by his compass. It was straight +north. Then Bram changed the manner of his progress by riding in a +standing position behind Philip. With his long whip he urged on the +pack until they were galloping over the frozen level of the plain at a +speed that must have exceeded ten miles an hour. A dozen times Philip +made efforts at conversation. Not a word did he get from Bram in reply. +Again and again the outlaw shouted to his wolves in Eskimo; he cracked +his whip, he flung his great arms over his head, and twice there rolled +out of his chest deep peals of strange laughter. They had been +traveling more than two hours when he gave voice to a sudden command +that stopped the pack, and at a second command—a staccato of shrill +Eskimo accompanied by the lash of his whip—the panting wolves sank +upon their bellies in the snow. +</P> + +<P> +Philip jumped from the sledge, and Bram went immediately to the gun. He +did not touch it, but dropped on his knees and examined it closely. +Then he rose to his feet and looked at Philip, and there was no sign of +madness in his heavy face as he said, +</P> + +<P> +"You no touch ze gun, m'sieu. Why you no shoot when I am there—at head +of pack?" +</P> + +<P> +The calmness and directness with which Bram put the question after his +long and unaccountable silence surprised Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"For the same reason you didn't kill me when I was asleep, I guess," he +said. Suddenly he reached out and caught Bram's arm. "Why the devil +don't you come across!" he demanded. "Why don't you talk? I'm not after +you—now. The Police think you are dead, and I don't believe I'd tip +them off even if I had a chance. Why not be human? Where are we going? +And what in thunder—" +</P> + +<P> +He did not finish. To his amazement Bram flung back his head, opened +his great mouth, and laughed. It was not a taunting laugh. There was no +humor in it. The thing seemed beyond the control of even Bram himself, +and Philip stood like one paralyzed as his companion turned quickly to +the sledge and returned in a moment with the gun. Under Philip's eyes +he opened the breech. The chamber was empty. Bram had placed in his way +a temptation—to test him! +</P> + +<P> +There was saneness in that stratagem—and yet as Philip looked at the +man now his last doubt was gone. Bram Johnson was hovering on the +borderland of madness. +</P> + +<P> +Replacing the gun on the sledge, Bram began hacking off chunks of the +caribou flesh with a big knife. Evidently he had decided that it was +time for himself and his pack to breakfast. To each of the wolves he +gave a portion, after which he seated himself on the sledge and began +devouring a slice of the raw meat. He had left the blade of his knife +buried in the carcass—an invitation for Philip to help himself. Philip +seated himself near Bram and opened his pack. Purposely he began +placing his food between them, so that the other might help himself if +he so desired. Bram's jaws ceased their crunching. For a moment Philip +did not look up. When he did he was startled. Bram's eyes were blazing +with a red fire. He was staring at the cooked food. Never had Philip +seen such a look in a human face before. +</P> + +<P> +He reached out and seized a chunk of bannock, and was about to bite +into it when with the snarl of a wild beast Bram dropped his meat and +was at him. Before Philip could raise an arm in defense his enemy had +him by the throat. Back over the sledge they went. Philip scarcely knew +how it happened—but in another moment the giant had hurled him clean +over his head and he struck the frozen plain with a shock that stunned +him. When he staggered to his feet, expecting a final assault that +would end him, Bram was kneeling beside his pack. A mumbling and +incoherent jargon of sound issued from his thick lips as he took stock +of Philip's supplies. Of Philip himself he seemed now utterly +oblivious. Still mumbling, he dragged the pile of bear skins from the +sledge, unrolled them, and revealed a worn and tattered dunnage bag. At +first Philip thought this bag was empty. Then Bram drew from it a few +small packages, some of them done up in paper and others in bark. Only +one of these did Philip recognize—a half pound package of tea such as +the Hudson's Bay Company offers in barter at its stores. Into the +dunnage bag Bram now put Philip's supplies, even to the last crumb of +bannock, and then returned the articles he had taken out, after which +he rolled the bag up in the bear skins and replaced the skins on the +sledge. +</P> + +<P> +After that, still mumbling, and still paying no attention to Philip, he +reseated himself on the edge of the sledge and finished his breakfast +of raw meat. +</P> + +<P> +"The poor devil!" mumbled Philip. +</P> + +<P> +The words were out of his mouth before he realized that he had spoken +them. He was still a little dazed by the shock of Bram's assault, but +it was impossible for him to bear malice or thought of vengeance. In +Bram's face, as he had covetously piled up the different articles of +food, he had seen the terrible glare of starvation—and yet he had not +eaten a mouthful. He had stored the food away, and Philip knew it was +as much as his life was worth to contend its ownership. +</P> + +<P> +Again Bram seemed to be unconscious of his presence, but when Philip +went to the meat and began carving himself off a slice the wolf-man's +eyes shot in his direction just once. Purposely he stood in front of +Bram as he ate the raw steak, feigning a greater relish than he +actually enjoyed in consuming his uncooked meal. Bram did not wait for +him to finish. No sooner had he swallowed the last of his own breakfast +than he was on his feet giving sharp commands to the pack. Instantly +the wolves were alert in their traces. Philip took his former position +on the sledge, with Bram behind him. +</P> + +<P> +Never in all the years afterward did he forget that day. As the hours +passed it seemed to him that neither man nor beast could very long +stand the strain endured by Bram and his wolves. At times Bram rode on +the sledge for short distances, but for the most part he was running +behind, or at the head of the pack. For the pack there was no rest. +Hour after hour it surged steadily onward over the endless plain, and +whenever the wolves sagged for a moment in their traces Brain's whip +snapped over their gray backs and his voice rang out in fierce +exhortation. So hard was the frozen crust of the Barren that snowshoes +were no longer necessary, and half a dozen times Philip left the sledge +and ran with the wolf-man and his pack until he was winded. Twice he +ran shoulder to shoulder with Bram. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the middle of the afternoon that his compass told him they +were no longer traveling north—but almost due west. Every quarter of +an hour after that he looked at his compass. And always the course was +west. +</P> + +<P> +He was convinced that some unusual excitement was urging Bram on, and +he was equally certain this excitement had taken possession of him from +the moment he had found the food in his pack. Again and again he heard +the strange giant mumbling incoherently to himself, but not once did +Bram utter a word that he could understand. +</P> + +<P> +The gray world about them was darkening when at last they stopped. +</P> + +<P> +And now, strangely as before, Bram seemed for a few moments to turn +into a sane man. +</P> + +<P> +He pointed to the bundle of fuel, and as casually as though he had been +conversing with him all the day he said to Philip: +</P> + +<P> +"A fire, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +The wolves had dropped in their traces, their great shaggy heads +stretched out between their paws in utter exhaustion, and Bram went +slowly down the line speaking to each one in turn. After that he fell +again into his stolid silence. From the bear skins he produced a +kettle, filled it with snow, and hung it over the pile of fagots to +which Philip was touching a match. Philip's tea pail he employed in the +same way. +</P> + +<P> +"How far have we come, Bram?" Philip asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Fift' mile, m'sieu," answered Bram without hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"And how much farther have we to go?" +</P> + +<P> +Bram grunted. His face became more stolid. In his hand he was holding +the big knife with which he cut the caribou meat. He was staring at it. +From the knife he looked at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"I keel ze man at God's Lake because he steal ze knife—an' call me +lie. I keel heem—lak that!"—and he snatched up a stick and broke it +into two pieces. +</P> + +<P> +His weird laugh followed the words. He went to the meat and began +carving off chunks for the pack, and for a long time after that one +would have thought that he was dumb. Philip made greater effort than +ever to rouse him into speech. He laughed, and whistled, and once tried +the experiment of singing a snatch of the Caribou Song which he knew +that Bram must have heard many times before. As he roasted his steak +over the fire he talked about the Barren, and the great herd of caribou +he had seen farther east; he asked Bram questions about the weather, +the wolves, and the country farther north and west. More than once he +was certain that Bram was listening intently, but nothing more than an +occasional grunt was his response. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour after they had finished their supper they continued to melt +snow for drinking water for themselves and the wolves. Night shut them +in, and in the glow of the fire Bram scooped a hollow in the snow for a +bed, and tilted the big sledge over it as a roof. Philip made himself +as comfortable as he could with his sleeping bag, using his tent as an +additional protection. The fire went out. Bram's heavy breathing told +Philip that the wolf-man was soon asleep. It was a long time before he +felt a drowsiness creeping over himself. +</P> + +<P> +Later he was awakened by a heavy grasp on his arm, and roused himself +to hear Bram's voice close over him. +</P> + +<P> +"Get up, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +It was so dark he could not see Bram when he got on his feet, but he +could hear him a moment later among the wolves, and knew that he was +making ready to travel. When his sleeping-bag and tent were on the +sledge he struck a match and looked at his watch. It was less than a +quarter of an hour after midnight. +</P> + +<P> +For two hours Bram led his pack straight into the west. The night +cleared after that, and as the stars grew brighter and more numerous in +the sky the plain was lighted up on all sides of them, as on the night +when Philip had first seen Bram. By lighting an occasional match Philip +continued to keep a record of direction and time. It was three o'clock, +and they were still traveling west, when to his surprise they struck a +small patch of timber. The clump of stunted and wind-snarled spruce +covered no more than half an acre, but it was conclusive evidence they +were again approaching a timber-line. +</P> + +<P> +From the patch of spruce Bram struck due north, and for another hour +their trail was over the white Barren. Soon after this they came to a +fringe of scattered timber which grew steadily heavier and deeper as +they entered into it. They must have penetrated eight or ten miles into +the forest before the dawn came. And in that dawn, gray and gloomy, +they came suddenly upon a cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's heart gave a jump. Here, at last, would the mystery of the +golden snare be solved. This was his first thought. But as they drew +nearer, and stopped at the threshold of the door, he felt sweep over +him an utter disappointment. There was no life here. No smoke came from +the chimney and the door was almost buried in a huge drift of snow. His +thoughts were cut short by the crack of Bram's whip. The wolves swept +onward and Bram's insane laugh sent a weird and shuddering echo through +the forest. +</P> + +<P> +From the time they left behind them the lifeless and snow-smothered +cabin Philip lost account of time and direction. He believed that Bram +was nearing the end of his trail. The wolves were dead tired. The +wolf-man himself was lagging, and since midnight had ridden more +frequently on the sledge. Still he drove on, and Philip searched with +increasing eagerness the trail ahead of them. +</P> + +<P> +It was eight o'clock—two hours after they had passed the cabin—when +they came to the edge of a clearing in the center of which was a second +cabin. Here at a glance Philip saw there was life. A thin spiral of +smoke was rising from the chimney. He could see only the roof of the +log structure, for it was entirely shut in by a circular stockade of +saplings six feet high. +</P> + +<P> +Twenty paces from where Bram stopped his team was the gate of the +stockade. Bram went to it, thrust his arm through a hole even with his +shoulders, and a moment later the gate swung inward. For perhaps a +space of twenty seconds he looked steadily at Philip, and for the first +time Philip observed the remarkable change that had come into his face. +It was no longer a face of almost brutish impassiveness. There was a +strange glow in his eyes. His thick lips were parted as if on the point +of speech, and he was breathing with a quickness which did not come of +physical exertion. Philip did not move or speak. Behind him he heard +the restless whine of the wolves. He kept his eyes on Bram, and as he +saw the look of joy and anticipation deepening in the wolf-man's face +the appalling thought of what it meant sickened him. He clenched his +hands. Bram did not see the act. He was looking again toward the cabin +and at the spiral of smoke rising out of the chimney. +</P> + +<P> +Then he faced Philip, and said, +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, you go to ze cabin." +</P> + +<P> +He held the gate open, and Philip entered. He paused to make certain of +Bram's intention. The wolf-man swept an arm about the enclosure. +</P> + +<P> +"In ze pit I loose ze wolve, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +Philip understood. The stockade enclosure was Bram's wolf-pit, and Bram +meant that he should reach the cabin before he gave the pack the +freedom of the corral. He tried to conceal the excitement in his face +as he turned toward the cabin. From the gate to the door ran a path +worn by many footprints, and his heart beat faster as he noted the +smallness of the moccasin tracks. Even then his mind fought against the +possibility of the thing. Probably it was an Indian woman who lived +with Bram, or an Eskimo girl he had brought down from the north. +</P> + +<P> +He made no sound as he approached the door. He did not knock, but +opened it and entered, as Bram had invited him to do. +</P> + +<P> +From the gate Bram watched the cabin door as it closed behind him, and +then he threw back his head and such a laugh of triumph came from his +lips that even the tired beasts behind him pricked up their ears and +listened. +</P> + +<P> +And Philip, in that same moment, had solved the mystery of the golden +snare. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +Philip had entered Bram Johnson's cabin from the west. Out of the east +the pale fire of the winter sun seemed to concentrate itself on the one +window of Bram's habitation, and flooded the opposite partition. In +this partition there was a doorway, and in the doorway stood a girl. +</P> + +<P> +She was standing full in the light that came through the window when +Philip saw her. His first impression was that she was clouded in the +same wonderful hair that had gone into the making of the golden snare. +It billowed over her arms and breast to her hips, aflame with the +living fires of the reflected sun. His second impression was that his +entrance had interrupted her while she was dressing and that she was +benumbed with astonishment as she stared at him. He caught the white +gleam of her bare shoulders under her hair. And then, with a shock, he +saw what was in her face. +</P> + +<P> +It turned his blood cold. It was the look of a soul that had been +tortured. Agony and doubt burned in the eyes that were looking at him. +He had never seen such eyes. They were like violet amethysts. Her face +was dead white. It was beautiful. And she was young. She was not over +twenty, it flashed upon him—but she had gone through a hell. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let me alarm you," he said, speaking gently. "I am Philip Raine +of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police." +</P> + +<P> +It did not surprise him that she made no answer. As plainly as if she +had spoken it he had in those few swift moments read the story in her +face. His heart choked him as he waited for her lips to move. It was a +mystery to him afterward why he accepted the situation so utterly as he +stood there. He had no question to ask, and there was no doubt in his +mind. He knew that he would kill Bram Johnson when the moment arrived. +</P> + +<P> +The girl had not seemed to breathe, but now she drew in her breath in a +great gasp. He could see the sudden throb of her breast under her hair, +but the frightened light did not leave her eyes even when he repeated +the words he had spoken. Suddenly she ran to the window, and Philip saw +the grip of her hands at the sill as she looked out. Through the gate +Bram was driving his wolves. When she faced him again, her eyes had in +them the look of a creature threatened by a whip. It amazed and +startled him. As he advanced a step she cringed back from him. It +struck him then that her face was like the face of an angel—filled +with a mad horror. She reached out her bare arms to hold him back, and +a strange pleading cry came from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +The cry stopped him like a shot. He knew that she had spoken to him. +And yet he had not understood! He tore open his coat and the sunlight +fell on his bronze insignia of the Service. Its effect on her amazed +him even more than had her sudden fear of him. It occurred to him +suddenly that with a two weeks' ragged growth of beard on his face he +must look something like a beast himself. She had feared him, as she +feared Bram, until she saw the badge. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Philip Raine, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police," he repeated +again. "I have come up here especially to help you, if you need help. I +could have got Bram farther back, but there was a reason why I didn't +want him until I found his cabin. That reason was you. Why are you here +with a madman and a murderer?" +</P> + +<P> +She was watching him intently. Her eyes were on his lips, and into her +face—white a few moments before—had risen swiftly a flush of color. +He saw the dread die out of her eyes in a new and dazzling excitement. +Outside they could hear Bram. The girl turned again and looked through +the window. Then she began talking, swiftly and eagerly, in a language +that was as strange to Philip as the mystery of her presence in Bram +Johnson's cabin. She knew that he could not understand, and suddenly +she came up close to him and put a finger to his lips, and then to her +own, and shook her head. He could fairly feel the throb of her +excitement. The astounding truth held him dumb. She was trying to make +him comprehend something—in a language which he had never heard before +in all his life. He stared at her—like an idiot he told himself +afterward. +</P> + +<P> +And then the shuffle of Bram's heavy feet sounded just outside the +door. Instantly the old light leapt into the girl's eyes. Before the +door could open she had darted into the room from which she had first +appeared, her hair floating about her in a golden cloud as she ran. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened, and Bram entered. At his heels, beyond the threshold, +Philip caught a glimpse of the pack glaring hungrily into the cabin. +Bram was burdened under the load he had brought from the sledge. He +dropped it to the floor, and without looking at Philip his eyes +fastened themselves on the door to the inner room. +</P> + +<P> +They stood there for a full minute, Bram as if hypnotized by the door, +and Philip with his eyes on Bram. Neither moved, and neither made a +sound. A curtain had dropped over the entrance to the inner room, and +beyond that they could hear the girl moving about. A dozen emotions +were fighting in Philip. If he had possessed a weapon he would have +ended the matter with Bram then, for the light that was burning like a +strange flame in the wolf-man's eyes convinced him that he had guessed +the truth. Bare-handed he was no match for the giant madman. For the +first time he let his glance travel cautiously about the room. Near the +stove was a pile of firewood. A stick of this would do—when the +opportunity came. +</P> + +<P> +And then, in a way that made him almost cry out, every nerve in his +body was startled. The girl appeared in the doorway, a smile on her +lips and her eyes shining radiantly—straight at Bram! She partly held +out her arms, and began talking. She seemed utterly oblivious of +Philip's presence. Not a word that she uttered could he understand. It +was not Cree or Chippewyan or Eskimo. It was not French or German or +any tongue that he had ever heard. Her voice was pure and soft. It +trembled a little, and she was breathing quickly. But the look in her +face that had at first horrified him was no longer there. She had +braided her hair and had coiled the shining strands on the crown of her +head, and the coloring in her face was like that of a rare painting. In +these astounding moments he knew that such color and such hair did not +go with any race that had ever bred in the northland. From her face, +even as her lips spoke, he looked at Bram. The wolf-man was +transfigured. His strange eyes were shining, his heavy face was filled +with a dog-like joy, and his thick lips moved as if he was repeating to +himself what the girl was saying. +</P> + +<P> +Was it possible that he understood her? Was the strange language in +which she was speaking common between them! At first Philip thought +that it must be so—and all the horrors of the situation that he had +built up for himself fell about him in confusing disorder. The girl, as +she stood there now, seemed glad that Bram had returned; and with a +heart choking him with its suspense he waited for Bram to speak, and +act. +</P> + +<P> +When the girl ceased speaking the wolf-man's response came in a +guttural cry that was like a paean of triumph. He dropped on his knees +beside the dunnage bag and mumbling thickly as he worked he began +emptying its contents upon the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Philip looked at the girl. She was looking at him now. Her hands were +clutched at her breast, and in her face and attitude there was a +wordless entreaty for him to understand. The truth came to him like a +flash. For some reason she had forced herself to appear that way to the +wolf-man. She had forced herself to smile, forced the look of gladness +into her face, and the words from her lips. And now she was trying to +tell him what it meant, and pointing to Bram as he knelt with his huge +head and shoulders bent over the dunnage bag on the floor she exclaimed +in a low, tense voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Tossi—tossi—han er tossi!" +</P> + +<P> +It was useless. He could not understand, and it was impossible for him +to hide the bewilderment in his face. All at once an inspiration came +to him. Bram's back was toward him, and he pointed to the sticks of +firewood. His pantomime was clear. Should he knock the wolf-man's +brains out as he knelt there? +</P> + +<P> +He could see that his question sent a thrill of alarm through her. She +shook her head. Her lips formed strange words, and looking again at +Bram she repeated, "Tossi—tossi—han er tossi!" She clasped her hands +suddenly to her head then. Her slim fingers buried themselves in the +thick braids of her hair. Her eyes dilated—and suddenly understanding +flashed upon him. She was telling him what he already knew—that Bram +Johnson was mad, and he repeated after her the "Tossi-tossi," tapping +his forehead suggestively, and nodding at Bram. Yes, that was it. He +could see it in the quick intake of her breath and the sudden +expression of relief that swept over her face. She had been afraid he +would attack the wolf-man. And now she was glad that he understood he +was not to harm him. +</P> + +<P> +If the situation had seemed fairly clear to him a few minutes before it +had become more deeply mysterious than ever now. Even as the wolf-man +rose from his knees, still mumbling to himself in incoherent +exultation, the great and unanswerable question pounded in Philip's +brain: "Who was this girl, and what was she to Bram Johnson—the crazed +outlaw whom she feared and yet whom she did not wish him to harm?" +</P> + +<P> +And then he saw her staring at the things which Bram had sorted out on +the floor. In her eyes was hunger. It was a living, palpitant part of +her now as she stared at the things which Bram had taken from the +dunnage bag—as surely as Bram's madness was a part of him. As Philip +watched her he knew that slowly the curtain was rising on the tragedy +of the golden snare. In a way the look that he saw in her face shocked +him more than anything that he had seen in Bram's. It was as if, in +fact, a curtain had lifted before his eyes revealing to him an +unbelievable truth, and something of the hell through which she had +gone. She was hungry—FOR SOMETHING THAT WAS NOT FLESH! Swiftly the +thought flashed upon him why the wolf-man had traveled so far to the +south, and why he had attacked him for possession of his food supply. +It was that he might bring these things to the girl. He knew that it +was sex-pride that restrained the impulse that was pounding in every +vein of her body. She wanted to fling herself down on her knees beside +that pile of stuff—but she remembered HIM! Her eyes met his, and the +shame of her confession swept in a crimson flood into her face. The +feminine instinct told her that she had betrayed herself—like an +animal, and that he must have seen in her for a moment something that +was almost like Bram's own madness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +Until he felt the warm thrill of the girl's arm under his hand Philip +did not realize the hazard he had taken. He turned suddenly to confront +Bram. He would not have known then that the wolf-man was mad, and +impulsively he reached out a hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Bram, she's starving," he cried. "I know now why you wanted that +stuff! But why didn't you tell me! Why don't you talk, and let me know +who she is, and why she is here, and what you want me to do?" +</P> + +<P> +He waited, and Bram stared at him without a sound. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you I'm a friend," he went on. "I—" +</P> + +<P> +He got no farther than that, for suddenly the cabin was filled with the +madness of Bram's laugh. It was more terrible than out on the open +Barren, or in the forest, and he felt the shudder of the girl at his +side. Her face was close to his shoulder, and looking down he saw that +it was white as death, but that even then she was trying to smile at +Bram. And Bram continued to laugh—and as he laughed, his eyes blazing +a greenish fire, he turned to the stove and began putting fuel into the +fire. It was horrible. Bram's laugh—the girl's dead white face, AND +HER SMILE! He no longer asked himself who she was, and why she was +there. He was overwhelmed by the one appalling fact that she WAS here, +and that the stricken soul crying out to him from the depths of those +eyes that were like wonderful blue amethysts told him that Bram had +made her pay the price. His muscles hardened as he looked at the huge +form bending over the stove. It was a splendid opportunity. A single +leap and he would be at the outlaw's throat. With that advantage, in +open combat, the struggle would at least be equal. +</P> + +<P> +The girl must have guessed what was in his mind, for suddenly her +fingers were clutching at his arm and she was pulling him away from the +wolf-man, speaking to him in the language which he could not +understand. And then Bram turned from the stove, picked up a pail, and +without looking at them left the cabin. They could hear his laugh as he +joined the wolves. +</P> + +<P> +Again Philip's conclusions toppled down about him like a thing made of +blocks. During the next few moments he knew that the girl was telling +him that Bram had not harmed her. She seemed almost hysterically +anxious to make him understand this, and at last, seizing him by the +hand, she drew him into the room beyond the curtained door. Her meaning +was quite as plain as words. She was showing him what Bram had done for +her. He had made her this separate room by running a partition across +the cabin, and in addition to this he had built a small lean-to outside +the main wall entered through a narrow door made of saplings that were +still green. He noticed that the partition was also made of fresh +timber. Except for the bunk built against the wall, a crude chair, a +sapling table and half a dozen bear skins that carpeted the floor the +room was empty. A few garments hung on the wall—a hood made of fur, a +thick mackinaw coat belted at the waist with a red scarf, and something +done up in a small bundle. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess—I begin to get your meaning," he said, looking straight into +her shining blue eyes. "You want to impress on me that I'm not to wring +Bram Johnson's neck when his back is turned, or at any other time, and +you want me to believe that he hasn't done you any harm. And yet you're +afraid to the bottom of your soul. I know it. A little while ago your +face was as white as chalk, and now—now—it's the prettiest face I've +ever seen. Now, see here, little girl—" +</P> + +<P> +It gave him a pleasant thrill to see the glow in her eyes and the eager +poise of her slim, beautiful body as she listened to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm licked," he went on, smiling frankly at her. "At least for the +present. Maybe I've gone loony, like Bram, and don't realize it yet. I +set out for a couple of Indians, and find a madman; and at the madman's +cabin I find YOU, looking at first as though you were facing straight +up against the door of-of-well, seeing that you can't understand I +might as well say it—OF HELL! Now, if you weren't afraid of Bram, and +if he hasn't hurt you, why did you look like that? I'm stumped. I +repeat it—dead stumped. I'd give a million dollars if I could make +Bram talk. I saw what was in his eyes. YOU saw it—and that pretty pink +went out of your face so quick it seemed as though your heart must have +stopped beating. And yet you're trying to tell me he hasn't harmed you. +My God—I wish I could believe it!" +</P> + +<P> +In her face he saw the reflection of the change that must have come +suddenly into his own. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good fifteen hundred miles from any other human being with +hair and eyes and color like yours," he continued, as though in +speaking his thoughts aloud to her some ray of light might throw itself +on the situation. "If you had something black about you. But you +haven't. You're all gold—pink and white and gold. If Bram has another +fit of talking he may tell me you came from the moon—that a +chasse-galere crew brought you down out of space to keep house for him. +Great Scott, can't you give me some sort of an idea of who you are and +where you same from?" +</P> + +<P> +He paused for an answer—and she smiled at him. There was something +pathetically sweet in that smile. It brought a queer lump into his +throat, and for a space he forgot Bram. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't understand a cussed word of it, do you?" he said, taking her +hand in both his own and holding it closely for a moment. "Not a word. +But we're getting the drift of things—slowly. I know you've been here +quite a while, and that morning, noon and night since the chasse-galere +brought you down from the moon you've had nothing to put your little +teeth into but meat. Probably without salt, too. I saw how you wanted +to throw yourself down on that pile of stuff on the floor. Let's have +breakfast!" +</P> + +<P> +He led her into the outer room, and eagerly she set to work helping him +gather the things from the floor. He felt that an overwhelming load had +been lifted from his heart, and he continued to tell her about it while +he hurried the preparation of the breakfast for which he knew she was +hungering. He did not look at her too closely. All at once it had +dawned upon him that her situation must be tremendously more +embarrassing than his own. He felt, too, the tingle of a new excitement +in his veins. It was a pleasurable sensation, something which he did +not pause to analyze just at present. Only he knew that it was because +she had told him as plainly as she could that Bram had not harmed her. +</P> + +<P> +"And if he HAD I guess you'd have let me smash his brains out when he +was bending over the stove, wouldn't you?" he said, stirring the mess +of desiccated potato he was warming in one of his kit-pans. He looked +up to see her eyes shining at him, and her lips parted. She was +delightfully pretty. He knew that every nerve in her body was straining +to understand him. Her braid had slipped over her shoulder. It was as +thick as his wrist, and partly undone. He had never dreamed that a +woman's hair could hold such soft warm fires of velvety gold. Suddenly +he straightened himself and tapped his chest, an inspiring thought +leaping into his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Philip Raine," he said. "Philip Raine—Philip Raine—Philip +Raine—" +</P> + +<P> +He repeated the name over and over again, pointing each time to +himself. Instantly light flashed into her face. It was as if all at +once they had broken through the barrier that had separated them. She +repeated his name, slowly, clearly, smiling at him, and then with both +hands at her breast, she said: +</P> + +<P> +"Celie Armin." +</P> + +<P> +He wanted to jump over the stove and shake hands with her, but the +potatoes were sizzling. Celie Armin! He repeated the name as he stirred +the potatoes, and each time he spoke it she nodded. It was decidedly a +French name—but half a minute's experiment with a few simple sentences +of Pierre Breault's language convinced him that the girl understood no +word of it. +</P> + +<P> +Then he said again: +</P> + +<P> +"Celie!" +</P> + +<P> +Almost in the same breath she answered: +</P> + +<P> +"Philip!" +</P> + +<P> +Sounds outside the cabin announced the return of Bram. Following the +snarl and whine of the pack came heavy footsteps, and the wolf-man +entered. Philip did not turn his head toward the door. He did not look +at first to see what effect Bram's return had on Celie Armin. He went +on casually with his work. He even began to whistle; and then, after a +final stir or two at the potatoes, he pointed to the pail in which the +coffee was bubbling, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Turn the coffee, Celie. We're ready!" +</P> + +<P> +He caught a glimpse of her face then. The excitement and color had +partly died out of it. She took the pail of coffee and went with it to +the table. +</P> + +<P> +Then Philip faced Bram. +</P> + +<P> +The wolf-man was standing with his back to the door. He had not moved +since entering, and he was staring at the scene before him in a dull, +stupid sort of way. In one hand he carried a pail filled with water; in +the other a frozen fish. +</P> + +<P> +"Too late with the fish, Bram," said Philip. "We couldn't make the +little lady wait. Besides, I think you've fed her on fish and meat +until she is just about ready to die. Come to breakfast!" +</P> + +<P> +He loaded a tin plate with hot potatoes, bannock-bread and rice that he +had cooked before setting out on the Barren, and placed it before the +girl. A second plate he prepared for Bram, and a third for himself. +Bram had not moved. He still held the pail and the fish in his hands. +Suddenly he lowered both to the floor with a growl that seemed to come +from the bottom of his great chest, and came to the table. With one +huge hand he seized Philip's arm. It was not a man's grip. There was +apparently no effort in it, and yet it was a vise-like clutch that +threatened to snap the bone. And all the time Bram's eyes were on the +girl. He drew Philip back, released the terrible grip on his arm, and +shoved the two extra plates of food to the girl. Then he faced Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"We eat ze meat, m'sieu!" +</P> + +<P> +Quietly and sanely he uttered the words. In his eyes and face there was +no trace of madness. And then, even as Philip stared, the change came. +The giant flung back his head and his wild, mad laugh rocked the cabin. +Out in the corral the snarl and cry of the wolves gave a savage +response to it. +</P> + +<P> +It took a tremendous effort for Philip to keep a grip on himself. In +that momentary flash of sanity Bram had shown a chivalry which must +have struck deep home in the heart of the girl. There was a sort of +triumph in her eyes when he looked at her. She knew now that he must +understand fully what she had been trying to tell him. Bram, in his +madness, had been good to her. Philip did not hesitate in the impulse +of the moment. He caught Bram's hand and shook it. And Bram, his laugh +dying away in a mumbling sound, seemed not to notice it. As Philip +began preparing the fish the wolf-man took up a position against the +farther wall, squatted Indian-fashion on his heels. He did not take his +eyes from the girl until she had finished, and Philip brought him a +half of the fried fish. He might as well have offered the fish to a +wooden sphinx. Bram rose to his feet, mumbling softly, and taking what +was left of one of the two caribou quarters he again left the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +His mad laugh and the snarling outcry of the wolves came to them a +moment later. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +Scarcely had the door closed when Celie Armin ran to Philip and pulled +him to the table. In the tense half hour of Bram's watchfulness she had +eaten her own breakfast as if nothing unusual had happened; now she +insisted on adding potatoes and bannock to Philip's fish, and turned +him a cup of coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless your heart, you don't want to see me beat out of a breakfast, do +you?" he smiled up at her, feeling all at once an immense desire to +pull her head down to him and kiss her. "But you don't understand the +situation, little girl. Now I've been eating this confounded +bannock"—he picked up a chunk of it to demonstrate his +point—"morning, noon and night until the sight of it makes me almost +cry for one of mother's green cucumber pickles. I'm tired of it. Bram's +fish is a treat. And this coffee, seeing that you have turned it in +that way—" +</P> + +<P> +She sat opposite him while he ate, and he had the chance of observing +her closely while his meal progressed. It struck him that she was +growing prettier each time that he looked at her, and he was more +positive than ever that she was a stranger in the northland. Again he +told himself that she was not more than twenty. Mentally he even went +so far as to weigh her and would have gambled that she would not have +tipped a scale five pounds one way or the other from a hundred and +twenty. Some time he might have seen the kind of violet-blue that was +in her eyes, but he could not remember it. She was lost—utterly lost +at this far-end of the earth. She was no more a part of it than a crepe +de chine ball dress or a bit of rose china. And there she was, sitting +opposite him, a bewitching mystery for him to solve. And she WANTED to +be solved! He could see it in her eyes, and in the little beating throb +at her throat. She was fighting, with him, to find a way; a way to tell +him who she was, and why she was here, and what he must do for her. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he thought of the golden snare. That, after all, he believed +to be the real key to the mystery. He rose quickly from the table and +drew the girl to the window. At the far end of the corral they could +see Bram tossing chunks of meat to the horde of beasts that surrounded +him. In a moment or two he had the satisfaction of seeing that his +companion understood that he was directing her attention to the +wolf-man and not the pack. Then he began unbraiding her hair. His +fingers thrilled at the silken touch of it. He felt his face flushing +hot under his beard, and he knew that her eyes were on him wonderingly. +A small strand he divided into three parts and began weaving into a +silken thread only a little larger than the wolf-man's snare. From, the +woven tress he pointed to Bram and in an instant her face lighted up +with understanding. +</P> + +<P> +She answered him in pantomime. Either she or Bram had cut the tress +from her head that had gone into the making of the golden snare. And +not only one tress, but several. There had been a number of golden +snares. She bowed her head and showed him where strands as large as her +little finger had been clipped in several places. +</P> + +<P> +Philip almost groaned. She was telling him nothing new, except that +there had been many snares instead of one. +</P> + +<P> +He was on the point of speech when the look in her face held him +silent. Her eyes glowed with a sudden excitement—a wild inspiration. +She held out her hands until they nearly touched his breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip Raine—Amerika!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +Then, pressing her hands to her own breast, she added eagerly: +</P> + +<P> +"Celie Armin—Danmark!" +</P> + +<P> +"Denmark!" exclaimed Philip. "Is that it, little girl? You're from +Denmark? Denmark!" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Kobenhavn—Danmark!" +</P> + +<P> +"Copenhagen, Denmark," he translated for himself. "Great Scott, +Celie—we're TALKING! Celie Armin, from Copenhagen, Denmark! But how in +Heaven's name did you get HERE?" He pointed to the floor under their +feet and embraced the four walls of the cabin in a wide gesture of his +arms. "How did you get HERE?" +</P> + +<P> +Her next words thrilled him. +</P> + +<P> +"Kobenhavn—Muskvas—St. Petersburg—Rusland—Sibirien—Amerika." +</P> + +<P> +"Copenhagen—Muskvas, whatever that is—St. +Petersburg—Russia—Siberia—America," he repeated, staring at her +incredulously. "Celie, if you love me, be reasonable! Do you expect me +to believe that you came all the way from Denmark to this God-forsaken +madman's cabin in the heart of the Canada Barrens by way of Russia and +Siberia? YOU! I can't believe it. There's a mistake somewhere. Here—" +</P> + +<P> +He thought of his pocket atlas, supplied by the department as a part of +his service kit, and remembered that in the back of it was a small map +of the world. In half a minute he had secured it and was holding the +map under her eyes. Her little forefinger touched Copenhagen. Leaning +over her shoulder, he felt her hair crumpling against his breast. He +felt an insane desire to bury his face in it and hug her up close in +his arms—for a single moment the question of whether she came from +Copenhagen or the moon was irrelevant and of little consequence. He, at +least, had found her. He was digging her out of chaos, and he was +filled with the joyous exultation of a triumphant discoverer—almost +the thrill of ownership. He held his breath as he watched the little +forefinger telling him its story on the map. +</P> + +<P> +From Copenhagen it went to Moscow—which must have been Muskvas, and +from there it trailed slowly to St. Petersburg and thence straight +across Russia and Siberia to Bering Sea. +</P> + +<P> +"Skunnert," she said softly, and her finger came across to the green +patch on the map which was Alaska. +</P> + +<P> +It hesitated there. Evidently it was a question in her own mind where +she had gone after that. At least she could not tell him on the map. +And now, seeing that he was understanding her, she was becoming visibly +excited. She pulled him to the window and pointed to the wolves. +Alaska—and after that dogs and sledge. He nodded. He was jubilant. She +was Celie Armin, of Copenhagen, Denmark, and had come to Alaska by way +of Russia and Siberia—and after that had traveled by dog-train. But +WHY had she come, and what had happened to make her the companion or +prisoner of Bram Johnson? He knew she was trying to tell him. With her +back to the window she talked to him again, gesturing with her hands, +and almost sobbing under the stress of the emotion that possessed her. +His elation turned swiftly to the old dread as he watched the change in +her face. Apprehension—a grim certainty—gripped hold of him. +Something terrible had happened to her—a thing that had racked her +soul and that filled her eyes with the blaze of a strange terror as she +struggled to make him understand. And then she broke down, and with a +sobbing cry covered her face with her hands. +</P> + +<P> +Out in the corral Philip heard Bram Johnson's laugh. It was a +mockery—a challenge. In an instant every drop of blood in his body +answered it in a surge of blind rage. He sprang to the stove, snatched +up a length of firewood, and in another moment was at the door. As he +opened it and ran out he heard Celie's wild appeal for him to stop. It +was almost a scream. Before he had taken a dozen steps from the cabin +he realized what the warning meant. The pack had seen him and from the +end of the corral came rushing at him in a thick mass. +</P> + +<P> +This time Bram Johnson's voice did not stop them. He saw Philip, and +from the doorway Celie looked upon the scene while the blood froze in +her veins. She screamed—and in the same breath came the wolf-man's +laugh. Philip heard both as he swung the stick of firewood over his +head and sent it hurling toward the pack. The chance accuracy of the +throw gave him an instant's time in which to turn and make a dash for +the cabin. It was Celie who slammed the door shut as he sprang through. +Swift as a flash she shot the bolt, and there came the lunge of heavy +bodies outside. They could hear the snapping of jaws and the snarling +whine of the beasts. Philip had never seen a face whiter than the +girl's had gone. She covered it with her hands, and he could see her +trembling. A bit of a sob broke hysterically from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +He knew of what she was thinking—the horrible thing she was hiding +from her eyes. It was plain enough to him now. Twenty seconds more and +they would have had him. And then— +</P> + +<P> +He drew in a deep breath and gently uncovered her face. Her hands +shivered in his. And then a great throb of joy repaid him for his +venture into the jaws of death as he saw the way in which her beautiful +eyes were looking at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Celie—my little mystery girl—I've discovered something," he cried +huskily, holding her hands so tightly that it must have hurt her. "I'm +almost glad you can't understand me, for I wouldn't blame you for being +afraid of a man who told you he loved you an hour or two after he first +saw you. I love you. I've never wanted anything in all my life as I +want you. And I must be careful and not let you know it, mustn't I? If +I did you'd think I was some kind of an animal-brute—like Bram. +Wouldn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Bram's voice came in a sharp rattle of Eskimo outside. Philip could +hear the snarling rebellion of the wolves as they slunk away from the +cabin, and he drew Celie back from the door. Suddenly she freed her +hands, ran to the door and slipped back the wooden bolt as the +wolf-man's hand fumbled at the latch. In a moment she was back at his +side. When Bram entered every muscle in Philip's body was prepared for +action. He was amazed at the wolf-man's unconcern. He was mumbling and +chuckling to himself, as if amused at what he had seen. Celie's little +fingers dug into Philip's arm and he saw in her eyes a tense, staring +look that had not been there before. It was as if in Bram's face and +his queer mumbling she had recognized something which was not apparent +to him. Suddenly she left him and hurried into her room. During the few +moments she was gone Bram did not look once at Philip. His mumbling was +incessant. Perhaps a minute passed before the girl reappeared. +</P> + +<P> +She went straight to Bram and before the wolf-man's eyes held a long, +shining tress of hair! +</P> + +<P> +Instantly the mumbling in Bram's throat ceased and he thrust out slowly +a huge misshapen hand toward the golden strand. Philip felt his nerves +stretching to the breaking point. With Bram the girl's hair was a +fetich. A look of strange exultation crept over the giant's heavy +features as his fingers clutched the golden offering. It almost drew a +cry of warning from Philip. He saw the girl smiling in the face of a +deadly peril—a danger of which she was apparently unconscious. Her +hair still fell loose about her in a thick and shimmering glory. And +BRAM'S EYES WERE ON IT AS HE TOOK THE TRESS FROM HER FINGERS! Was it +conceivable that this mad-man did not comprehend his power! Had the +thought not yet burned its way into his thick brain that a treasure +many times greater than, that which she had doled out to him lay within +the reach of his brute hands at any time he cared to reach out for it? +And was it possible that the girl did not guess her danger as she stood +there? +</P> + +<P> +What she could see of his face must have been as pale as her own when +she looked at him. She smiled, and nodded at Bram. The giant was +turning slowly toward the window, and after a moment or two in which +they could hear him mumbling softly he sat down cross-legged against +the wall, divided the tress into three silken threads and began weaving +them into a snare. The color was returning to Celie's face when Philip +looked at her again. She told him with a gesture of her head and hands +that she was going into her room for a time. He didn't blame her. The +excitement had been rather unusual. +</P> + +<P> +After she had gone he dug his shaving outfit out of his kit-bag. It +included a mirror and the reflection he saw in this mirror fairly +shocked him. No wonder the girl had been frightened at his first +appearance. It took him half an hour to shave his face clean, and all +that time Bram paid no attention to him but went on steadily at his +task of weaving the golden snare. Celie did not reappear until the +wolf-man had finished and was leaving the cabin. The first thing she +noticed was the change in Philip's face. He saw the pleasure in her +eyes and felt himself blushing. +</P> + +<P> +From the window they watched Bram. He had called his wolves and was +going with them to the gate. He carried his snowshoes and his long +whip. He went through the gate first and one by one let his beasts out +until ten of the twenty had followed him. The gate was closed then. +</P> + +<P> +Celie turned to the table and Philip saw that she had brought from her +room a pencil and a bit of paper. In a moment she held the paper out to +him, a light of triumph in her face. At last they had found a way to +talk. On the paper was a crude sketch of a caribou head. It meant that +Bram had gone hunting. +</P> + +<P> +And in going Bram had left a half of his blood-thirsty pack in the +corral. There was no longer a doubt in Philip's mind. They were not the +chance guests of this madman. They were prisoners. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +For a few minutes after the wolf-man and his hunters had gone from the +corral Philip did not move from the window. He almost forgot that the +girl was standing behind him. At no time since Pierre Breault had +revealed the golden snare had the situation been more of an enigma to +him than now. Was Bram Johnson actually mad—or was he playing a +colossal sham? The question had unleashed itself in his brain with a +suddenness that had startled him. Out of the past a voice came to him +distinctly, and it said, "A madman never forgets!" It was the voice of +a great alienist, a good friend of his, with whom he had discussed the +sanity of a man whose crime had shocked the country. He knew that the +words were true. Once possessed by an idea the madman will not forget +it. It becomes an obsession with him—a part of his existence. In his +warped brain a suspicion never dies. A fear will smolder everlastingly. +A hatred lives steadily on. +</P> + +<P> +If Bram Johnson was mad would he play the game as he was playing it +now! He had almost killed Philip for possession of the food, that the +girl might have the last crumb of it. Now, without a sign of the +madman's caution, he had left it all within his reach again. A dozen +times the flaming suspicion in his eyes had been replaced by a calm and +stupid indifference. Was the suspicion real and the stupidity a clever +dissimulation? And if dissimulation—why? +</P> + +<P> +He was positive now that Bram had not harmed the girl in the way he had +dreaded. Physical desire had played no part in the wolf-man's +possession of her. Celie had made him understand that;—and yet in +Bram's eyes he had caught a look now and then that was like the dumb +worship of a beast. Only once had that look been anything +different—and that was when Celie had given him a tress of her hair. +Even the suspicion roused in him then was gone now, for if passion and +desire were smoldering in the wolf-man's breast he would not have +brought a possible rival to the cabin, nor would he have left them +alone together. +</P> + +<P> +His mind worked swiftly as he stared unseeing out into the corral. He +would no longer play the part of a pawn. Thus far Bram had held the +whip hand. Now he would take it from him no matter what mysterious +protestation the girl might make! The wolf-man had given him a dozen +opportunities to deliver the blow that would make him a prisoner. He +would not miss the next. +</P> + +<P> +He faced Celie with the gleam of this determination in his eyes. She +had been watching him intently and he believed that she had guessed a +part of his thoughts. His first business was to take advantage of +Brain's absence to search the cabin. He tried to make Celie understand +what his intentions were as he began. +</P> + +<P> +"You may have done this yourself," he told her. "No doubt you have. +There probably isn't a corner you haven't looked into. But I have a +hunch I may find something you missed—something interesting." +</P> + +<P> +She followed him closely. He began at each wall and went over it +carefully, looking for possible hiding places. Then he examined the +floor for a loose sapling. At the end of half an hour his discoveries +amounted to nothing. He gave an exclamation of satisfaction when under +an old blanket in a dusty corner he found a Colt army revolver. But it +was empty, and he found no cartridges. At last there was nothing left +to search but the wolf-man's bunk. At the bottom of this he found what +gave him his first real thrill—three of the silken snares made from +Celie Armin's hair. +</P> + +<P> +"We won't touch them," he said after a moment, replacing the bear skin +that had covered them. "It's good etiquette up here not to disturb +another man's cache and that's Bram's. I can't imagine any one but a +madman doing that. And yet—" +</P> + +<P> +He looked suddenly at Celie. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose he was afraid of YOU?" he asked her. "Is that why he +doesn't leave even the butcher-knife in this shack? Was he afraid you +might shoot him in his sleep if he left the temptation in your way?" +</P> + +<P> +A commotion among the wolves drew him to the window. Two of the beasts +were fighting. While his back was turned Celie entered her room and +returned a moment or two later with a handful of loose bits of paper. +The pack held Philip's attention. He wondered what chance he would have +in an encounter with the beasts which Bram had left behind as a guard. +Even if he killed Bram or made him a prisoner he would still have that +horde of murderous brutes to deal with. If he could in some way induce +the wolf-man to bring his rifle into the cabin the matter would be +easy. With Bram out of the way he could shoot the wolves one by one +from the window. Without a weapon their situation would be hopeless. +The pack—with the exception of one huge, gaunt beast directly under +the window—had swung around the end of the cabin out of his vision. +The remaining wolf in spite of the excitement of battle was gnawing +hungrily at a bone. Philip could hear the savage grind of its powerful +jaws, and all at once the thought of how they might work out their +salvation flashed upon him. They could starve the wolves! It would take +a week, perhaps ten days, but with Bram out of the way and the pack +helplessly imprisoned within the corral it could be done. His first +impulse now was to impress on Celie the necessity of taking physical +action against Bram. +</P> + +<P> +The sound of his own name turned him from the window with a sudden +thrill. +</P> + +<P> +If the last few minutes had inspired an eagerness for action in his own +mind he saw at a glance that something equally exciting had possessed +Celie Armin. Spread out on the table were the bits of paper she had +brought from her room, and, pointing to them, she again called him by +name. That she was laboring under a new and unusual emotion impressed +him immediately. He could see that she was fighting to restrain an +impulse to pour out in words what would have been meaningless to him, +and that she was telling him the bits of paper were to take the place +of voice. For one swift moment as he advanced to the table the papers +meant less to him than the fact that she had twice spoken his name. Her +soft lips seemed to whisper it again as she pointed, and the look in +her eyes and the poise of her body recalled to him vividly the picture +of her as he had first seen her in the cabin. He looked at the bits of +paper. There were fifteen or twenty pieces, and on each was sketched a +picture. +</P> + +<P> +He heard a low catch in Celie's breath as he bent over them, and his +own pulse quickened. A glance was sufficient to show him that with the +pictures Celie was trying to tell him what he wanted to know. They told +her own story—who she was, why she was at Bram Johnson's cabin, and +how she had come. This, at least, was the first thought that impressed +him. He observed then that the bits of paper were soiled and worn as +though they had been handled a great deal. He made no effort to +restrain the exclamation that followed this discovery. +</P> + +<P> +"You drew these pictures for Bram," he scanning them more carefully. +"That settles one thing. Bram doesn't know much more about you than, I +do. Ships, and dogs, and men—and fighting—a lot of fighting—and—" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes stopped at one of the pictures and his heart gave a sudden +excited thump. He picked up the bit of paper which had evidently been +part of a small sack. Slowly he turned to the girl and met her eyes. +She was trembling in her eagerness for him to understand. +</P> + +<P> +"That is YOU," he said, tapping the central figure in the sketch, and +nodding at her. "You—with your hair down, and fighting a bunch of men +who look as though they were about to beat your brains out with clubs! +Now—what in God's name does it mean? And here's a ship up in the +corner. That evidently came first. You landed from that ship, didn't +you? From the ship—the ship—the ship—" +</P> + +<P> +"Skunnert!" she cried softly, touching the ship with her finger. +"Skunnert—Sibirien!" +</P> + +<P> +"Schooner-Siberia," translated Philip. "It sounds mightily like that, +Celie. Look here—" He opened his pocket atlas again at the map of the +world. "Where did you start from, and where did you come ashore? If we +can get at the beginning of the thing—" +</P> + +<P> +She had bent her head over the crook of his arm, so that in her eager +scrutiny of the map his lips for a moment or two touched the velvety +softness of her hair. Again he felt the exquisite thrill of her touch, +the throb of her body against him, the desire to take her in his arms +and hold her there. And then she drew back a little, and her finger was +once more tracing out its story on the map. The ship had started from +the mouth of the Lena River, in Siberia, and had followed the coast to +the blue space that marked the ocean above Alaska. And there the little +finger paused, and with a hopeless gesture Celie intimated that was all +she knew. From somewhere out of that blue patch the ship had touched +the American shore. One after another she took up from the table the +pieces of paper that carried on the picture-story from that point. It +was, of course, a broken and disjointed story. But as it progressed +every drop of blood in Philip's body was stirred by the thrill and +mystery of it. Celie Armin had traveled from Denmark through Russia to +the Lena River in Siberia, and from there a ship had brought her to the +coast of North America. There had been a lot of fighting, the +significance of which he could only guess at; and now, at the end, the +girl drew for Philip another sketch in which a giant and a horde of +beasts appeared. It was a picture of Bram and his wolves, and at last +Philip understood why she did not want him to harm the wolf-man. Bram +had saved her from the fate which the pictures only partly portrayed +for him. He had brought her far south to his hidden stronghold, and for +some reason which the pictures failed to disclose was keeping her a +prisoner there. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond these things Celie Armin was still a mystery. +</P> + +<P> +Why had she gone to Siberia? What had brought her to the barren Arctic +coast of America? Who were the mysterious enemies from whom Bram the +madman had saved her? And who—who— +</P> + +<P> +He looked again at one of the pictures which he had partly crumpled in +his hand. On it were sketched two people. One was a figure with her +hair streaming down—Celie herself. The other was a man. The girl had +pictured herself close in the embrace of this man's arms. Her own arms +encircled the man's neck. From the picture Philip had looked at Celie, +and the look he had seen in her eyes and face filled his heart with a +leaden chill. It was more than hope that had flared up in his breast +since he had entered Bram Johnson's cabin. And now that hope went +suddenly out, and with its extinguishment he was oppressed by a deep +and gloomy foreboding. +</P> + +<P> +He went slowly to the window and looked out. +</P> + +<P> +The next moment Celie was startled by the sudden sharp cry that burst +from his lips. Swiftly she ran to his side. He had dropped the paper. +His hands were gripping the edge of the sill, and he was staring like +one who could not believe his own eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God—look! Look at that!" +</P> + +<P> +They had heard no sound outside the cabin during the last few minutes. +Yet under their eyes, stretched out in the soiled and trampled snow, +lay the wolf that a short time before had been gnawing a bone. The +animal was stark dead. Not a muscle of its body moved. Its lips were +drawn back, its jaws agape, and under the head was a growing smear of +blood. It was not these things—not the fact but the INSTRUMENT of +death that held Philip's eyes. The huge wolf had been completely +transfixed by a spear. +</P> + +<P> +Instantly Philip recognized it—the long, slender, javelin-like narwhal +harpoon used by only one people in the world, the murderous little +black-visaged Kogmollocks of Coronation Gulf and Wollaston Land. +</P> + +<P> +He sprang suddenly back from the window, dragging Celie with him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +"Kogmollocks—the blackest-hearted little devils alive when it comes to +trading wives and fighting," said Philip, a little ashamed of the +suddenness with which he had jumped back from the window. "Excuse my +abruptness, dear. But I'd recognize that death-thing on the other side +of the earth. I've seen them throw it like an arrow for a hundred +yards—and I have a notion they're watching that window!" +</P> + +<P> +At sight of the dead wolf and the protruding javelin Celie's face had +gone as white as ash. Snatching up one of the pictures from the table, +she thrust it into Philip's hand. It was one of the fighting pictures. +</P> + +<P> +"So it's YOU?" he said, smiling at her and trying to keep the tremble +of excitement out of his voice. "It's you they want, eh? And they must +want you bad. I've never heard of those little devils coming within a +hundred miles of this far south. They MUST want you bad. Now—I wonder +WHY?" His voice was calm again. It thrilled him to see how utterly she +was judging the situation by the movement of his lips and the sound of +his voice. With him unafraid she would be unafraid. He judged that +quickly. Her eyes bared her faith in him, and suddenly he reached out +and took her face between his two hands, and laughed softly, while each +instant he feared the smash of a javelin through the window. "I like to +see that look in your eyes," he went on. "And I'm almost glad you can't +understand me, for I couldn't lie to you worth a cent. I understand +those pictures now—and I think we're in a hell of a fix. The Eskimos +have followed you and Bram down from the north, and I'm laying a wager +with myself that Bram won't return from the caribou hunt. If they were +Nunatalmutes or any other tribe I wouldn't be so sure. But they're +Kogmollocks. They're worse than the little brown head-hunters of the +Philippines when it comes to ambush, and if Bram hasn't got a spear +through him this minute I'll never guess again!" He withdrew his hands +from her face, still smiling at her as he talked. The color was +returning into her face. Suddenly she made a movement as if to approach +the window. He detained her, and in the same moment there came a fierce +and snarling outcry from the wolves in the corral. Making Celie +understand that she was to remain where he almost forcibly placed her +near the table, Philip went again to the window. The pack had gathered +close to the gate and two or three of the wolves were leaping excitedly +against the sapling bars of their prison. Between the cabin and the +gate a second body lay in the snow. Philip's mind leapt to a swift +conclusion. The Eskimos had ambushed Bram, and they believed that only +the girl was in the cabin. Intuitively he guessed how the superstitious +little brown men of the north feared the madman's wolves. One by one +they were picking them off with their javelins from outside the corral. +</P> + +<P> +As he looked a head and pair of shoulders rose suddenly above the top +of the sapling barrier, an arm shot out and he caught the swift gleam +of a javelin as it buried itself in the thick of the pack. In a flash +the head and shoulders of the javelin-thrower had disappeared, and in +that same moment Philip heard a low cry behind him. Celie had returned +to the window. She had seen what he had seen, and her breath came +suddenly in a swift and sobbing excitement. In amazement he saw that +she was no longer pale. A vivid flush had gathered in each of her +cheeks and her eyes blazed with a dark fire. One of her hands caught +his arm and her fingers pinched his flesh. He stared dumbly for a +moment at the strange transformation in her. He almost believed that +she wanted to fight—that she was ready to rush out shoulder to +shoulder with him against their enemies. Scarcely had the cry fallen +from her lips when she turned and ran swiftly into her room. It seemed +to Philip that she was not gone ten seconds. When she returned she +thrust into his hand a revolver. +</P> + +<P> +It was a toy affair. The weight and size of the weapon told him that +before he broke it and looked at the caliber. It was a "stocking" gun +as they called those things in the service, fully loaded with .22 +caliber shots and good for a possible partridge at fifteen or twenty +paces. Under other conditions it would have furnished him with +considerable amusement. But the present was not yesterday or the day +before. It was a moment of grim necessity—and the tiny weapon gave him +the satisfaction of knowing that he was not entirely helpless against +the javelins. It would shoot as far as the stockade, and it might +topple a man over if he hit him just right. Anyway, it would make a +noise. +</P> + +<P> +A noise! The grin that had come into his face died out suddenly as he +looked at Celie. He wondered if to her had come the thought that now +flashed upon him—if it was that thought that had made her place the +revolver in his hand. The blaze of excitement in her wonderful eyes +almost told him that it was. With Bram gone, the Eskimos believed she +was alone and at their mercy as soon as the wolves were out of the way. +Two or three shots from the revolver—and Philip's appearance in the +corral—would shake their confidence. It would at least warn them that +Celie was not alone, and that her protector was armed. For that reason +Philip thanked the Lord that a "stocking" gun had a bark like the +explosion of a toy cannon even if its bite was like that of an insect. +</P> + +<P> +Cautiously he took another look at Bram's wolves. The last javelin had +transfixed another of their number and the animal was dragging itself +toward the center of the corral. The remaining seven were a dozen yards +on the other side of the gate now, leaping and snarling at the +stockade, and he knew that the next attack would come from there. He +sprang to the door. Celie was only a step behind him as he ran out, and +was close at his side when he peered around the end of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"They must not see you," he made her understand. "It won't do any good +and when they see another man they may possibly get the idea in their +heads that you're not here. There can't be many of them or they'd make +quicker work of the wolves. I should say not more than—" +</P> + +<P> +"Se! Se!" +</P> + +<P> +The warning came in a low cry from Celie's lips. A dark head was +appearing slowly above the top of the stockade, and Philip darted +suddenly out into the open. The Eskimo did not see him, and Philip +waited until he was on the point of hurling his javelin before he made +a sound. Then he gave a roar that almost split his throat. In the same +instant he began firing. The crack of his pistol and the ferocious +outcry he made sent the Eskimo off the stockade like a ball hit by a +club. The pack, maddened by their inability to reach their enemies, +turned like a flash. Warned by one experience, Philip hustled Celie +into the cabin. They were scarcely over the threshold when the wolves +were at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"We're sure up against a nice bunch," he laughed, standing for a moment +with his arm still about Celie's waist. "A regular hell of a bunch, +little girl! Now if those wolves only had sense enough to know that +we're a little brother and sister to Bram, we'd be able to put up a +fight that would be some circus. Did you see that fellow topple off the +fence? Don't believe I hit him. At least I hope I didn't. If they ever +find out the size of this pea-shooter's sting they'll sit up there like +a row of crows and laugh at us. But—what a bully NOISE it made!" +</P> + +<P> +He was blissfully unmindful of danger as he held her in the crook of +his arm, looking straight into her lovely face as he talked. It was a +moment of splendid hypocrisy. He knew that in her excitement and the +tremendous effort she was making to understand something of what he was +saying that she was unconscious of his embrace. That, and the joyous +thrill of the situation, sent the hot blood into his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm dangerously near to going the limit," he told her, speaking with a +seriousness that would impress her. "I'd fight twenty of those little +devils single-handed to know just how you'd take it, and I'd fight +another dozen to know who that fellow is in the picture. I'm tempted +right now to hug you up close, and kiss you, and let you know how I +feel. I'd like to do that—before—anything happens. But would you +understand? That's it—would you understand that I love every inch of +you from the ground up or would you think I was just beast? That's what +I'm afraid of. But I'd like to let you know before I have to put up the +big fight for you. And it's coming—if they've got Bram. They'll break +down the gate to-night, or burn it, and with the wolves out of the way +they'll rush the cabin. And then—" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly he drew his arm from her, and something of the reaction of his +thoughts must have betrayed itself in the look that came into his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess I've already pulled off a rotten deal on the other fellow," he +said, turning to the window. "That is, if you belong to him. And if you +didn't why would you stand there with your arms about his neck and he +hugging you up like that!" +</P> + +<P> +A few minutes before he had crumpled the picture in his hand and +dropped it on the floor. He picked it up now and mechanically smoothed +it out as he made his observation, through the window. The pack had +returned to the stockade. By the aimless manner in which they had +scattered he concluded that for the time at least their mysterious +enemies had drawn away from the corral. +</P> + +<P> +Celie had not moved. She was watching him earnestly. It seemed to him, +as he went to her with the picture, that a new and anxious questioning +had come into her eyes. It was as if she had discovered something in +him which she had not observed before, something which she was trying +to analyze even as he approached her. He felt for the first time a +sense of embarrassment. Was it possible that she had comprehended some +word or thought of what he had expressed to her? He could not believe +it And yet, a woman's intuition— +</P> + +<P> +He held out the picture. Celie took it and for a space looked at it +steadily without raising her eyes to meet his. When she did look at him +the blue in her eyes was so wonderful and deep and the soul that looked +out of them was so clear to his own vision that the shame of that +moment's hypocrisy when he had stood with his arm about her submerged +him completely. If she had not understood him she at least HAD GUESSED. +</P> + +<P> +"Min fader," she said quietly, with the tip of her little forefinger on +the man in the picture. "Min fader." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment he thought she had spoken in English. +</P> + +<P> +"Your—your father?" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Oo-ee-min fader!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank the Lord," gasped Philip. And then he suddenly added, "Celie, +have you any more cartridges for this pop-gun? I feel like licking the +world!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +He tried to hide his jubilation as he talked of more cartridges. He +forgot Bram, and the Eskimos waiting outside the corral, and the +apparent hopelessness of their situation. HER FATHER! He wanted to +shout, or dance around the cabin with Celie in his arms. But the change +that he had seen come over her made him understand that he must keep +hold of himself. He dreaded to see another light come into those +glorious blue eyes that had looked at him with such a strange and +questioning earnestness a few moments before—the fire of suspicion, +perhaps even of fear if he went too far. He realized that he had +betrayed his joy when she had said that the man in the picture was her +father. She could not have missed that. And he was not sorry. For him. +there was an unspeakable thrill in the thought that to a woman, no +matter under what sun she is born, there is at least one emotion whose +understanding needs no words of speech. And as he had talked to her, +sublimely confident that she could not understand him, she had read the +betrayal in his face. He was sure of it. And so he talked about +cartridges. He talked, he told himself afterwards, like an excited +imbecile. +</P> + +<P> +There were no more cartridges. Celie made him understand that. All they +possessed were the four that remained in the revolver. As a matter of +fact this discovery did not disturb him greatly. At close quarters he +would prefer a good club to the pop-gun. Such a club, in the event of a +rush attack by the Eskimos, was an important necessity, and he began +looking about the cabin to see what he could lay his hands on. He +thought of the sapling cross-pieces in Bram's bunk against the wall and +tore one out. It was four feet in length and as big around as his fist +at one end while at the other it tapered down so that he could grip it +easily with his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Now we're ready for them," he said, testing the poise and swing of the +club as he stood in the center of the room. "Unless they burn us out +they'll never get through that door. I'm promising you that—s'elp me +God I am, Celie!" +</P> + +<P> +As she looked at him a flush burned in her cheeks. He was eager to +fight—it seemed to her that he was almost hoping for the attack at the +door. It made her splendidly unafraid, and suddenly she laughed +softly—a nervous, unexpected little laugh which she could not hold +back, and he turned quickly to catch the warm glow in her eyes. +Something went up into his throat as she stood there looking at him +like that. He had never seen any one quite so beautiful. He dropped his +club, and held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's shake, Celie," he said. "I'm mighty glad you understand—we're +pals." +</P> + +<P> +Unhesitatingly she gave him her hand, and in spite of the fact that +death lurked outside they smiled into each other's eyes. After that she +went into her room. For half an hour Philip did not see her again. +</P> + +<P> +During that half hour he measured up the situation more calmly. He +realized that the exigency was tremendously serious, and that until now +he had not viewed it with the dispassionate coolness that characterized +the service of the uniform he wore. Celie was accountable for that. He +confessed the fact to himself, not without a certain pleasurable +satisfaction. He had allowed her presence, and his thoughts of her, to +fill the adventure completely for him, and as a result they were now +facing an appalling danger. If he had followed his own judgment, and +had made Bram Johnson a prisoner, as he should have done in his line of +duty, matters would have stood differently. +</P> + +<P> +For several minutes after Celie had disappeared into her room he +studied the actions of the wolves in the corral. A short time before he +had considered a method of ridding himself of Bram's watchful beasts. +Now he regarded them as the one greatest protection they possessed. +There were seven left. He was confident they would give warning the +moment the Eskimos approached the stockade again. But would their +enemies return? The fact that only one man had attacked the wolves at a +time was almost convincing evidence that they were very few in +number—perhaps only a scouting party of three or four. Otherwise, if +they had come in force, they would have made short work of the pack. +The thought became a positive conviction as he looked through the +window. Bram had fallen a victim to a single javelin, and the scouting +party of Kogmollocks had attempted to complete their triumph by +carrying Celie back with them to the main body. Foiled in this attempt, +and with the knowledge that a new and armed enemy opposed them, they +were possibly already on their way for re-enforcements. +</P> + +<P> +If this were so there could be but one hope—and that was an immediate +escape from the cabin. And between the cabin door and the freedom of +the forest were Bram's seven wolves! +</P> + +<P> +A feeling of disgust, almost of anger, swept over him as he drew +Celie's little revolver from his pocket and held it in the palm of his +hand. There were four cartridges left. But what would they avail +against that horde of beasts! They would stop them no more than so many +pin-pricks. And what even would the club avail? Against two or three he +might put up a fight. But against seven— +</P> + +<P> +He cursed Bram under his breath. It was curious that in that same +instant the thought flashed upon him that the wolf-man might not have +fallen a victim to the Eskimos. Was it not possible that the spying +Kogmollocks had seen him go away on the hunt, and had taken advantage +of the opportunity to attack the cabin? They had evidently thought +their task would be an easy one. What Philip saw through the window set +his pulse beating quickly with the belief that this last conjecture was +the true one. The world outside was turning dark. The sky was growing +thick and low. In half an hour a storm would break. The Eskimos had +foreseen that storm. They knew that the trail taken in their flight, +after they had possessed themselves of the girl, would very soon be +hidden from the eyes of Bram and the keen scent of his wolves. So they +had taken the chance—the chance to make Celie their prisoner before +Bram returned. +</P> + +<P> +And why, Philip asked himself, did these savage little barbarians of +the north want HER? The fighting she had pictured for him had not +startled him. For a long time the Kogmollocks had been making trouble. +In the last year they had killed a dozen white men along the upper +coast, including two American explorers and a missionary. Three patrols +had been sent to Coronation Gulf and Bathurst Inlet since August. With +the first of those patrols, headed by Olaf Anderson, the Swede, he had +come within an ace of going himself. A rumor had come down to Churchill +just before he left for the Barrens that Olaf's party of five men had +been wiped out. It was not difficult to understand why the Eskimos had +attacked Celie Armin's father and those who had come ashore with him +from the ship. It was merely a question of lust for white men's blood +and white men's plunder, and strangers in their country would naturally +be regarded as easy victims. The mysterious and inexplicable part of +the affair was their pursuit of the girl. In this pursuit the +Kogmollocks had come far beyond the southernmost boundary of their +hunting grounds. Philip was sufficiently acquainted with the Eskimos to +know that in their veins ran very little of the red-blooded passion of +the white man. Matehood was more of a necessity imposed by nature than +a joy in their existence, and it was impossible for him to believe that +even Celie Armin's beauty had roused the desire for possession among +them. +</P> + +<P> +His attention turned to the gathering of the storm. The amazing +swiftness with which the gray day was turning into the dark gloom of +night fascinated him and he almost called to Celie that she might look +upon the phenomenon with him. It was piling in from the vast Barrens to +the north and east and for a time it was accompanied by a stillness +that was oppressive. He could no longer distinguish a movement in the +tops of the cedars and banskian pine beyond the corral. In the corral +itself he caught now and then the shadowy, flitting movement of the +wolves. He did not hear Celie when she came out of her room. So +intently was he straining his eyes to penetrate the thickening pall of +gloom that he was unconscious of her presence until she stood close at +his side. There was something in the awesome darkening of the world +that brought them closer in that moment, and without speaking Philip +found her hand and held it in his own. They heard then a low whispering +sound—a sound that came creeping up out of the end of the world like a +living thing; a whisper so vast that, after a little, it seemed to fill +the universe, growing louder and louder until it was no longer a +whisper but a moaning, shrieking wail. It was appalling as the first +blast of it swept over the cabin. No other place in the world is there +storm like the storm that sweeps over the Great Barren; no other place +in the world where storm is filled with such a moaning, shrieking +tumult of VOICE. It was not new to Philip. He had heard it when it +seemed to him that ten thousand little children were crying under the +rolling and twisting onrush of the clouds; he had heard it when it +seemed to him the darkness was filled with an army of laughing, +shrieking madmen—storm out of which rose piercing human shrieks and +the sobbing grief of women's voices. It had driven people mad. Through +the long dark night of winter, when for five months they caught no +glimpse of the sun, even the little brown Eskimos went keskwao and +destroyed themselves because of the madness that was in that storm. +</P> + +<P> +And now it swept over the cabin, and in Celie's throat there rose a +little sob. So swiftly had darkness gathered that Philip could no +longer see her, except where her face made a pale shadow in the gloom, +but he could feel the tremble of her body against him. Was it only this +morning that he had first seen her, he asked himself? Was it not a +long, long time ago, and had she not in that time become, flesh and +soul, a part of him? He put out his arms. Warm and trembling and +unresisting in that thick gloom she lay within them. His soul rose in a +wild ecstasy and rode on the wings of the storm. Closer he held her +against his breast, and he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing can hurt you, dear. Nothing—nothing—" +</P> + +<P> +It was a simple and meaningless thing to say—that, and only that. And +yet he repeated it over and over again, holding her closer and closer +until her heart was throbbing against his own. "Nothing can hurt you. +Nothing—nothing—" +</P> + +<P> +He bent his head. Her face was turned up to him, and suddenly he was +thrilled by the warm sweet touch of her lips. He kissed her. She did +not strain away from him. He felt—in that darkness—the wild fire in +her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing can hurt you, nothing—nothing—" he cried almost sobbingly in +his happiness. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there came a blast of the storm that rocked the cabin like the +butt of a battering-ram, and in that same moment there came from just +outside the window a shrieking cry such as Philip had never heard in +all his life before. And following the cry there rose above the tumult +of the storm the howling of Bram Johnson's wolves. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +For a space Philip thought that the cry must have come from Bram +Johnson himself—that the wolf-man had returned in the pit of the +storm. Against his breast Celie had apparently ceased to breathe. Both +listened for a repetition of the sound, or for a signal at the barred +door. It was strange that in that moment the wind should die down until +they could hear the throbbing of their own hearts. Celie's was pounding +like a little hammer, and all at once he pressed his face down against +hers and laughed with sudden and joyous understanding. +</P> + +<P> +"It was only the wind, dear," he said. "I never heard anything like it +before—never! It even fooled the wolves. Bless your dear little heart +how it frightened you! And it was enough, too. Shall we light some of +Bram's candles?" +</P> + +<P> +He held her hand as he groped his way to where he had seen Bram's +supply of bear-dips. She held two of the candles while he lighted them +and their yellow flare illumined her face while his own was still in +shadow. What he saw in its soft glow and the shine of her eyes made him +almost take her in his arms again, candles and all. And then she turned +with them and went to the table. He continued to light candles until +the sputtering glow of half a dozen of them filled the room. It was a +wretched wastefulness, but it was also a moment in which he felt +himself fighting to get hold of himself properly. And he felt also the +desire to be prodigal about something. When he had lighted his sixth +candle, and then faced Celie, she was standing near the table looking +at him so quietly and so calmly and with such a wonderful faith in her +eyes that he thanked God devoutly he had kissed her only once—just +that once! It was a thrilling thought to know that SHE knew he loved +her. There was no doubt of it now. And the thought of what he might +have done in that darkness and in the moment of her helplessness +sickened him. He could look her straight in the eyes now—unashamed and +glad. And she was unashamed, even if a little flushed at what had +happened. The same thought was in their minds—and he knew that she was +not sorry. Her eyes and the quivering tremble of a smile on her lips +told him that. She had braided her hair in that interval when she had +gone to her room, and the braid had fallen over her breast and lay +there shimmering softly in the candle-glow. He wanted to take her in +his arms again. He wanted to kiss her on the mouth and eyes. But +instead of that he took the silken braid gently in his two hands and +crushed it against his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you," he cried softly. "I love you." +</P> + +<P> +He stood for a moment or two with his head bowed, the thrill of her +hair against his face. It was as if he was receiving some kind of a +wonderful benediction. And then in a voice that trembled a little she +spoke to him. Before he could see fully what was in her eyes she turned +suddenly to the wall, took down his coat, and hung it over the window. +When he saw her face again it was gloriously flushed. She pointed to +the candles. +</P> + +<P> +"No danger of that," he said, comprehending her. "They won't throw any +javelins in this storm. Listen!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the wolves again. In a moment their cry was drowned in a crash +of the storm that smote the cabin like a huge hand. Again it was +wailing over them in a wild orgy of almost human tumult. He could see +its swift effect on Celie in spite of her splendid courage. It was not +like the surge of mere wind or the roll of thunder. Again he was +inspired by thought of his pocket atlas, and opened it at the large +insert map of Canada. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll show you why the wind does that," he explained to her, drawing +her to the table and spreading out the map. "See, here is the cabin." +He made a little black dot with her pencil, and turning to the four +walls of Bram's stronghold made her understand what it meant. "And +there's the big Barren," he went on, tracing it out with the +pencil-point. "Up here, you see, is the Arctic Ocean, and away over +there the Roes Welcome and Hudson's Bay. That's where the storm starts, +and when it gets out on the Barren, without a tree or a rock to break +its way for five hundred miles—" +</P> + +<P> +He told of the twisting air-currents there and how the storm-clouds +sometimes swept so low that they almost smothered one. For a few +moments he did not look at Celie or he would have seen something in her +face which could not have been because of what he was telling her, and +which she could at best only partly understand. She had fixed her eyes +on the little black dot. THAT was the cabin. For the first time the map +told her where she was, and possibly how she had arrived there. +Straight down to that dot from the blue space of the ocean far to the +north the map-makers had trailed the course of the Coppermine River. +Celie gave an excited little cry and caught Philip's arm, stopping him +short in his explanation of the human wailings in the storm. Then she +placed a forefinger on the river. +</P> + +<P> +"There—there it is!" she told him, as plainly as though her voice was +speaking to him in his own language. "We came down that river. The +Skunnert landed us THERE," and she pointed to the mouth of the +Coppermine where it emptied into Coronation Gulf. "And then we came +down, down, down—" +</P> + +<P> +He repeated the name of the river. +</P> + +<P> +"THE COPPERMINE." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, her breath breaking a little in an increasing excitement. +She seized the pencil and two-thirds of the distance down the +Coppermine made a cross. It was wonderful, he thought, how easily she +made him understand. In a low, eager voice she was telling him that +where she had put the cross the treacherous Kogmollocks had first +attacked them. She described with the pencil their flight away from the +river, and after that their return—and a second fight. It was then +Bram Johnson had come into the scene. And back there, at the point from +which the wolf-man had fled with her, was her FATHER. That was the +chief thing she was striving to drive home in his comprehension of the +situation. Her FATHER! And she believed he was alive, for it was an +excitement instead of hopelessness or grief that possessed her as she +talked to him. It gave him a sort of shock. He wanted to tell her, with +his arms about her, that it was impossible, and that it was his duty to +make her realize the truth. Her father was dead now, even if she had +last seen him alive. The little brown men had got him, and had +undoubtedly hacked him into small pieces, as was their custom when +inspired by war-madness. It was inconceivable to think of him as still +being alive even if there had been armed friends with him. There was +Olaf Anderson and his five men, for instance. Fighters every one of +them. And now they were dead. What chance could this other man have? +</P> + +<P> +Her joy when she saw that he understood her added to the uncertainty +which was beginning to grip him in spite of all that the day had meant +for him. Her faith in him, since that thrilling moment in the darkness, +was more than ever like that of a child. She was unafraid of Bram now. +She was unafraid of the wolves and the storm and the mysterious +pursuers from out of the north. Into his keeping she had placed herself +utterly, and while this knowledge filled him with a great happiness he +was now disturbed by the fact that, if they escaped from the cabin and +the Eskimos, she believed he would return with her down the Coppermine +in an effort to find her father. He had already made the plans for +their escape and they were sufficiently hazardous. Their one chance was +to strike south across the thin arm of the Barren for Pierre Breault's +cabin. To go in the opposite direction—farther north without dogs or +sledge—would be deliberate suicide. +</P> + +<P> +Several times during the afternoon he tried to bring himself to the +point of urging on her the naked truth—that her father was dead. There +was no doubt of that—not the slightest. But each time he fell a little +short. Her confidence in the belief that her father was alive, and that +he was where she had marked the cross on the map, puzzled him. Was it +conceivable, he asked himself, that the Eskimos had some reason for NOT +killing Paul Armin, and that Celie was aware of the fact? If so he +failed to discover it. Again and again he made Celie understand that he +wanted to know why the Eskimos wanted HER, and each time she answered +him with a hopeless little gesture, signifying that she did not know. +He did learn that there were two other white men with Paul Armin. +</P> + +<P> +Only by looking at his watch did he know when the night closed in. It +was seven o'clock when he led Celie to her room and urged her to go to +bed. An hour later, listening at her door, he believed that she was +asleep. He had waited for that, and quietly he prepared for the +hazardous undertaking he had set for himself. He put on his cap and +coat and seized the club he had taken from Bram's bed. Then very +cautiously he opened the outer door. A moment later he stood outside, +the door closed behind him, with the storm pounding in his face. +</P> + +<P> +Fifty yards away he could not have heard the shout of a man. And yet he +listened, gripping his club hard, every nerve in his body strained to a +snapping tension. Somewhere within that small circle of the corral were +Bram Johnson's wolves, and as he hesitated with his back to the door he +prayed that there would come no lull in the storm during the next few +minutes. It was possible that he might evade them with the crash and +thunder of the gale about him. They could not see him, or hear him, or +even smell him in that tumult of wind unless on his way to the gate he +ran into them. In that moment he would have given a year of life to +have known where they were. Still listening, still fighting to hear +some sound of them in the shriek of the storm, he took his first step +out into the pit of darkness. He did not run, but went as cautiously as +though the night was a dead calm, the club half poised in his hands. He +had measured the distance and the direction of the gate and when at +last he touched the saplings of the stockade he knew that he could not +be far off in his reckoning. Ten paces to the right he found the gate +and his heart gave a sudden jump of relief. Half a minute more and it +was open. He propped it securely against the beat of the storm with the +club he had taken from Bram Johnson's bed. +</P> + +<P> +Then he turned back to the cabin, with the little revolver clutched in +his hand, and his face was strained and haggard when he found the door +and returned again into the glow of the candle-light. In the center of +the room, her face as white as his own, stood Celie. A great fear must +have gripped her, for she stood there in her sleeping gown with her +hands clutched at her breast, her eyes staring at him in speechless +questioning. He explained by opening the door a bit and pantomiming to +the gate outside the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"The wolves will be gone in the morning," he said, a ring of triumph in +his voice. "I have opened the gate. There is nothing in our way now." +</P> + +<P> +She understood. Her eyes were a glory to look into then. Her fingers +unclenched at her breast, she gave a short, quick breath and a little +cry—and her arms almost reached out to him. He was afraid of himself +as he went to her and led her again to the door of her room. And there +for a moment they paused, and she looked up into his face. Her hand +crept from his and went softly to his shoulder. She said something to +him, almost in a whisper, and he could no longer fight against the +pride and the joy and the faith he saw in her eyes. He bent down, +slowly so that she might draw away from him if she desired, and kissed +her upturned lips. And then, with a strange little cry that was like +the soft note of a bird, she turned from him and disappeared into the +darkness of her room. +</P> + +<P> +A great deal of that night's storm passed over his head unheard after +that. It was late when he went to bed. He crowded Bram's long box-stove +with wood before he extinguished the last candle. +</P> + +<P> +And for an hour after that he lay awake, thinking of Celie and of the +great happiness that had come into his life all in one day. During that +hour he made the plans of a lifetime. Then he, too, fell into sleep—a +restless, uneasy slumber filled with many visions. For a time there had +come a lull in the gale, but now it broke over the cabin in increased +fury. A hand seemed slapping at the window, threatening to break it, +and a volley of wind and snow shot suddenly down the chimney, forcing +open the stove door, so that a shaft of ruddy light cut like a red +knife through the dense gloom of the cabin. In varying ways the sounds +played a part in Philip's dreams. In all those dreams, and segments of +dreams, the girl was present. It was strange that in all of them she +should be his wife. And it was strange that the big woods and the deep +snows played no part in them. He was back home. And Celie was with him. +Once they went for wildflowers and were caught in a thunderstorm, and +ran to an old and disused barn in the center of a field for shelter. He +could feel Celie trembling against him, and he was stroking her hair as +the thunder crashed over them and the lightning filled her eyes with +fear. After that there came to him a vision of early autumn nights when +they went corn-roasting, with other young people. He had always been +afflicted with a slight nasal trouble, and smoke irritated him. It set +him sneezing, and kept him dodging about the fire, and Celie was +laughing as the smoke persisted in following him about, like a young +scamp of a boy bent on tormenting him. The smoke was unusually +persistent on this particular night, until at last the laughter went +out of the girl's face, and she ran into his arms and covered his eyes +with her soft hands. Restlessly he tossed in his bunk, and buried his +face in the blanket that answered for a pillow. The smoke reached him; +even there, and he sneezed chokingly. In that instant Celie's face +disappeared. He sneezed again—and awoke. +</P> + +<P> +In that moment his dazed senses adjusted themselves. The cabin was full +of smoke. It partly blinded him, but through it he could see tongues of +fire shooting toward the ceiling. He heard then the crackling of +burning pitch—a dull and consuming roar, and with a stifled cry he +leaped from his bunk and stood on his feet. Dazed by the smoke and +flame, he saw that there was not the hundredth part of a second to +lose. Shouting Celie's name he ran to her door, where the fire was +already beginning to shut him out. His first cry had awakened her and +she was facing the lurid glow of the flame as he rushed in. Almost +before she could comprehend what was happening he had wrapped one of +the heavy bear skins about her and had swept her into his arms. With +her face crushed against his breast he lowered his head and dashed back +into the fiery holocaust of the outer room. The cabin, with its +pitch-filled logs, was like a box made of tinder, and a score of men +could not have beat out the fire that was raging now. The wind beating +from the west had kept it from reaching the door opening into the +corral, but the pitch was hissing and smoking at the threshold as +Philip plunged through the blinding pall and fumbled for the latch. +</P> + +<P> +Not ten seconds too soon did he stagger with his burden out into the +night. As the wind drove in through the open door the flames seemed to +burst in a sudden explosion and the cabin was a seething snarl of +flame. It burst through the window and out of the chimney and Philip's +path to the open gate was illumined by a fiery glow. Not until he had +passed beyond the stockade to the edge of the forest did he stop and +look back. Over their heads the wind wailed and moaned in the spruce +tops, but even above that sound came the roar of the fire. Against his +breast Philip heard a sobbing cry, and suddenly he held the girl +closer, and crushed his face down against hers, fighting to keep back +the horror that was gripping at his heart. Even as he felt her arms +creeping up out of the bearskin and clinging about his neck he felt +upon him like a weight of lead the hopelessness of a despair as black +as the night itself. The cabin was now a pillar of flame, and in it was +everything that had made life possible for them. Food, shelter, +clothing—all were gone. In this moment he did not think of himself, +but of the girl he held in his arms, and he strained her closer and +kissed her lips and her eyes and her tumbled hair there in the +storm-swept darkness, telling her what he knew was now a lie—that she +was safe, that nothing could harm her. Against him he felt the tremble +and throb of her soft body, and it was this that filled him with the +horror of the thing—the terror of the thought that her one garment was +a bearskin. He had felt, a moment before, the chill touch of a naked +little foot. +</P> + +<P> +And yet he kept saying, with his face against hers: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, little sweetheart. We'll come out all right—we sure +will!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +His first impulse, after those few appalling seconds following their +escape from the fire, was to save something from the cabin. Still +talking to Celie he dropped on his knees and tucked her up warmly in +the bearskin, with her back to a tree. He thanked God that it was a big +skin and that it enveloped her completely. Leaving her there he ran +back through the gate. He no longer feared the wolves. If they had not +already escaped into the forest he knew they would not attack him in +that hot glare of the one thing above all others they feared—fire. For +a space thought of the Eskimos, and the probability of the fire +bringing them from wherever they had sought shelter from the storm, was +secondary to the alarming necessity which faced him. Because of his +restlessness and his desire to be ready for any emergency he had not +undressed when he threw himself on his bunk that night, but he was +without a coat or cap. And Celie! He cried out aloud in his anguish +when he stopped just outside the deadline of the furnace of flame that +was once the cabin, and standing there with clenched hands he cursed +himself for the carelessness that had brought her face to face with a +peril deadlier than the menace of the Eskimos or Bram Johnson's wolves. +He alone was responsible. His indiscretion in overfilling the stove had +caused the fire, and in that other moment—when he might have snatched +up more than the bearskin—his mind had failed to act. +</P> + +<P> +In the short space he stood there helplessly in the red heat of the +fire the desperateness of the situation seared itself like the hot +flame itself in his brain. As prisoners in Bram's cabin, guarded by the +wolves and attacked by the Eskimos, they still had shelter, food, +clothing—a chance to live, at least the chance to fight. And now— +</P> + +<P> +He put a hand to his bare head and faced the direction of the storm. +With the dying away of the wind snow had begun to fall, and with this +snow he knew there would come a rising temperature. It was probably +twenty degrees below zero, and unless the wind went down completely his +ears would freeze in an hour or two. Then he thought of the thick +German socks he wore. One of them would do for a cap. His mind worked +swiftly after that. There was, after all, a tremendous thrill in the +thought of fighting the odds against him, and in the thought of the +girl waiting for him in the bearskin, her life depending upon him +utterly now. Without him she could not move from the tree where he had +left her unless her naked feet buried themselves in the snow. If +something happened to him—she would die. Her helplessness filled him +suddenly with a wild exultation, the joy of absolute possession that +leapt for an instant or two above his fears. She was something +more—now—than the woman he loved. She was a little child, to be +carried in his arms, to be sheltered from the wind and the cold until +the last drop of blood had ceased to flow in his veins. His was the +mighty privilege now to mother her until the end came for them both—or +some miracle saved them. The last barrier was gone from between them. +That he had met her only yesterday was an unimportant incident now. The +world had changed, life had changed, a long time had passed. She +belonged to him as utterly as the stars belonged to the skies. In his +arms she would find life—or death. +</P> + +<P> +He was braced for the fight. His mind, riding over its first fears, +began to shape itself for action even as he turned back toward the edge +of the forest. Until then he had not thought of the other cabin—the +cabin which Bram and he had passed on their way in from the Barren. His +heart rose up suddenly in his throat and he wanted to shout. That cabin +was their salvation! It was not more than eight or ten miles away, and +he was positive that he could find it. +</P> + +<P> +He ran swiftly through the increasing circle of light made by the +burning logs. If the Eskimos had not gone far some one of them would +surely see the red glow of the fire, and discovery now meant death. In +the edge of the trees, where the shadows were deep, he paused and +looked back. His hand fumbled where the left-pocket of his coat would +have been, and as he listened to the crackling of the flames and stared +into the heart of the red glow there smote him with sudden and +sickening force a realization of their deadliest peril. In that +twisting inferno of burning pitch was his coat, and in the left-hand +pocket of that coat WERE HIS MATCHES! +</P> + +<P> +Fire! Out there in the open a seething, twisting mass of it, taunting +him with its power, mocking him as pitiless as the mirage mocks a +thirst-crazed creature of the desert. In an hour or two it would be +gone. He might keep up its embers for a time—until the Eskimos, or +starvation, or still greater storm put an end to it. The effort, in any +event, would be futile in the end. Their one chance lay in finding the +other cabin, and reaching it quickly. When it came to the point of +absolute necessity he could at least try to make fire as he had seen an +Indian make it once, though at the time he had regarded the achievement +as a miracle born of unnumbered generations of practice. +</P> + +<P> +He heard the glad note of welcome in Celie's throat when he returned to +her. She spoke his name. It seemed to him that there was no note of +fear in her voice, but just gladness that he had come back to her in +that pit of darkness. He bent down and tucked her snugly in the big +bear-skin before he took her up in his arms again. He held her so that +her face was snuggled close against his neck, and he kissed her soft +mouth again, and whispered to her as he began picking his way through +the forest. His voice, whispering, made her understand that they must +make no sound. She was tightly imprisoned in the skin, but all at once +he felt one of her hands work its way out of the warmth of it and lay +against his cheek. It did not move away from his face. Out of her soul +and body there passed through that contact of her hand the confession +that made him equal to fighting the world. For many minutes after that +neither of them spoke. The moan of the wind was growing less and less +in the treetops, and once Philip saw a pale break where the clouds had +split asunder in the sky. The storm was at an end—and it was almost +dawn. In a quarter of an hour the shot like snow of the blizzard had +changed to big soft flakes that dropped straight out of the clouds in a +white deluge. By the time day came their trail would be completely +hidden from the eyes of the Eskimos. Because of that Philip traveled as +swiftly as the darkness and the roughness of the forest would allow +him. As nearly as he could judge he kept due east. For a considerable +time he did not feel the weight of the precious burden in his arms. He +believed that they were at least half a mile from the burned cabin +before he paused to rest. Even then he spoke to Celie in a low voice. +He had stopped where the trunk of a fallen tree lay as high as his +waist, and on this he seated the girl, holding her there in the crook +of his arm. With his other hand he fumbled to see if the bearskin +protected her fully, and in the investigation his hand came in contact +again with one of her bare feet. Celie gave a little jump. Then she +laughed, and he made sure that the foot was snug and warm before he +went on. +</P> + +<P> +Twice in the nest half mile he stopped. The third time, a full mile +from the cabin, was in a dense growth of spruce through the tops of +which snow and wind did not penetrate. Here he made a nest of +spruce-boughs for Celie, and they waited for the day. In the black +interval that precedes Arctic dawn they listened for sounds that might +come to them. Just once came the wailing howl of one of Bram's wolves, +and twice Philip fancied that he heard the distant cry of a human +voice. The second time Celie's fingers tightened about his own to tell +him that she, too, had heard. +</P> + +<P> +A little later, leaving Celie alone, Philip went back to the edge of +the spruce thicket and examined closely their trail where it had +crossed a bit of open. It was not half an hour old, yet the deluge of +snow had almost obliterated the signs of their passing. His one hope +was that the snowfall would continue for another hour. By that time +there would not be a visible track of man or beast, except in the heart +of the thickets. But he knew that he was not dealing with white men or +Indians now. The Eskimos were night-trackers and night-hunters. For +five months out of every twelve their existence depended upon their +ability to stalk and kill in darkness. If they had returned to the +burning cabin it was possible, even probable, that they were close on +their heels now. +</P> + +<P> +For a second time he found himself a stout club. He waited, listening, +and straining his eyes to penetrate the thick gloom; and then, as his +own heart-beats came to him audibly, he felt creeping over him a slow +and irresistible foreboding—a premonition of something impending, of a +great danger close at hand. His muscles grew tense, and he clutched the +club, ready for action. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +It seemed to Philip, as he stood with the club ready in his hand, that +the world had ceased to breathe in its anticipation of the thing for +which he was waiting—and listening. The wind had dropped dead. There +was not a rustle in the tree-tops, not a sound to break the stillness. +The silence, so close after storm, was an Arctic phenomenon which did +not astonish him, and yet the effect of it was almost painfully +gripping. Minor sounds began to impress themselves on his senses—the +soft murmur of the falling snow, his own breath, the pounding of his +heart. He tried to throw off the strange feeling that oppressed him, +but it was impossible. Out there in the darkness he would have sworn +that there were eyes and ears strained as his own were strained. And +the darkness was lifting. Shadows began to disentangle themselves from +the gray chaos. Trees and bushes took form, and over his head the last +heavy windrows of clouds shouldered their way out of the sky. +</P> + +<P> +Still, as the twilight of dawn took the place of night, he did not +move, except to draw himself a little closer into the shelter of the +scrub spruce behind which he had hidden himself. He wondered if Celie +would be frightened at his absence. But he could not compel himself to +go on—or back. SOMETHING WAS COMING! He was as positive of it as he +was of the fact that night was giving place to day. Yet he could see +nothing—hear nothing. It was light enough now for him to see movement +fifty yards away, and he kept his eyes fastened on the little open +across which their trail had come. If Olaf Anderson the Swede had been +there he might have told him of another night like this, and another +vigil. For Olaf had learned that the Eskimos, like the wolves, trail +two by two and four by four, and that—again like the wolves—they +pursue not ON the trail but with the trail between them. +</P> + +<P> +But it was the trail that Philip watched; and as he kept his +vigil—that inexplicable mental undercurrent telling him that his +enemies were coming—his mind went back sharply to the girl a hundred +yards behind him. The acuteness of the situation sent question after +question rushing through his mind, even as he gripped his club, For her +he was about to fight. For her he was ready to kill, and not afraid to +die. He loved her. And yet—she was a mystery. He had held her in his +arms, had felt her heart beating against his breast, had kissed her +lips and her eyes and her hair, and her response had been to place +herself utterly within the shelter of his arms. She had given herself +to him and he was possessed of the strength of one about to fight for +his own. And with that strength the questions pounded again in his +head. Who was she? And for what reason were mysterious enemies coming +after her through the gray dawn? +</P> + +<P> +In that moment he heard a sound. His heart stood suddenly still. He +held his breath. It was a sound almost indistinguishable from the +whisper of the air and the trees and yet it smote upon his senses like +the detonation of a thunder-clap. It was more of a PRESENCE than a +sound. The trail was clear. He could see to the far side of the open +now, and there was no movement. He turned his head—slowly and without +movement of his body, and in that instant a gasp rose to his lips, and +died there. Scarcely a dozen paces from him stood a poised and hooded +figure, a squat, fire-eyed apparition that looked more like monster +than man in that first glance. Something acted within him that was +swifter than reason—a sub-conscious instinct that works for +self-preservation like the flash of powder in a pan. It was this +sub-conscious self that received the first photographic impression—the +strange poise of the hooded creature, the uplifted arm, the cold, +streaky gleam of something in the dawn-light, and in response to that +impression Philip's physical self crumpled down in the snow as a +javelin hissed through the space where his head and shoulders had been. +</P> + +<P> +So infinitesimal was the space of time between the throwing of the +javelin and Philip's movement that the Eskimo believed he had +transfixed his victim. A scream of triumph rose in his throat. It was +the Kogmollock sakootwow—the blood-cry, a single shriek that split the +air for a mile. It died in another sort of cry. From where he had +dropped Philip was up like a shot. His club swung through the air and +before the amazed hooded creature could dart either to one side or the +other it had fallen with crushing force. That one blow must have +smashed his shoulder to a pulp. As the body lurched downward another +blow caught the hooded head squarely and the beginning of a second cry +ended in a sickening grunt. The force of the blow carried Philip half +off his feet, and before he could recover himself two other figures had +rushed upon him from out of the gloom. Their cries as they came at him +were like the cries of beasts. Philip had no time to use his club. From +his unbalanced position he flung himself upward and at the nearest of +his enemies, saving himself from the upraised javelin by clinching. His +fist shot out and caught the Eskimo squarely in the mouth. He struck +again—and the javelin dropped from the Kogmollock's hand. In that +moment, every vein in his body pounding with the rage and excitement of +battle, Philip let out a yell. The end of it was stifled by a pair of +furry arms. His head snapped back—and he was down. +</P> + +<P> +A thrill of horror shot through him. It was the one unconquerable +fighting trick of the Eskimos—that neck hold. Caught from behind there +was no escape from it. It was the age-old sasaki-wechikun, or +sacrifice-hold, an inheritance that came down from father to son—the +Arctic jiu-jitsu by which one Kogmollock holds the victim helpless +while a second cuts out his heart. Flat on his back, with his head and +shoulders bent under him, Philip lay still for a single instant. He +heard the shrill command of the Eskimo over him—an exhortation for the +other to hurry up with the knife. And then, even as he heard a grunting +reply, his hand came in contact with the pocket which held Celie's +little revolver. He drew it quickly, cocked it under his back, and +twisting his arm until the elbow-joint cracked, he fired. It was a +chance shot. The powder-flash burned the murderous, thick-lipped face +in the sealskin hood. There was no cry, no sound that Philip heard. But +the arms relaxed about his neck. He rolled over and sprang to his feet. +Three or four paces from him was the Eskimo he had struck, crawling +toward him on his hands and knees, still dazed by the blows he had +received. In the snow Philip saw his club. He picked it up and replaced +the revolver in his pocket. A single blow as the groggy Eskimo +staggered to his feet and the fight was over. +</P> + +<P> +It had taken perhaps three or four minutes—no longer than that. His +enemies lay in three dark and motionless heaps in the snow. Fate had +played a strong hand with him. Almost by a miracle he had escaped and +at least two of the Eskimos were dead. +</P> + +<P> +He was still watchful, still guarding against a further attack, and +suddenly he whirled to face a figure that brought from him a cry of +astonishment and alarm. It was Celie. She was standing ten paces from +him, and in the wild terror that had brought her to him she had left +the bearskin behind. Her naked feet were buried in the snow. Her arms, +partly bared, were reaching out to him in the gray Arctic dawn, and +then wildly and moaningly there came to him— +</P> + +<P> +"Philip—Philip—" +</P> + +<P> +He sprang to her, a choking cry on his own lips. This, after all, was +the last proof—when she had thought that their enemies were killing +him SHE HAD COME TO HIM. He was sobbing her name like a boy as he ran +back with her in his arms. Almost fiercely he wrapped the bearskin +about her again, and then crushed her so closely in his arms that he +could hear her gasping faintly for breath. In that wild and glorious +moment he listened. A cold and leaden day was breaking over the world +and as they listened their hearts throbbing against each other, the +same sound came to them both. +</P> + +<P> +It was the sakootwow—the savage, shrieking blood-cry of the +Kogmollocks, a scream that demanded an answer of the three hooded +creatures who, a few minutes before, had attacked Philip in the edge of +the open. The cry came from perhaps a mile away. And then, faintly, it +was answered far to the west. For a moment Philip pressed his face down +to Celie's. In his heart was a prayer, for he knew that the fight had +only begun. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +That the Eskimos both to the east and the west were more than likely to +come their way, converging toward the central cry that was now silent, +Philip was sure. In the brief interval in which he had to act he +determined to make use of his fallen enemies. This he impressed on +Celie's alert mind before he ran back to the scene of the fight. He +made no more than a swift observation of the field in these first +moments—did not even look for weapons. His thought was entirely of +Celie. The smallest of the three forms on the snow was the Kogmollock +he had struck down with his club. He dropped on his knees and took off +first the sealskin bashlyk, or hood. Then he began stripping the dead +man of his other garments. From the fur coat to the caribou-skin +moccasins they were comparatively new. With them in his arms he hurried +back to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +It was not a time for fine distinctions. The clothes were a godsend, +though they had come from a dead man's back, and an Eskimo's at that. +Celie's eyes shone with joy. It amazed him more than ever to see how +unafraid she was in this hour of great danger. She was busy with the +clothes almost before his back was turned. +</P> + +<P> +He returned to the Eskimos. The three were dead. It made him +shudder—one with a tiny bullet hole squarely between the eyes, and the +others crushed by the blows of the club. His hand fondled Celie's +little revolver—the pea-shooter he had laughed at. After all it had +saved his life. And the club— +</P> + +<P> +He did not examine too closely there. From the man he had struck with +his naked fist he outfitted himself with a hood and temiak, or coat. In +the temiak there were no pockets, but at the waist of each of the dead +men a narwhal skin pouch which answered for all pockets. He tossed the +three pouches in a little heap on the snow before he searched for +weapons. He found two knives and half a dozen of the murderous little +javelins. One of the knives was still clutched in the hand of the +Eskimo who was creeping up to disembowel him when Celie's revolver +saved him. He took this knife because it was longer and sharper than +the other. +</P> + +<P> +On his knees he began to examine the contents of the three pouches. In +each was the inevitable roll of babiche, or caribou-skin cord, and a +second and smaller waterproof narwhal bag in which were the Kogmollock +fire materials. There was no food. This fact was evident proof that the +Eskimos were in camp somewhere in the vicinity. He had finished his +investigation of the pouches when, looking up from his kneeling +posture, he saw Celie approaching. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the grimness of the situation he could not repress a smile +as he rose to greet her. At fifty paces, even with her face toward him, +one would easily make the error of mistaking her for an Eskimo, as the +sealskin bashlyk was so large that it almost entirely concealed her +face except when one was very close to her. Philip's first assistance +was to roll back the front of the hood. Then he pulled her thick braid +out from under the coat and loosed the shining glory of her hair until +it enveloped her in a wonderful shimmering mantle. Their enemies could +not mistake her for a man NOW, even at a hundred yards. If they ran +into an ambuscade she would at least be saved from the javelins. +</P> + +<P> +Celie scarcely realized what he was doing. She was staring at the dead +men—silent proof of the deadly menace that had threatened them and of +the terrific fight Philip must have made. A strange note rose in her +throat, and turning toward him suddenly she flung herself into his +arms. Her own arms encircled his neck, and for a space she lay +shudderingly against his breast, as if sobbing. How many times he +kissed her in those moments Philip could not have told. It must have +been a great many. He knew only that her arms were clinging tighter and +tighter about his neck, and that she was whispering his name, and that +his hands were buried in her soft hair. He forgot time, forgot the +possible cost of precious seconds lost. It was a small thing that +recalled him to his senses. From out of a spruce top a handful of snow +fell on his shoulder. It startled him like the touch of a strange hand, +and in another moment he was explaining swiftly to Celie that there +were other enemies near and that they must lose no time in flight. +</P> + +<P> +He fastened one of the pouches at his waist, picked up his club, +and—on second thought—one of the Kogmollock javelins. He had no very +definite idea of how he might use the latter weapon, as it was too +slender to be of much avail as a spear at close quarters. At a dozen +paces he might possibly throw it with some degree of accuracy. In a +Kogmollock's hand it was a deadly weapon at a hundred paces. With the +determination to be at his side when the next fight came Celie +possessed herself of a second javelin. With her hand in his Philip set +out then due north through the forest. +</P> + +<P> +It was in that direction he knew the cabin must lay. After striking the +edge of the timber after crossing the Barren Bram Johnson had turned +almost directly south, and as he remembered the last lap of the journey +Philip was confident that not more than eight or ten miles had +separated the two cabins. He regretted now his carelessness in not +watching Brain's trail more closely in that last hour or two. His chief +hope of finding the cabin was in the discovery of some landmark at the +edge of the Barren. He recalled distinctly where they had turned into +the forest, and in less than half an hour after that they had come upon +the first cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Their immediate necessity was not so much the finding of the cabin as +escape from the Eskimos. Within half an hour, perhaps even less, he +believed that other eyes would know of the fight at the edge of the +open. It was inevitable. If the Kogmollocks on either side of them +struck the trail before it reached the open they would very soon run +upon the dead, and if they came upon footprints in the snow this side +of the open they would back-trail swiftly to learn the source and +meaning of the cry of triumph that had not repeated itself. Celie's +little feet, clad in moccasins twice too big for her, dragged in the +snow in a way that would leave no doubt in the Eskimo mind. As Philip +saw the situation there was one chance for them, and only one. They +could not escape by means of strategy. They could not hide from their +pursuers. Hope depended entirely upon the number of their enemies. If +there were only three or four of them left they would not attack in the +open. In that event he must watch for ambuscade, and dread the night. +He looked down at Celie, buried in her furry coat and hood and plodding +along courageously at his side with her hand in his. This was not a +time in which to question him, and she was obeying his guidance with +the faith of a child. It was tremendous, he thought—the most wonderful +moment that had ever entered into his life. It is this dependence, this +sublime faith and confidence in him of the woman he loves that gives to +a man the strength of a giant in the face of a great crisis and makes +him put up a tiger's fight for her. For such a woman a man must win. +And then Philip noticed how tightly Celie's other hand was gripping the +javelin with which she had armed herself. She was ready to fight, too. +The thrill of it all made him laugh, and her eyes shot up to him +suddenly, filled with a moment's wonder that he should be laughing now. +She must have understood, for the big hood hid her face again almost +instantly, and her fingers tightened the smallest bit about his. +</P> + +<P> +For a matter of a quarter of an hour they traveled as swiftly as Celie +could walk. Philip was confident that the Eskimo whose cries they had +heard would strike directly for the point whence the first cry had +come, and it was his purpose to cover as much distance as possible in +the first few minutes that their enemies might be behind them. It was +easier to watch the back trail than to guard against ambuscades ahead. +Twice in that time he stopped where they would be unseen and looked +back, and in advancing he picked out the thinnest timber and evaded +whatever might have afforded a hiding place to a javelin-thrower. They +had progressed another half mile when suddenly they came upon a +snowshoe trail in the snow. +</P> + +<P> +It had crossed at right angles to their own course, and as Philip bent +over it a sudden lump rose into his throat. The other Eskimos had not +worn snowshoes. That in itself had not surprised him, for the snow was +hard and easily traveled in moccasins. The fact that amazed him now was +that the trail under his eyes had not been made by Eskimo usamuks. The +tracks were long and narrow. The web imprint in the snow was not that +of the broad narwhal strip, but the finer mesh of babiche. It was +possible that an Eskimo was wearing them, but they were A WHITE MAN'S +SHOES! +</P> + +<P> +And then he made another discovery. For a dozen paces he followed in +the trail, allowing six inches with each step he took as the snowshoe +handicap. Even at that he could not easily cover the tracks. The man +who had made them had taken a longer snowshoe stride than his own by at +least nine inches. He could no longer keep the excitement of his +discovery from Celie. +</P> + +<P> +"The Eskimo never lived who could make that track," he exclaimed. "They +can travel fast enough but they're a bunch of runts when it comes to +leg-swing. It's a white man—or Bram!" +</P> + +<P> +The announcement of the wolf-man's name and Philip's gesture toward the +trail drew a quick little cry of understanding from Celie. In a flash +she had darted to the snowshoe tracks and was examining them with eager +intensity. Then she looked up and shook her head. It wasn't Bram! She +pointed to the tail of the shoe and catching up a twig broke it under +Philip's eyes. He remembered now. The end of Bram's shoes was snubbed +short off. There was no evidence of that defect in the snow. It was not +Bram who had passed that way. +</P> + +<P> +For a space he stood undecided. He knew that Celie was watching +him—that she was trying to learn something of the tremendous +significance of that moment from his face. The same unseen force that +had compelled him to wait and watch for his foes a short time before +seemed urging him now to follow the strange snowshoe trail. Enemy or +friend the maker of those tracks would at least be armed. The thought +of what a rifle and a few cartridges would mean to him and Celie now +brought a low cry of decision from him. He turned quickly to Celie. +</P> + +<P> +"He's going east—and we ought to go north to find the cabin," he told +her, pointing to the trail. "But we'll follow him. I want his rifle. I +want it more than anything else in this world, now that I've got you. +We'll follow—" +</P> + +<P> +If there had been a shadow of hesitation in his mind it was ended in +that moment. From behind them there came a strange hooting cry. It was +not a yell such as they had heard before. It was a booming far-reaching +note that had in it the intonation of a drum—a sound that made one +shiver because of its very strangeness. And then, from farther west, it +came— +</P> + +<P> +"Hoom—Hoom—Ho-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m—" +</P> + +<P> +In the next half minute it seemed to Philip that the cry was answered +from half a dozen different quarters. Then again it came from directly +behind them. +</P> + +<P> +Celie uttered a little gasp as she clung to his hand again. She +understood as well as he. One of the Eskimos had discovered the dead +and their foes were gathering in behind them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<P> +Before the last of the cries had died away Philip flung far to one side +of the trail the javelin he carried, and followed it up with Celie's, +impressing on her that every ounce of additional weight meant a +handicap for them now. After the javelins went his club. +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to be the biggest race I've ever run," he smiled at her. +"And we've got to win. If we don't—" +</P> + +<P> +Celie's eyes were aglow as she looked at him, He was splendidly calm. +There was no longer a trace of excitement in his face, and he was +smiling at her even as he picked her up suddenly in his arms. The +movement was so unexpected that she gave a little gasp. Then she found +herself borne swiftly over the trail. For a distance of a hundred yards +Philip ran with her before he placed her on her feet again. In no +better way could he have impressed on her that they were partners in a +race against death and that every energy must be expended in that race. +Scarcely had her feet touched the snow than she was running at his +side, her hand clasped in his. Barely a second was lost. +</P> + +<P> +With the swift directness of the trained man-hunter Philip had measured +his chances of winning. The Eskimos, first of all, would gather about +their dead. After one or two formalities they would join in a +chattering council, all of which meant precious time for them. The +pursuit would be more or less cautious because of the bullet hole in +the Kogmollock's forehead. +</P> + +<P> +If it had been possible for Celie to ask him just what he expected to +gain by following the strange snowshoe trail he would have had +difficulty in answering. It was, like his single shot with Celie's +little revolver, a chance gamble against big odds. A number of +possibilities had suggested themselves to him. It even occurred to him +that the man who was hurrying toward the east might be a member of the +Royal Northwest Mounted Police. Of one thing, however, he was +confident. The maker of the tracks would not be armed with javelins. He +would have a rifle. Friend or foe, he was after that rifle. The trick +was to catch sight of him at the earliest possible moment. +</P> + +<P> +How much of a lead the stranger had was a matter at which he could +guess with considerable accuracy. The freshness of the trail was only +slightly dimmed by snow, which was ample proof that it had been made at +the very tail-end of the storm. He believed that it was not more than +an hour old. +</P> + +<P> +For a good two hundred yards Philip set a dog-trot pace for Celie, who +ran courageously at his side. At the end of that distance he stopped. +Celie was panting for breath. Her hood had slipped back and her face +was flushed like a wildflower by her exertion. Her eyes shone like +stars, and her lips were parted a little. She was temptingly lovely, +but again Philip lost not a second of unnecessary time. He picked her +up in his arms again and continued the race. By using every ounce of +his own strength and endurance in this way he figured that their +progress would be at least a third faster than the Eskimos would +follow. The important question was how long he could keep up the pace. +</P> + +<P> +Against his breast Celie was beginning to understand his scheme as +plainly as if he had explained it to her in words. At the end of the +fourth hundred yards she let him know that she was ready to run another +lap. He carried her on fifty yards more before he placed her on her +feet. In this way they had gone three-quarters of a mile when the trail +turned abruptly from its easterly course to a point of the compass due +north. So sharp was the turn that Philip paused to investigate the +sudden change in direction. The stranger had evidently stood for +several minutes at this point, which was close to the blasted stub of a +dead spruce. In the snow Philip observed for the first time a number of +dark brown spots. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is where he took a new bearing—and a chew of tobacco," said +Philip, more to himself than to Celie. "And there's no snow in his +tracks. By George, I don't believe he's got more than half an hour's +start of us this minute!" +</P> + +<P> +It was his turn to carry Celie again, and in spite of her protest that +she was still good for another run he resumed their pursuit of the +stranger with her in his arms. By her quick breathing and the bit of +tenseness that had gathered about her mouth he knew that the exertion +she had already been put to was having its effect on her. For her +little feet and slender body the big moccasins and cumbersome fur +garments she wore were a burden in themselves, even at a walk. He found +that by holding her higher in his arms, with her own arms encircling +his shoulders, it was easier to run with her at the pace he had set for +himself. And when he held her in this way her hair covered his breast +and shoulders so that now and then his face was smothered in the +velvety sweetness of it. The caress of it and the thrill of her arms +about him spurred him on. Once he made three hundred yards. But he was +gulping for breath when he stopped. That time Celie compelled him to +let her run a little farther, and when they paused she was swaying on +her feet, and panting. He carried her only a hundred and fifty yards in +the interval after that. Both realized what it meant. The pace was +telling on them. The strain of it was in Celie's eyes. The flower-like +flush of her first exertion was gone from her face. It was pale and a +little haggard, and in Philip's face she saw the beginning of the +things which she did not realize was betraying itself so plainly in her +own. She put her hands up to his cheeks, and smiled. It was +tremendous—that moment;—her courage, her splendid pride in him, her +manner of telling him that she was not afraid as her little hands lay +against his face. For the first time he gave way to his desire to hold +her close to him, and kiss the sweet mouth she held up to his as her +head nestled on his breast. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment or two he looked at his watch. Since striking the +strange trail they had traveled forty minutes. In that tine they had +covered at least three miles, and were a good four miles from the scene +of the fight. It was a big start. The Eskimos were undoubtedly a half +that distance behind them, and the stranger whom they were following +could not be far ahead. +</P> + +<P> +They went on at a walk. For the third time they came to a point in the +trail where the stranger had stopped to make observations. It was +apparent to Philip that the man he was after was not quite sure of +himself. Yet he did not hesitate in the course due north. +</P> + +<P> +For half an hour they continued in that direction. Not for an instant +now did Philip allow; his caution to lag. Eyes and ears were alert for +sound or movement either behind or ahead of them, and more and more +frequently he turned to scan the back trail. They were at least five +miles from the edge of the open where the fight had occurred when they +came to the foot of a ridge, and Philip's heart gave a sudden thump of +hope. He remembered that ridge. It was a curiously formed +"hog-back"—like a great windrow of snow piled up and frozen. Probably +it was miles in length. Somewhere he and Bram had crossed it soon after +passing the first cabin. He had not tried to tell Celie of this cabin. +Time had been too precious. But now, in the short interval of rest he +allowed themselves, he drew a picture of it in the snow and made her +understand that it was somewhere close to the ridge and that it looked +as though the stranger was making for it. He half carried Celie up the +ridge after that. She could not hide from him that her feet were +dragging even at a walk. Exhaustion showed in her face, and once when +she tried to speak to him her voice broke in a little gasping sob. On +the far side of the ridge he took her in his arms and carried her again. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't be much farther," he encouraged her. "We've got to overtake +him pretty soon, dear. Mighty soon." Her hand pressed gently against +his cheek, and he swallowed a thickness that in spite of his effort +gathered in his throat. During that last half hour a different look had +come into her eyes. It was there now as she lay limply with her head on +his breast—a look of unutterable tenderness, and of something else. It +was that which brought the thickness into his throat. It was not fear. +It was the soft glow of a great love—and of understanding. She knew +that even he was almost at the end of his fight. His endurance was +giving out. One of two things must happen very soon. She continued to +stroke his cheek gently until he placed her on her feet again, and then +she held one of his hands close to her breast as they looked behind +them, and listened. He could feel the soft throbbing of her heart. If +he needed greater courage then it was given to him. +</P> + +<P> +They went on. And then, so suddenly that it brought a stifled cry from +the girl's lips, they came upon the cabin. It was not a hundred yards +from them when they first saw it. It was no longer abandoned. A thin +spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney. There was no sign of life +other than that. +</P> + +<P> +For half a minute Philip stared at it. Here, at last, was the final +hope. Life or death, all that the world might hold for him and the girl +at his side, was in that cabin. Gently he drew her so that she would be +unseen. And then, still looking at the cabin, he drew off his coat and +dropped it in the snow. It was the preparation of a man about to fight. +The look of it was in his face and the stiffening of his muscles, and +when he turned to his little companion she was as white as the snow +under her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"We're in time," he breathed. "You—you stay here." +</P> + +<P> +She understood. Her hands clutched at him as he left her. A gulp rose +in her throat. She wanted to call out. She wanted to hold him back—or +go with him. Yet she obeyed. She stood with a heart that choked her and +watched him go. For she knew, after all, that it was the thing to do. +Sobbingly she breathed his name. It was a prayer. For she knew what +would happen in the cabin. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<P> +Philip came up behind the windowless end of the cabin. He noticed in +passing with Bram that on the opposite side was a trap-window of +saplings, and toward this he moved swiftly but with caution. It was +still closed when he came where he could see. But with his ear close to +the chinks he heard a sound—the movement of some one inside. For an +instant he looked over his shoulder. Celia was standing where he had +left her. He could almost feel the terrible suspense that was in her +eyes as she watched him. +</P> + +<P> +He moved around toward the door. There was in him an intense desire to +have it over with quickly. His pulse quickened as the thought grew in +him that the maker of the strange snowshoe trail might be a friend +after all. But how was he to discover that fact? He had decided to take +no chances in the matter. Ten seconds of misplaced faith in the +stranger might prove fatal. Once he held a gun in his hands he would be +in a position to wait for introductions and explanations. But until +then, with their Eskimo enemies close at their heels— +</P> + +<P> +His mind did not finish that final argument. The end of it smashed upon +him in another way. The door came within his vision. As it swung inward +he could not at first see whether it was open or closed. Leaning +against the logs close to the door was a pair of long snowshoes and a +bundle of javelins. A sickening disappointment swept over him as he +stared at the javelins. A giant Eskimo and not a white man had made the +trail they had followed. Their race against time had brought them +straight to the rendezvous of their foes—and there would be no guns. +In that moment when all the hopes he had built up seemed slipping away +from under him he could see no other possible significance in the +presence of the javelins. Then, for an instant, he held his breath and +sniffed the air like a dog getting the wind. The cabin door was open. +And out through that door came the mingling aroma of coffee and +tobacco! An Eskimo might have tobacco, or even tea. But coffee—never! +</P> + +<P> +Every drop of blood in his body pounded like tiny beating fists as he +crossed silently and swiftly the short space between the corner of the +cabin and the open door. For perhaps half a dozen seconds he closed his +eyes to give his snow-strained vision an even chance with the man in +the cabin. Then he looked in. +</P> + +<P> +It was a small cabin. It was possibly not more than ten feet square +inside, and at the far end of it was a fireplace from which rose the +chimney through the roof. At first Philip saw nothing except the dim +outlines of things. It was a moment or two before he made out the +figure of a man stooping over the fire. He stepped over the threshold, +making no sound. The occupant of the cabin straightened himself slowly, +lifting with, extreme care a pot of coffee from the embers. A glance at +his broad back and his giant stature told Philip that he was not an +Eskimo. He turned. Even then for an infinitesimal space he did not see +Philip as he stood fronting the door with the light in his face. It was +a white man's face—a face almost hidden in a thick growth of beard and +a tangle of hair that fell to the shoulders. Another instant and he had +seen the intruder and stood like one turned suddenly into stone. +</P> + +<P> +Philip had leveled Celie's little revolver. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Philip Raine of His Majesty's service, the Royal Mounted," he +said. "Throw, up your hands!" +</P> + +<P> +The moment's tableau was one of rigid amazement on one side, of waiting +tenseness on the other. Philip believed that the shadow of his body +concealed the size of the tiny revolver in his hand. Anyway it would be +effective at that distance, and he expected to see the mysterious +stranger's hands go over his head the moment he recovered from the +shock that had apparently gone with the command. What did happen he +expected least of all. The arm holding the pot of steaming coffee shot +out and the boiling deluge hissed straight at Philip's face. He ducked +to escape it, and fired. Before he could throw back the hammer of the +little single-action weapon for a second shot the stranger was at him. +The force of the attack sent them both crashing back against the wall +of the cabin, and in the few moments that followed Philip blessed the +providential forethought that had made him throw off his fur coat and +strip for action. His antagonist was not an ordinary man. A growl like +that of a beast rose in his throat as they went to the floor, and in +that death-grip Philip thought of Bram. +</P> + +<P> +More than once in watching the wolf-man he had planned how he would pit +himself against the giant if it came to a fight, and how he would evade +the close arm-to-arm grapple that would mean defeat for him. And this +man was Bram's equal in size and strength. He realized with the swift +judgment of the trained boxer that open fighting and the evasion of the +other's crushing brute strength was his one hope. On his knees he flung +himself backward, and struck out. The blow caught his antagonist +squarely in the face before he had succeeded in getting a firm clinch, +and as he bent backward under the force of the blow Philip exerted +every ounce of his strength, broke the other's hold, and sprang to his +feet. +</P> + +<P> +He felt like uttering a shout of triumph. Never had the thrill of +mastery and of confidence surged through him more hotly than it did +now. On his feet in open fighting he had the agility of a cat. The +stranger was scarcely on his feet before he was at him with a straight +shoulder blow that landed on the giant's jaw with crushing force. It +would have put an ordinary man down in a limp heap. The other's weight +saved him. A second blow sent him reeling against the log wall like a +sack of grain. And then in the half-gloom of the cabin Philip missed. +He put all his effort in that third blow and as his clenched fist shot +over the other's shoulder he was carried off his balance and found +himself again in the clutch of his enemy's arms. This time a huge hand +found his throat. The other he blocked with his left arm, while with +his right he drove in short-arm jabs against neck and jaw. Their +ineffectiveness amazed him. His guard-arm was broken upward, and to +escape the certain result of two hands gripping at his throat he took a +sudden foot-lock on his adversary, flung all his weight forward, and +again they went to the floor of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Neither caught a glimpse of the girl standing wide-eyed and terrified +in the door. They rolled almost to her feet. Full in the light she saw +the battered, bleeding face of the strange giant, and Philip's fist +striking it again and again. Then she saw the giant's two hands, and +why he was suffering that punishment. They were at Philip's +throat—huge hairy hands stained with his own blood. A cry rose to her +lips and the blue in her eyes darkened with the fighting fire of her +ancestors. She darted across the room to the fire. In an instant she +was back with a stick of wood in her hands. Philip saw her then—her +streaming hair and white face above them, and the club fell. The hands +at his throat relaxed. He swayed to his feet and with dazed eyes and a +weird sort of laugh opened his arms. Celie ran into them. He felt her +sobbing and panting against him. Then, looking down, he saw that for +the present the man who had made the strange snowshoe trail was as good +as dead. +</P> + +<P> +The air he was taking into his half strangled lungs cleared his head +and he drew away from Celie to begin the search of the room. His eyes +were more accustomed to the gloom, and suddenly he gave a cry of +exultation. Against the end of the mud and stone fireplace stood a +rifle and over the muzzle of this hung a belt and holster. In the +holster was a revolver. In his excitement and joy his breath was almost +a sob as he snatched it from the holster and broke it in the light of +the door. It was a big Colt Forty-five—and loaded to the brim. He +showed it to Celie, and thrust her to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Watch!" he cried, sweeping his arm to the open. "Just two minutes +more. That's all I want—two minutes—and then—" +</P> + +<P> +He was counting the cartridges in the belt as he fastened it about his +waist. There were at least forty, two-thirds of them soft-nosed rifle. +The caliber was .303 and the gun was a Savage. It was modern up to the +minute, and as he threw down the lever enough to let him glimpse inside +the breech he caught the glisten of cartridges ready for action. He +wanted nothing more. The cabin might have held his weight in gold and +he would not have turned toward it. +</P> + +<P> +With the rifle in his hands he ran past Celie out into the day. For the +moment the excitement pounding in his body had got beyond his power of +control. His brain was running riot with the joyous knowledge of the +might that lay in his hands now and he felt an overmastering desire to +shout his triumph in the face of their enemies. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, you devils! Come on, come on," he cried. And then, powerless +to restrain what was in him, he let out a yell. +</P> + +<P> +From the door Celie was staring at him. A few moments before her face +had been dead white. Now a blaze of color was surging back into her +cheeks and lips and her eyes shone with the glory of one who was +looking on more than triumph. From her own heart welled up a cry, a +revelation of that wonderful thing throbbing in her breast which must +have reached Philip's ears had there not in that same instant come +another sound to startle them both into listening silence. +</P> + +<P> +It was not far distant. And it was unmistakably an answer to Philip's +challenge. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<P> +As they listened the cry came again. This time Philip caught in it a +note that he had not detected before. It was not a challenge but the +long-drawn ma-too-ee of an Eskimo who answers the inquiring hail of a +comrade. +</P> + +<P> +"He thinks it is the man in the cabin," exclaimed Philip, turning to +survey the fringe of forest through which their trail had come. "If the +others don't warn him there's going to be one less Eskimo on earth in +less than three minutes!" +</P> + +<P> +Another sound had drawn Celie back to the door. "When she looked in the +man she had stunned with the club was moving. Her call brought Philip, +and placing her in the open door to keep watch he set swiftly to work +to make sure of their prisoner. With the babiche thong he had taken +from his enemies he bound him hand and foot. A shaft of light fell full +on the giant's face and naked chest where it had been laid bare in the +struggle and Philip was about to rise when a purplish patch, of +tattooing caught his eyes. He made out first the crude picture of a +shark with huge gaping jaws struggling under the weight of a ship's +anchor, and then, directly under this pigment colored tatu, the almost +invisible letters of a name. He made them out one by one—B-l-a-k-e. +Before the surname was the letter G. +</P> + +<P> +"Blake," he repeated, rising to his feet. "GEORGE Blake—a sailor—and +a white man!" +</P> + +<P> +Blake, returning to consciousness, mumbled incoherently. In the same +instant Celie cried out excitedly at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Oo-ee, Philip—Philip! Se det! Se! Se!" +</P> + +<P> +She drew back with, a sudden movement and pointed out the door. +Concealing himself as much as possible from outside observation Philip +peered forth. Not more than a hundred and fifty yards away a dog team +was approaching. There were eight dogs and instantly he recognized them +as the small fox-faced Eskimo breed from the coast. They were dragging +a heavily laden sledge and behind them came the driver, a furred and +hooded figure squat of stature and with a voice that came now in the +sharp clacking commands that Philip had heard in the company of Bram +Johnson. From the floor came a groan, and for an instant Philip turned +to find Blake's bloodshot eyes wide open and staring at him. The +giant's bleeding lips were gathered in a snarl and he was straining at +the babiche thongs that bound him. In that same moment Philip caught a +glimpse of Celie. She, too, was staring—and at Blake. Her lips were +parted, her eyes were big with amazement and as she looked she clutched +her hands convulsively at her breast and uttered a low, strange cry. +For the first time she saw Blake's face with the light full upon it. At +the sound of her cry Blake's eyes went to her, and for the space of a +second the imprisoned beast on the floor and the girl looking down on +him made up a tableau that held Philip spellbound. Between them was +recognition—an amazed and stone like horror on the girl's part, a +sudden and growing glare of bestial exultation in the eyes of the man. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there came the Eskimo's voice and the yapping of dogs. It was +the first Blake had heard. He swung his head toward the door with a +great gasp and the babiche cut like whipcord under the strain of his +muscles. Swift as a flash Philip thrust the muzzle of the big Colt +against his prisoner's head. +</P> + +<P> +"Make a sound and you're a dead man, Blake!" he warned. "We need that +team, and if you so much as whisper during the next ten seconds I'll +scatter your brains over the floor!" +</P> + +<P> +They could hear the cold creak of the sledge-runners now, and a moment +later the patter of many feet outside the door. In a single leap Philip +was at the door. Another and he was outside, and an amazed Eskimo was +looking into the round black eye of his revolver. It required no common +language to make him understand what was required of him. He backed +into the cabin with the revolver within two feet of his breast. Celie +had caught up the rifle and was standing guard over Blake as though +fearful that he might snap his bonds. Philip laughed joyously when he +saw how quickly she understood that she was to level the rifle at the +Kogmollock's breast and hold it there until he had made him a prisoner. +She was wonderful. She was panting in her excitement. From the floor +Blake had noticed that her little white finger was pressing gently +against the trigger of the rifle. It had made him shudder. It made the +Eskimo cringe a bit now as Philip tied his hands behind him. And Philip +saw it, and his heart thumped. Celie was gloriously careless. +</P> + +<P> +It was over inside of two minutes, and with an audible sigh of relief +she lowered her rifle. Then she leaned it against the wall and ran to +Blake. She was tremendously excited as she pointed down into the +bloodstained face and tried to explain to Philip the reason for that +strange and thrilling recognition he had seen between them. From her he +looked at Blake. The look in the prisoner's face sent a cold shiver +through him. There was no fear in it. It was filled with a deep and +undisguised exultation. Then Blake looked at Philip, and laughed +outright. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't understand her, eh?" he chuckled. "Well, neither can I. But I +know what she's trying to tell you. Damned funny, ain't it?" +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible for him to keep his eyes from shifting to the door. +There was expectancy in that glance. Then his glance shot almost +fiercely at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"So you're Philip Raine, of the R. N. M. P., eh? Well, you've got me +guessed out. My name is Blake, but the G don't stand for George. If +you'll cut the cord off'n my legs so I can stand up or sit down I'll +tell you something. I can't do very much damage with my hands hitched +the way they are, and I can't talk layin' down cause of my Adam's apple +chokin' me." +</P> + +<P> +Philip seized the rifle and placed it again in Celie's hands, +stationing her once more at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Watch—and listen," he said. +</P> + +<P> +He cut the thongs that bound his prisoner's ankles and Blake struggled +to his feet. When he fronted Philip the big Colt was covering his heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Now—talk!" commanded Philip. "I'm going to give you half a minute to +begin telling me what I want to know, Blake. You've brought the Eskimos +down. There's no doubt of that. What do you want of this girl, and what +have you done with her people?" +</P> + +<P> +He had never looked into the eyes of a cooler man than Blake, whose +blood-stained lips curled in a sneering smile even as he finished. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't built to be frightened," he said, taking his time about it. "I +know your little games an' I've throwed a good many bluffs of my own in +my time. You're lyin' when you say you'll shoot, an' you know you are. +I may talk and I may not. Before I make up my mind I'm going to give +you a bit of brotherly advice. Take that team out there and hit across +the Barren—ALONE. Understand? ALONE. Leave the girl here. It's your +one chance of missing what happened to—" +</P> + +<P> +He grinned and shrugged his huge shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean Anderson—Olaf Anderson—and the others up at Bathurst +Inlet?" questioned Philip chokingly. +</P> + +<P> +Blake nodded. +</P> + +<P> +Philip wondered if the other could hear the pounding of his heart. He +had discovered in this moment what the Department had been trying to +learn for two years. It was this man—Blake—who was the mysterious +white leader of the Kogmollocks, and responsible for the growing +criminal record of the natives along Coronation Gulf. And he had just +confessed himself the murderer of Olaf Anderson! His finger trembled +for an instant against the trigger of his revolver. Then, staring into +Blake's face, he slowly lowered the weapon until it hung at his side. +Blake's eyes gleamed as he saw what he thought was his triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"IT'S your one chance," he urged. "And there ain't no time to lose." +</P> + +<P> +Philip had judged his man, and now he prayed for the precious minutes +in which to play out his game. The Kogmollocks who had taken up their +trail could not be far from the cabin now. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you're right, Blake," he said hesitatingly. "I think, after her +experience with Bram Johnson that she is about willing to return to her +father. Where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +Blake made no effort to disguise his eagerness. In the droop of +Philip's shoulder, the laxness of the hand that held the revolver and +the change in his voice Blake saw in his captor an apparent desire to +get out of the mess he was in. A glimpse of Celie's frightened face +turned for an instant from the door gave weight to his conviction. +</P> + +<P> +"He's down the Coppermine—about a hundred miles. So, Bram Johnson—" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were a sudden blaze of fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Took care of her until your little rats waylaid him on the trail and +murdered him," interrupted Philip. "See here, Blake. You be square with +me and I'll be square with you. I haven't been able to understand a +word of her lingo and I'm curious to know a thing or two before I go. +Tell me who she is, and why you haven't killed her father, and what +you're going to do with her and I won't waste another minute." +</P> + +<P> +Blake leaned forward until Philip felt the heat of his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"What do I WANT of her?" he demanded slowly. "Why, if you'd been five +years without sight of a white woman, an' then you woke up one morning +to meet an angel like HER on the trail two thousand miles up in nowhere +what would you want of her? I was stunned, plumb stunned, or I'd had +her then. And after that, if it hadn't been for that devil with his +wolves—" +</P> + +<P> +"Bram ran away with her just as you were about to get her into your +hands," supplied Philip, fighting to save time. "She didn't even know +that you wanted her, Blake, so far as I can find out. It's all a +mystery to her. I don't believe she's guessed the truth even now. How +the devil did you do it? Playing the friend stunt, eh! And keeping +yourself in the background while your Kogmollocks did the work? Was +that it?" +</P> + +<P> +Blake nodded. His face was darkening as he looked at Philip and the +light in his eyes was changing to a deep and steady glare. In that +moment Philip had failed to keep the exultation out of his voice. It +shone in his face. And Blake saw it. A throaty sound rose out of his +thick chest and his lips parted in a snarl as there surged through him +a realization that he had been tricked. +</P> + +<P> +In that interval Philip spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"If I never sent up a real prayer to God before I'm sending it now, +Blake," he said. "I'm thanking Him that you didn't have time to harm +Celie Armin, an' I'm thanking Him that Bram Johnson had a soul in his +body in spite of his warped brain and his misshapen carcass. And now +I'm going to keep my word. I'm not going to lose another minute. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +"You—you mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, you haven't guessed it. We're not going over the Barren. We're +going back to that cabin on the Coppermine, and you're going with us. +And listen to this, Blake—listen hard! There may be fighting. If there +is I want you to sort of harden yourself to the fact that the first +shot fired is going straight through your gizzard. Do I make myself +clear? I'll shoot you deader than a salt mackerel the instant one of +your little murderers shows up on the trail. So tell this owl-faced +heathen here to spread the glad tidings when his brothers come in—and +spread it good. Quick about it! I'm not bluffing now." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<P> +In Philip's eyes Blake saw his match now. And more. For three-quarters +of a minute he talked swiftly to the Eskimo. Philip knew that he was +giving the Kogmollock definite instructions as to the manner in which +his rescue must be accomplished. But he knew also that Blake would +emphasize the fact that it must not be in open attack, no matter how +numerous his followers might be. +</P> + +<P> +He hurried Blake through the door to the sledge and team. The sledge +was heavily laden with the meat of a fresh caribou kill and from the +quantity of flesh he dragged off into the snow Philip surmised that the +cabin would very soon be the rendezvous of a small army of Eskimo. +There was probably a thousand pounds of it, Retaining only a single +quarter of this he made Celie comfortable and turned his attention to +Blake. With babiche cord he re-secured his prisoner with the +"manacle-hitch," which gave him free play of one hand and arm—his +left. Then he secured the Eskimo's whip and gave it to Blake. +</P> + +<P> +"Now—drive!" he commanded. "Straight for the Coppermine, and by the +shortest cut. This is as much your race as mine now, Blake. The moment +I see a sign of anything wrong you're a dead man!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you—are a fool!" gritted Blake. "Good God, what a fool!" +</P> + +<P> +"Drive—and shut up!" +</P> + +<P> +Blake snapped his whip and gave a short, angry command in Eskimo. The +dogs sprang from their bellies to their feet and at another command +were off over the trail. From the door of the cabin the Eskimo's little +eyes shone with a watery eagerness as he watched them go. Celie caught +a last glimpse of him as she looked back and her hands gripped more +firmly the rifle which lay across her lap. Philip had given her the +rifle and it had piled upon her a mighty responsibility. He had meant +that she should use it if the emergency called for action, and that she +was to especially watch Blake. Her eyes did not leave the outlaw's +broad back as he ran on a dozen paces ahead of the dogs. She was ready +for him if he tried to escape, and she would surely fire. Running close +to her side Philip observed the tight grip of her hands on the weapon, +and saw one little thumb pinched up against the safety ready for +instant action. He laughed, and for a moment she looked up at him, +flushing suddenly when she saw the adoration in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Blake's right—I'm a fool," he cried down at her in a low voice that +thrilled with his worship of her. "I'm a fool for risking you, +sweetheart. By going the other way I'd have you forever. They wouldn't +follow far into the south, if at all. Mebby you don't realize what +we're doing by hitting back to that father of yours. Do you?" +</P> + +<P> +She smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"And mebby when we get there we'll find him dead," he added. "Dead or +alive, everything is up to Blake now and you must help me watch him." +</P> + +<P> +He pantomimed this caution by pointing to Blake and the rifle. Then he +dropped behind. Over the length of sledge and team he was thirty paces +from Blake. At that distance he could drop him with a single shot from +the Colt. +</P> + +<P> +They were following the trail already made by the meat-laden sledge, +and the direction was northwest. It was evident that Blake was heading +at least in the right direction and Philip believed that it would be +but a short time before they would strike the Coppermine. Once on the +frozen surface of the big stream that flowed into the Arctic and their +immediate peril of an ambuscade would be over. Blake was surely aware +of that. If he had in mind a plan for escaping it must of necessity +take form before they reached the river. +</P> + +<P> +"Where the forest thinned out and the edge of the Barren crept in +Philip ran at Celie's side, but when the timber thickened and possible +hiding places for their enemies appeared in the trail ahead he was +always close to Blake, with the big Colt held openly in his hand. At +these times Celie watched the back trail. From her vantage on the +sledge her alert eyes took in every bush and thicket to right and left +of them, and when Philip was near or behind her she was looking at +least a rifle-shot ahead of Blake. For three-quarters of an hour they +had followed the single sledge trail when Blake suddenly gave a command +that stopped the dogs. They had reached a crest which overlooked a +narrow finger of the treeless Barren on the far side of which, possibly +a third of a mile distant, was a dark fringe of spruce timber. Blake +pointed toward this timber. Out of it was rising a dark column of +resinous smoke. +</P> + +<P> +"It's up to you," he said coolly to Philip. "Our trail crosses through +that timber—and you see the smoke. I imagine there are about twenty of +Upi's men there feeding on caribou. The herd was close beyond when they +made the kill. Now if we go on they're most likely to see us, or their +dogs get wind of us—and Upi is a bloodthirsty old cutthroat. I don't +want that bullet through my gizzard, so I'm tellin' you." +</P> + +<P> +Far back in Blake's eyes there lurked a gleam which Philip did not +like. Blake was not a man easily frightened, and yet he had given what +appeared to be fair warning to his enemy. +</P> + +<P> +He came a step nearer, and said in a lower voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Raine, that's just ONE of Upi's crowds. If you go on to the cabin +we're heading for there'll be two hundred fighting men after you before +the day is over, and they'll get you whether you kill me or not. You've +still got the chance I gave you back there. Take it—if you ain't tired +of life. Give me the girl—an' you hit out across the Barren with the +team." +</P> + +<P> +"We're going on," replied Philip, meeting the other's gaze steadily. +"You know your little murderers, Blake. If any one can get past them +without being seen it's you. And you've got to do it. I'll kill you if +you don't. The Eskimos may get us after that, but they won't harm HER +in your way. Understand? We're going the limit in this game. And I +figure you're putting up the biggest stake. I've got a funny sort of +feeling that you're going to cash in before we reach the cabin." +</P> + +<P> +For barely an instant the mysterious gleam far back in Blake's eyes +died out. There was the hard, low note in Philip's voice which carried +conviction and Blake knew he was ready to play the hand which he held. +With a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders he stirred up the dogs with a +crack of his whip and struck out at their head due west. During the +next half hour Philip's eyes and ears were ceaselessly on the alert. He +traveled close to Blake, with the big Colt in his hand, watching every +hummock and bit of cover as they came to it. He also watched Blake and +in the end was convinced that in the back of the outlaw's head was a +sinister scheme in which he had the utmost confidence in spite of his +threats and the fact that they had successfully got around Upi's camp. +Once or twice when their eyes happened to meet he caught in Blake's +face a contemptuous coolness, almost a sneering exultation which the +other could not quite conceal. It filled him with a scarcely definable +uneasiness. He was positive that Blake realized he would carry out his +threat at the least sign of treachery or the appearance of an enemy, +and yet he could not free himself from the uncomfortable oppression +that was beginning to take hold of him. He concealed it from Blake. He +tried to fight it out of himself. Yet it persisted. It was something +which seemed to hover in the air about him—the FEEL of a danger which +he could not see. +</P> + +<P> +And then Blake suddenly pointed ahead over an open plain and said: +</P> + +<P> +"There is the Coppermine." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +A cry from Celie turned his gaze from the broad white trail of ice that +was the Coppermine, and as he looked she pointed eagerly toward a huge +pinnacle of rock that rose like an oddly placed cenotaph out of the +unbroken surface of the plain. +</P> + +<P> +Blake grunted out a laugh in his beard and his eyes lit up with an +unpleasant fire as they rested on her flushed face. +</P> + +<P> +"She's tellin' you that Bram Johnson brought her this way," he +chuckled. "Bram was a fool—like you!" +</P> + +<P> +He seemed not to expect a reply from Philip, but urged the dogs down +the slope into the plain. Fifteen minutes later they were on the +surface of the river. +</P> + +<P> +Philip drew a deep breath of relief, and he found that same relief in +Celie's face when he dropped back to her side. As far as they could see +ahead of them there was no forest. The Coppermine itself seemed to be +swallowed up in the vast white emptiness of the Barren. There could be +no surprise attack here, even at night. And yet there was something in +Blake's face which kept alive within him the strange premonition of a +near and unseen danger. Again and again he tried to shake off the +feeling. He argued with himself against the unreasonableness of the +thing that had begun to oppress him. Blake was in his power. It was +impossible for him to escape, and the outlaw's life depended utterly +upon his success in getting them safely to the cabin. It was not +conceivable to suppose that Blake would sacrifice his life merely that +they might fall into the hands of the Eskimos. And yet— +</P> + +<P> +He watched Blake—watched him more and more closely as they buried +themselves deeper in that unending chaos of the north. And Blake, it +seemed to him, was conscious of that increasing watchfulness. He +increased his speed. Now and then Philip heard a curious chuckling +sound smothered in his beard, and after an hour's travel on the +snow-covered ice of the river he could no longer dull his vision to the +fact that the farther they progressed into the open country, the more +confident Blake was becoming. He did not question him. He realized the +futility of attempting to force his prisoner into conversation. In that +respect it was Blake who held the whip hand. He could lie or tell the +truth, according to the humor of his desire. Blake must have guessed +this thought in Philip's mind. They were traveling side by side when he +suddenly laughed. There was an unmistakable irony in his voice when he +said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's funny, Raine, that I should like you, ain't it? A man who's +mauled you, an' threatened to kill you! I guess it's because I'm so +cussed sorry for you. You're heading straight for the gates of hell, +an' they're open—wide open." +</P> + +<P> +"And you?" +</P> + +<P> +This time Blake's laugh was harsher. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't count—now," he said. "Since you've made up your mind not to +trade me the girl for your life I've sort of dropped out of the game. I +guess you're thinking I can hold Upi's tribe back. Well, I can't—not +when you're getting this far up in their country. If we split the +difference, and you gave me HER, Upi would meet me half way. God, but +you've spoiled a nice dream!" +</P> + +<P> +"A dream?" +</P> + +<P> +Blake uttered a command to the dogs. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—more'n that. I've got an igloo up there even finer than +Upi's—all built of whalebone and ships' timbers. Think of HER in that, +Raine—with ME! That's the dream you smashed!" +</P> + +<P> +"And her father—and the others—" +</P> + +<P> +This time there was a ferocious undercurrent in Blake's guttural laugh, +as though Philip had by accident reminded him of something that both +amused and enraged him. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know how these Kogmollock heathen look on a father-in-law?" +he asked. "He's sort of walkin' delegate over the whole bloomin' +family. A god with two legs. The OTHERS? Why, we killed them. But Upi +and his heathen wouldn't see anything happen to the old man when they +found I was going to take the girl. That's why he's alive up there in +the cabin now. Lord, what a mess you're heading into, Raine! And I'm +wondering, after you kill me, and they kill you, WHO'LL HAVE THE GIRL? +There's a half-breed in the tribe an' she'll probably go to him. The +heathen themselves don't give a flip for women, you know. So it's +certain to be the half-breed." +</P> + +<P> +He surged on ahead, cracking his whip, and crying out to the dogs. +Philip believed that in those few moments he had spoken much that was +truth. He had, without hesitation and of his own volition, confessed +the murder of the companions of Celie's father, and he had explained in +a reasonable way why Armin himself had been spared. These facts alone +increased his apprehension. Unless Blake was utterly confident of the +final outcome he would not so openly expose himself. He was even more +on his guard after this. +</P> + +<P> +For several hours after his brief fit of talking Blake made no effort +to resume the conversation nor any desire to answer Philip when the +latter spoke to him. A number of times it struck Philip that he was +going the pace that would tire out both man and beast before night. He +knew that in Blake's shaggy head there was a brain keenly and +dangerously alive, and he noted the extreme effort he was making to +cover distance with a satisfaction that was not unmixed of suspicion. +By three o'clock in the afternoon they were thirty-five miles from the +cabin in which Blake had become a prisoner. All that distance they had +traveled through a treeless barren without a sign of life. It was +between three and four when they began to strike timber once more, and +Philip asked himself if it had been Blake's scheme to reach this timber +before dusk. In places the spruce and banskian pine thickened until +they formed dark walls of forest and whenever they approached these +patches Philip commanded Blake to take the middle of the river. The +width of the stream was a comforting protection. It was seldom less +than two hundred yards from shore to shore and frequently twice that +distance. From the possible ambuscades they passed only a rifle could +be used effectively, and whenever there appeared to be the possibility +of that danger Philip traveled close to Blake, with the revolver in his +hand. The crack of a rifle even if the bullet should find its way home, +meant Blake's life. Of that fact the outlaw could no longer have a +doubt. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour before the gray dusk of Arctic night began to gather about +them Philip began to feel the effect of their strenuous pace. Hours of +cramped inactivity on the sledge had brought into Celie's face lines of +exhaustion. Since middle-afternoon the dogs had dragged at times in +their traces. Now they were dead-tired. Blake, and Blake alone, seemed +tireless. It was six o'clock when they entered a country that was +mostly plain, with a thin fringe of timber along the shores. They had +raced for nine hours, and had traveled fifty miles. It was here, in a +wide reach of river, that Philip gave the command to halt. +</P> + +<P> +His first caution was to secure Blake hand and foot, with his back +resting against a frozen snow-hummock a dozen paces from the sledge. +The outlaw accepted the situation with an indifference which seemed to +Philip more forced than philosophical. After that, while Celie was +walking back and forth to produce a warmer circulation in her numbed +body, he hurried to the scrub timber that grew along the shore and +returned with a small armful of dry wood. The fire he built was small, +and concealed as much as possible by the sledge. Ten minutes sufficed +to cook the meat for their supper. Then he stamped out the fire, fed +the dogs, and made a comfortable nest of bear skins for himself and +Celie, facing Blake. The night had thickened until he could make out +only dimly the form of the outlaw against the snow-hummock. His +revolver lay ready at his side. +</P> + +<P> +In that darkness he drew Celie close up into his arms. Her head lay on +his breast. He buried his lips in the smothering sweetness of her hair, +and her arms crept gently about his neck. Even then he did not take his +eyes from Blake, nor for an instant did he cease to listen for other +sounds than the deep breathing of the exhausted dogs. It was only a +little while before the stars began to fill the sky. The gloom lifted +slowly, and out of darkness rose the white world in a cold, shimmering +glory. In that starlight he could see the glisten of Celie's hair as it +covered them like a golden veil, and once or twice through the space +that separated them he caught the flash of a strange fire in the +outlaw's eyes. Both shores were visible. He could have seen the +approach of a man two hundred yards away. +</P> + +<P> +After a little he observed that Blake's head was drooping upon his +chest, and that his breathing had become deeper. His prisoner, he +believed, was asleep. And Celie, nestling on his breast, was soon in +slumber. He alone was awake,—and watching. The dogs, flat on their +bellies, were dead to the world. For an hour he kept his vigil. In that +time he could not see that Blake moved. He heard nothing suspicious. +And the night grew steadily brighter with the white glow of the stars. +He held the revolver in his hand now. The starlight played on it in a +steely glitter that could not fail to catch Blake's eyes should he +awake. +</P> + +<P> +And then Philip found himself fighting—fighting desperately to keep +awake. Again and again his eyes closed, and he forced them open with an +effort. He had planned that they would rest for two or three hours. The +two hours were gone when for the twentieth time his eyes shot open, and +he looked at Blake. The outlaw had not moved. His head hung still lower +on his breast, and again—slowly—irresistibly—exhaustion closed +Philip's eyes. Even then Philip was conscious of fighting against the +overmastering desire to sleep. It seemed to him that he was struggling +for hours, and all that time his subconsciousness was crying out for +him to awake, struggling to rouse him to the nearness of a great +danger. It succeeded at last. His eyes opened, and he stared in a dazed +and half blinded tray toward Blake. His first sensation was one of vast +relief that he had awakened. The stars were brighter. The night was +still. And there, a dozen paces from him was the snow-hummock. +</P> + +<P> +But Blake—Blake— +</P> + +<P> +His heart leapt into his throat. +</P> + +<P> +BLAKE WAS GONE! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +The shock of the discovery that Blake had escaped brought Philip half +to his knees before he thought of Celie. In an instant the girl was +awake. His arm had tightened almost fiercely about her. She caught the +gleam of his revolver, and in another moment she saw the empty space +where their prisoner had been. Swiftly Philip's eyes traveled over the +moonlit spaces about them. Blake had utterly disappeared. Then he saw +the rifle, and breathed easier. For some reason the outlaw had not +taken that, and it was a moment or two before the significance of the +fact broke upon him. Blake must have escaped just as he was making that +last tremendous fight to rouse himself. He had had no more than time to +slink away into the shadows of the night, and had not paused to hazard +a chance of securing the weapon that lay on the snow close to Celie. He +had evidently believed that Philip was only half asleep, and in the +moonlight he must have seen the gleam of the big revolver leveled over +his captor's knee. +</P> + +<P> +Leaving Celie huddled in her furs, Philip rose to his feet and slowly +approached the snow hummock against which he had left his prisoner. The +girl heard the startled exclamation that fell from his lips when he saw +what had happened. Blake had not escaped alone. Running straight out +from behind the hummock was a furrow in the snow like the trail made by +an otter. He had seen such furrows before, where Eskimos had wormed +their way foot by foot within striking distance of dozing seals. +Assistance had come to Blake in that manner, and he could see where—on +their hands and knees—two men instead of one had stolen back through +the moonlight. +</P> + +<P> +Celie came to his side now, gripping the rifle in her hands. Her eyes +were wide and filled with frightened inquiry as she looked from the +tell-tale trails in the snow into Philip's face. He was glad that she +could not question him in words. He slipped the Colt into its holster +and took the rifle from her hands. In the emergency which he +anticipated the rifle would be more effective. That something would +happen very soon he was positive. If one Eskimo had succeeded in +getting ahead of his comrades to Blake's relief others of Upi's tribe +must be close behind. And yet he wondered, as he thought of this, why +Blake and the Kogmollock had not killed him instead of running away. +The truth he told frankly to Celie, thankful that she could not +understand. +</P> + +<P> +"It was the gun," he said. "They thought I had only closed my eyes, and +wasn't asleep. If something hadn't kept that gun leveled over my +knee—" He tried to smile, knowing that with every second the end might +come for them from out of the gray mist of moonlight and shadow that +shrouded the shore. "It was a one-man job, sneaking out like that, and +there's sure a bunch of them coming up fast to take a hand in the game. +It's up to us to hit the high spots, my dear—an' you might pray God to +give us time for a start." +</P> + +<P> +If he had hoped to keep from her the full horror of their situation, he +knew, as he placed her on the sledge, that he had failed. Her eyes told +him that. Intuitively she had guessed at the heart of the thing, and +suddenly her arms reached up about his neck as he bent over her and +against his breast he heard the sobbing cry that she was trying hard to +choke back. Under the cloud of her hair her warm, parted lips lay for a +thrilling moment against his own, and then he sprang to the dogs. +</P> + +<P> +They had already roused themselves and at his command began sullenly to +drag their lame and exhausted bodies into trace formation. As the +sledge began to move he sent the long lash of the driving whip curling +viciously over the backs of the pack and the pace increased. Straight +ahead of them ran the white trail of the Coppermine, and they were soon +following this with the eagerness of a team on the homeward stretch. As +Philip ran behind he made a fumbling inventory of the loose rifle +cartridges in the pocket of his coat, and under his breath prayed to +God that the day would come before the Eskimos closed in. Only one +thing did he see ahead of him now—a last tremendous fight for Celie, +and he wanted the light of dawn to give him accuracy. He had thirty +cartridges, and it was possible that he could put up a successful +running fight until they reached Armin's cabin. After that fate would +decide. He was already hatching a scheme in his brain. If he failed to +get Blake early in the fight which he anticipated he would show the +white flag, demand a parley with the outlaw under pretense of +surrendering Celie, and shoot him dead the moment they stood face to +face. With Blake out of the way there might be another way of dealing +with Upi and his Kogmollocks. It was Blake who wanted Celie. In Upi's +eyes there were other things more precious than a woman. The thought +revived in him a new thrill of hope. It recalled to him the incident of +Father Breault and the white woman nurse who, farther west, had been +held for ransom by the Nanamalutes three years ago. Not a hair of the +woman's head had been harmed in nine months of captivity. Olaf Anderson +had told him the whole story. There had been no white man there—only +the Eskimos, and with the Eskimos he believed that he could deal now if +he succeeded in killing Blake. Back at the cabin he could easily have +settled the matter, and he felt like cursing himself for his +shortsightedness. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the fact that he had missed his main chance he began now to +see more than hope in a situation that five minutes before had been one +of appalling gloom. If he could keep ahead of his enemies until +daybreak he had a ninety percent chance of getting Blake. At some spot +where he could keep the Kogmollocks at bay and scatter death among them +if they attacked he would barricade himself and Celie behind the sledge +and call out his acceptance of Blake's proposition to give up Celie as +the price of his own safety. He would demand an interview with Blake, +and it was then that his opportunity would come. +</P> + +<P> +But ahead of him were the leaden hours of the gray night! Out of that +ghostly mist of pale moonlight through which the dogs were traveling +like sinuous shadows Upi and his tribe could close in on him silently +and swiftly, unseen until they were within striking distance. In that +event all would be lost. He urged the dogs on, calling them by the +names which he had heard Blake use, and occasionally he sent the long +lash of his whip curling over their backs. The surface of the +Coppermine was smooth and hard. Now and then they came to stretches of +glare ice and at these intervals Philip rode behind Celie, staring back +into the white mystery of the night out of which they had come. It was +so still that the click, dick, click of the dogs' claws sounded like +the swift beat of tiny castanets on the ice. He could hear the panting +breath of the beasts. The whalebone runners of the sledge creaked with +the shrill protest of steel traveling over frozen snow. Beyond these +sounds there were no others, with, the exception of his own breath and +the beating of his own heart. Mile after mile of the Coppermine dropped +behind them. The last tree and the last fringe of bushes disappeared, +and to the east, the north, and the west there was no break in the vast +emptiness of the great Arctic plain. Ever afterward the memory of that +night seemed like a grotesque and horrible dream to him. Looking back, +he could remember how the moon sank out of the sky and utter darkness +closed them in and how through that darkness he urged on the tired +dogs, tugging with them at the lead-trace, and stopping now and then in +his own exhaustion to put his arms about Celie and repeat over and over +again that everything was all right. +</P> + +<P> +After an eternity the dawn came. What there was to be of day followed +swiftly, like the Arctic night. The shadows faded away, the shores +loomed up and the illimitable sweep of the plain lifted itself into +vision as if from out of a great sea of receding fog. In the quarter +hour's phenomenon between the last of darkness and wide day Philip +stood straining his eyes southward over the white path of the +Coppermine. It was Celie, huddled close at his side, who turned her +eyes first from the trail their enemies would follow. She faced the +north, and the cry that came from her lips brought Philip about like a +shot. His first sensation was one of amazement that they had not yet +passed beyond the last line of timber. Not more than a third of a mile +distant the river ran into a dark strip of forest that reached in from +the western plain like a great finger. Then he saw what Celie had seen. +Close up against the timber a spiral of smoke was rising into the air. +He made out in another moment the form of a cabin, and the look in +Celie's staring face told him the rest. She was sobbing breathless +words which he could not understand, but he knew that they had won +their race, and that it was Armin's place. And Armin was not dead. He +was alive, as Blake had said—and it was about breakfast time. He had +held up under the tremendous strain of the night until now—and now he +was filled with an uncontrollable desire to laugh. The curious thing +about it was that in spite of this desire no sound came from his +throat. He continued to stare until Celie turned to him and swayed into +his arms. In the moment of their triumph her strength was utterly gone. +And then the thing happened which brought the life back into him again +with a shock. From far up the black finger of timber where it bellied +over the horizon of the plain there floated down to them a chorus of +sound. It was a human sound—the yapping, wolfish cry of an Eskimo +horde closing in on man or beast. They had heard that same cry close on +the heels of the fight in the clearing. Now it was made by many voices +instead of two or three. It was accompanied almost instantly by the +clear, sharp report of a rifle, and a moment later the single shot was +followed by a scattering fusillade. After that there was silence. +</P> + +<P> +Quickly Philip bundled Celie on the sledge and drove the dogs ahead, +his eyes on a wide opening in the timber three or four hundred yards +above the river. Five minutes later the sledge drew up in front of the +cabin. In that time they heard no further outcry or sound of gunfire, +and from the cabin itself there came no sign of life, unless the smoke +meant life. Scarcely had the sledge stopped before Celie was on her +feet and running to the door. It was locked, and she beat against it +excitedly with her little fists, calling a strange name. Standing close +behind her, Philip heard a shuffling movement beyond the log walls, the +scraping of a bar, and a man's voice so deep that it had in it the +booming note of a drum. To it Celie replied with almost a shriek. The +door swung inward, and Philip saw a man's arms open and Celie run into +them. He was an old man. His hair and beard were white. This much +Philip observed before he turned with a sudden, thrill toward the open +in the forest. Only he had heard the cry that had come from that +direction, and now, looking back, he saw a figure running swiftly over +the plain toward the cabin. Instantly he knew that it was a white man. +With his revolver in his hand he advanced to meet him and in a brief +space they stood face to face. +</P> + +<P> +The stranger was a giant of a man. His long, reddish hair fell to his +shoulders. He was bare-headed, and panting as if hard run, and his face +was streaming with blood. His eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets +as he stared at Philip. And Philip, almost dropping his revolver in his +amazement, gasped incredulously: +</P> + +<P> +"My God, is it you—Olaf Anderson!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<P> +Following that first wild stare of uncertainty and disbelief in the big +Swede's eyes came a look of sudden and joyous recognition. He was +clutching at Philip's hand like a drowning man before he made an effort +to speak, still with his eyes on the other's face as if he was not +quite sure they had not betrayed him. Then he grinned. There was only +one man in the world who could grin like Olaf Anderson. In spite of +blood and swollen features it transformed him. Men loved the red-headed +Swede because of that grin. Not a man in the service who knew him but +swore that Olaf would die with the grin on his face, because the +tighter the hole he was in the more surely would the grin be there. It +was the grin that answered Philip's question. +</P> + +<P> +"Just in time—to the dot," said Olaf, still pumping Philip's hand, and +grinning hard. "All dead but me—Calkins, Harris, and that little +Dutchman, O'Flynn, Cold and stiff, Phil, every one of them. I knew an +investigating patrol would be coming up pretty soon. Been looking for +it every day. How many men you got?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked beyond Philip to the cabin and the sledge. The grin slowly +went out of his face, and Philip heard the sudden catch in his breath. +A swift glance revealed the amazing truth to Olaf. He dropped Philip's +hand and stepped back, taking him in suddenly from head to foot. +</P> + +<P> +"Alone!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, alone," nodded Philip. "With the exception of Celie Armin. I +brought her back to her father. A fellow named Blake is back there a +little way with Upi's tribe. We beat them out, but I'm figuring it +won't be long before they show up." +</P> + +<P> +The grin was fixed in Olaf's face again. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord bless us, but it's funny," he grunted. "They're coming on the +next train, so to speak, and right over in that neck of woods is the +other half of Upi's tribe chasing their short legs off to get me. And +the comical part of it is you're ALONE!" His eyes were fixed suddenly +on the revolver. "Ammunition?" he demanded eagerly. "And—grub?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thirty or forty rounds of rifle, a dozen Colt, and plenty of meat—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then into the cabin, and the dogs with us," almost shouted the Swede. +</P> + +<P> +From the edge of the forest came the report of a rifle and over their +heads went the humming drone of a bullet. +</P> + +<P> +They were back at the cabin in a dozen seconds, tugging at the dogs. It +cost an effort to get them through the door, with the sledge after +them. Half a dozen shots came from the forest. A bullet spattered +against the log wall, found a crevice, and something metallic jingled +inside. As Olaf swung the door shut and dropped the wooden bar in place +Philip turned for a moment toward Celie. She went to him, her eyes +shining in the semi-gloom of the cabin, and put her arms up about his +shoulders. The Swede, looking on, stood transfixed, and the +white-bearded Armin stared incredulously. On her tip-toes Celie kissed +Philip, and then turning with her arms still about him said something +to the older man that brought an audible gasp from Olaf. In another +moment she had slipped away from Philip and back to her father. The +Swede was flattening his face against a two inch crevice between the +logs when Philip went to his side. +</P> + +<P> +"What did she say, Olaf?" he entreated. +</P> + +<P> +"That she's going to marry you if we ever get out of this hell of a fix +we're in," grunted Olaf. "Pretty lucky dog, I say, if it's true. +Imagine Celie Armin marrying a dub like you! But it will never happen. +If you don't believe it fill your eyes with that out there!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip glued his eyes to the long crevice between the logs and found +the forest and the little finger of plain between straight in his +vision. The edge of the timber was alive with men. There must have been +half a hundred of them, and they were making no effort to conceal +themselves. For the first time Olaf began to give him an understanding +of the situation. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the fortieth day we've held them off," he said, in the +quick-cut, business-like voice he might have used in rendering a report +to a superior. "Eighty cartridges to begin with and a month's ration of +grub for two. All but the three last cartridges went day before +yesterday. Yesterday everything quiet. On the edge of starvation this +morning when I went out on scout duty and to take a chance at game. +Surprised a couple of them carrying meat and had a tall fight. Others +hove into action and I had to use two of my cartridges. One left—and +they're showing themselves because they know we don't dare to use +ammunition at long range. My caliber is thirty-five. What's yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same," replied Philip quickly, his blood beginning to thrill with +the anticipation of battle. "I'll give you half. I'm on duty from Fort +Churchill, off on a tangent of my own." He did not take his eyes from +the slit in the wall as he told Anderson in a hundred words what had +happened since his meeting with Bram Johnson. "And with forty +cartridges we'll give 'em a taste of hell," he added. +</P> + +<P> +He caught his breath, and the last word half choked itself from his +lips. He knew that Anderson was staring as hard as he. Up from the +river and over the level sweep of plain between it and the timber came +a sledge, followed by a second, a third, and a fourth. In the trail +behind the sledges trotted a score and a half of fur-clad figures. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Blake!" exclaimed Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Anderson drew himself away from the wall. In his eyes burned a curious +greenish flame, and his face was set with the hardness of iron. In that +iron was molded indistinctly the terrible smile with which he always +went into battle or fronted "his man." Slowly he turned, pointing a +long arm at each of the four walls of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the lay of the fight," he said, making his words short and to +the point. "They can come at us on all sides, and so I've made a +six-foot gun-crevice in each wall. We can't count on Armin for anything +but the use of a club if it comes to close quarters. The walls are +built of saplings and they've got guns out there that get through. +Outside of that we've got one big advantage. The little devils are +superstitious about fighting at night, and even Blake can't force them +into it. Blake is the man I was after when I ran across Armin and his +people. GAD!" +</P> + +<P> +There was an unpleasant snap in his voice as he peered through the +gun-hole again. Philip looked across the room to Celie and her father +as he divided the cartridges. They were both listening, yet he knew +they did not understand what he and Olaf were saying. He dropped a half +of the cartridges into the right hand pocket of the Swede's service +coat, and advanced then toward Armin with both his hands held out in +greeting. Even in that tense moment he saw the sudden flash of pleasure +in Celie's eyes. Her lips trembled, and she spoke softly and swiftly to +her father, looking at Philip. Armin advanced a step, and their hands +met. At first Philip had taken him for an old man. Hair and beard were +white, his shoulders were bent, his hands were long and thin. But his +eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, had not aged with the rest of him. +They were filled with the piercing scrutiny of a hawk's as they looked +into his own, measuring him in that moment so far as man can measure +man. Then he spoke, and it was the light in Celie's eyes, her parted +lips, and the flush that came swiftly into her face that gave him an +understanding of what Armin was saying. +</P> + +<P> +From the end of the cabin Olaf's voice broke in. With it came the +metallic working of his rifle as he filled the chamber with cartridges. +He spoke first to Celie and Armin in their own language, then to Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a pretty safe gamble we'd better get ready for them," he said. +"They'll soon begin. Did you split even on the cartridges?" +</P> + +<P> +"Seventeen apiece." +</P> + +<P> +Philip examined his rifle, and looked through the gun-crevice toward +the forest. He heard Olaf tugging at the dogs as he tied them to the +bunk posts; he heard Armin say something in a strained voice, and the +Swede's unintelligible reply, followed by a quick, low-voiced +interrogation from Celie. In the same moment his heart gave a sudden +jump. In the fringe of the forest he saw a long, thin line of moving +figures—ADVANCING. He did not call out a warning instantly. For a +space in which he might have taken a long breath or two his eyes and +brain were centered on the moving figures and the significance of their +drawn-out formation. Like a camera-flash his eyes ran over the +battleground. Half way between the cabin and that fringe of forest four +hundred yards away was a "hogback" in the snow, running a curving +parallel with the plain. It formed scarcely more than a three or four +foot rise in the surface, and he had given it no special significance +until now. His lips formed words as the thrill of understanding leapt +upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"They're moving!" he called to Olaf. "They're going to make a rush for +the little ridge between us and the timber. Good God, Anderson, there's +an army of them!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not more'n a hundred," replied the Swede calmly, taking his place at +the gun-crevice. "Take it easy, Phil. This will be good target +practice. We've got to make an eighty percent kill as they come across +the open. This is mighty comfortable compared with the trick they +turned on us when they got Calkins, Harris and O'Flynn. I got away in +the night." +</P> + +<P> +The moving line had paused just within the last straggling growth of +trees, as if inviting the fire of the defenders. +</P> + +<P> +Olaf grunted as he looked along the barrel of his rifle. +</P> + +<P> +"Strategy," he mumbled. "They know we're shy of ammunition." +</P> + +<P> +In the moments of tense waiting Philip found his first opportunity to +question the man at his side. First, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"I guess mebby you understand, Olaf. We've gone through a hell +together, and I love her. If we get out of this she's going to be my +wife. She's promised me that, and yet I swear to Heaven I don't know +more than a dozen words of her language. What has happened? Who is she? +Why was she with Bram Johnson? You know their language, and have been +with them—" +</P> + +<P> +"They're taking final orders," interrupted Olaf, as if he had not +heard. "There's something more on foot than a rush to the ridge. It's +Blake's scheming. See those little groups forming? They're going to +bring battering-rams, and make a second rush from the ridge." He drew +in a deep breath, and without a change in the even tone of his voice, +went on: "Calkins, Harris and O'Flynn went down in a good fight. Tell +you about that later. Hit seven days' west, and run on the camp of +Armin, his girl, and two white men—Russians—guided by two Kogmollocks +from Coronation Gulf. You can guess some of the rest. The little devils +had Blake and his gang about us two days after I struck them. Bram +Johnson and his wolves came along then—from nowhere—going nowhere. +The Kogmollocks think Bram is a great Devil, and that each of his +wolves is a Devil. If it hadn't been for that they would have murdered +us in a hurry, and Blake would have taken the girl. They were queered +by the way Bram would squat on his haunches, and stare at her. The +second day I saw him mumbling over something, and looked sharp. He had +one of Celie's long hairs, and when he saw me he snarled like an +animal, as though he feared I would take it from him. I knew what was +coming. I knew Blake was only waiting for Bram to get away from his +Kogmollocks—so I told Celie to give Bram a strand of her hair. She +did—with her own hands, and from that minute the madman watched her +like a dog. I tried to talk with him, but couldn't. I didn't seem to be +able to make him understand. And then—" +</P> + +<P> +The Swede cut himself short. +</P> + +<P> +"They're moving, Phil! Take the men with the battering rams—and let +them get half way before you fire! ... You see, Bram and his wolves had +to have meat. Blake attacked while he was gone. Russians killed—Armin +and I cornered, fighting for the girl behind us, when Bram came back +like a burst of thunder. He didn't fight. He grabbed the girl, and was +off with her like the wind with his wolf-team. Armin and I got into +this cabin, and here—forty days and nights—" +</P> + +<P> +His voice stopped ominously. A fraction of a second later it was +followed by the roar of his rifle, and at the first shot one of Blake's +Kogmollocks crumpled up with a grunt half way between the snow-ridge +and the forest. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H3> + +<P> +The Eskimos were advancing at a trot now over the open space. Philip +was amazed at their number. There were at least a hundred, and his +heart choked with a feeling of despair even as he pulled the trigger +for his first shot. He had seen the effect of Olaf's shot, and +following the Swede's instructions aimed for his man in the nearest +group behind the main line. He did not instantly see the result, as a +puff of smoke shut out his vision, but a moment later, aiming again, he +saw a dark blotch left in the snow. From his end of the crevice Olaf +had seen the man go down, and he grunted his approbation. There were +five of the groups bearing tree trunks for battering-rams, and on one +of these Philip concentrated the six shots in his rifle. Four of the +tree-bearers went down, and the two that were left dropped their burden +and joined those ahead of them. Until Philip stepped back to reload his +gun he had not noticed Celie. She was close at his side, peering +through the gun-hole at the tragedy out on the plain. Once before he +had been astounded by the look in her face when they had been +confronted by great danger, and as his fingers worked swiftly in +refilling the magazine of his rifle he saw it there again. It was not +fear, even now. It was a more wonderful thing than that. Her wide-open +eyes glowed with a strange, dark luster; in the center of each of her +cheeks was a vivid spot of color, and her lips were parted slightly, so +that he caught the faintest gleam of her teeth. Wonderful as a fragile +flower she stood there with her eyes upon him, her splendid courage and +her faith in him flaming within her like a fire. +</P> + +<P> +And then he heard Anderson's voice: +</P> + +<P> +"They're behind the ridge. We got eight of them." +</P> + +<P> +In half a dozen places Philip had seen where bullets had bored the way +through the cabin, and leaning his gun against the wall, he sprang to +Celie and almost carried her behind the bunk that was built against the +logs. +</P> + +<P> +"You must stay here," he cried. "Do you understand! HERE!" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, and smiled. It was a wonderful smile—a flash of tenderness +telling him that she knew what he was saying, and that she would obey +him. She made no effort to detain him with her hands, but in that +moment—if life had been the forfeit—Philip would have stolen the +precious time in which to take her in his arms. For a space he held her +close to him, his lips crushed to hers, and faced the wall again with +the throb of her soft breast still beating against his heart. He +noticed Armin standing near the door, his hand resting on a huge club +which, in turn, rested on the floor. Calmly he was waiting for the +final rush. Olaf was peering through the gun-hole again. And then came +what he had expected—a rattle of fire from the snow-ridge. The +PIT-PIT-PIT of bullets rained against the cabin in a dull tattoo. +Through the door came a bullet, sending a splinter close to Armin's +face. Almost in the same instant a second followed it, and a third came +through the crevice so close to Philip that he felt the hissing breath +of it in his face. One of the dogs emitted a wailing howl and flopped +among its comrades in uncanny convulsions. +</P> + +<P> +Olaf staggered back, and faced Philip. There was no trace of the +fighting grin in his face now. It was set like an iron mask. +</P> + +<P> +"GET DOWN!" he shouted. "Do you hear, GET DOWN!" He dropped on his +knees, crying out the warning to Armin in the other's language. +"They've got enough guns to make a sieve of this kennel if their +ammunition holds out—and the lower logs are heaviest. Flatten yourself +out until they stop firing, with your feet toward 'em, like this," and +he stretched himself out on the floor, parallel with the direction of +fire. +</P> + +<P> +In place of following the Swede's example Philip ran to Celie. Half way +a bullet almost got him, flipping the collar of his shirt. He dropped +beside her and gathered her up completely in his arms, with his own +body between her and the fire. A moment later he thanked God for the +protection of the bunk. He heard the ripping of a bullet through the +saplings and caught distinctly the thud of it as the spent lead dropped +to the floor. Celie's head was close on his breast, her eyes were on +his face, her soft lips so near he could feel their breath. He kissed +her, unbelieving even then that the end was near for her. It was +monstrous—impossible. Lead was finding its way into the cabin like +raindrops. He heard the Swede's voice again, crying thickly from the +floor: +</P> + +<P> +"Hug below the lower log. You've got eight inches. If you rise above +that they'll get you." He repeated the warning to Armin. +</P> + +<P> +As if to emphasize his words there came a howl of agony from another of +the dogs. +</P> + +<P> +Still closer Philip held the girl to him. Her hands had crept +convulsively to his neck. He crushed his face down against hers, and +waited. It came to him suddenly that Blake must be reckoning on this +very protection which he was giving Celie. He was gambling on the +chance that while the male defenders of the cabin would be wounded or +killed Celie would be sheltered until the last moment from their fire. +If that was so, the firing would soon cease until Blake learned results. +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had he made this guess when the fusillade ended. Instead of +rifle-fire there came a sudden strange howl of voices and Olaf sprang +to his feet. Philip had risen, when the Swede's voice came to him in a +choking cry. Prepared for the rush he had expected, Olaf was making an +observation through the gun-crevice. Suddenly, without turning his +head, he yelled back at them: +</P> + +<P> +"Good God—it's Bram—Bram Johnson!" +</P> + +<P> +Even Celie realized the thrilling import of the Swede's excited words. +BRAM JOHNSON! She was only a step behind Philip when he reached the +wall. With him she looked out. Out of that finger of forest they were +coming—Bram and his wolves! The pack was free, spreading out +fan-shape, coming like the wind! Behind them was Bram—a wild and +monstrous figure against the whiteness of the plain, bearing in his +hand a giant club. His yell came to them. It rose above all other +sound, like the cry of a great beast. The wolves came faster, and then— +</P> + +<P> +The truth fell upon those in the cabin with a suddenness that stopped +the beating of their hearts. +</P> + +<P> +Bram Johnson and his wolves were attacking the Eskimos! +</P> + +<P> +From the thrilling spectacle of the giant mad-man charging over the +plain behind his ravenous beasts Philip shifted his amazed gaze to the +Eskimos. They were no longer concealing themselves. Palsied by a +strange terror, they were staring at the onrushing horde and the +shrieking wolf-man. In those first appalling moments of horror and +stupefaction not a gun was raised or a shot fired. Then there rose from +the ranks of the Kogmollocks a strange and terrible cry, and in another +moment the plain between the forest and the snow-ridge was alive with +fleeing creatures in whose heavy brains surged the monstrous thought +that they were attacked not by man and beast, but by devils. And in +that same moment it seemed that Bram Johnson and his wolves were among +them. From man to man the beasts leapt, driven on by the shrieking +voice of their master; and now Philip saw the giant mad-man overtake +one after another of the running figures, and saw the crushing force of +his club as it fell. Celie swayed back from the wall and stood with her +hands to her face. The Swede sprang past her, flung back the bar to the +door, and opened it. Philip was a step behind him. Prom the front of +the cabin they began firing, and man after man crumpled down under +their shots. If Bram and his wolves sensed the shooting in the ferocity +of their blood-lust they paid no more attention to it than to the cries +for mercy that rose chokingly out of the throats of their enemies. In +another sixty seconds the visible part of it was over. The last of the +Kogmollocks disappeared into the edge of the forest. After them went +the wolf-man and his pack. +</P> + +<P> +Philip faced his companion. His gun was hot—and empty. The old grin +was in Olaf's face. In spite of it he shuddered. +</P> + +<P> +"We won't follow," he said. "Bram and his wolves will attend to the +trimmings, and he'll come back when the job is finished. Meanwhile +we'll get a little start for home, eh? I'm tired of this cabin. Forty +days and nights—UGH! it was HELL. Have you a spare pipeful of tobacco, +Phil? If you have—let's see, where did I leave off in that story about +Princess Celie and the Duke of Rugni?" +</P> + +<P> +"The—the—WHAT?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your tobaeco, Phil!" +</P> + +<P> +In a dazed fashion Philip handed his tobacco pouch to the Swede. +</P> + +<P> +"You said—Princess Celie—the Duke of Rugni—" +</P> + +<P> +Olaf nodded as he stuffed his pipe bowl. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it. Armin is the Duke of Rugni, whatever Rugni is. He was +chased off to Siberia a good many years ago, when Celie was a kid, that +somebody else could get hold of the Dukedom. Understand? Millions in +it, I suppose. He says some of Rasputin's old friends were behind it, +and that for a long time he was kept in the dungeons of the fortress of +St. Peter and St. Paul, with the Neva River running over his head. The +friends he had, most of them in exile or chased out of the country, +thought he was dead, and some of these friends were caring for Celie. +Just after Rasputin was killed, and before the Revolution broke out, +they learned Armin was alive and dying by inches somewhere up on the +Siberian coast. Celie's mother was Danish—died almost before Celie +could remember; but some of her relatives and a bunch of Russian exiles +in London framed up a scheme to get Armin back, chartered a ship, +sailed with Celie on board, and—" +</P> + +<P> +Olaf paused to light his pipe. +</P> + +<P> +"And they found the Duke," he added. "They escaped with him before they +learned of the Revolution, or Armin could have gone home with the rest +of the Siberian exiles and claimed his rights. For a lot of reasons +they put him aboard an American whaler, and the whaler missed its plans +by getting stuck in the ice for the winter up in Coronation Gulf. After +that they started out with dogs and sledge and guides. There's a lot +more, but that's the meat of it, Phil. I'm going to leave it to you to +learn Celie's language and get the details first-hand from her. But +she's a right enough princess, old man. And her Dad's a duke. It's up +to you to Americanize 'em. Eh, what's that?" +</P> + +<P> +Celie had come from the cabin and was standing at Philip's side, +looking up into his face, and the light which Olaf saw unhidden in her +eyes made him laugh softly: +</P> + +<P> +"And you've got the job half done, Phil. The Duke may go back and raise +the devil with the people who put him in cold storage, but Lady Celie +is going to like America. Yessir, she's going to like it better'n any +other place on the face of the earth!" +</P> + +<P> +It was late that afternoon, traveling slowly southward over the trail +of the Coppermine, when they heard far behind them the wailing cry of +Bram Johnson's wolves. The sound came only once, like the swelling +surge of a sudden sweep of wind, yet when they camped at the beginning +of darkness Philip was confident the madman and his pack were close +behind them. Utter exhaustion blotted out the hours for Celie and +himself, while Olaf, buried in two heavy Eskimo coats he had foraged +from the field of battle, sat on guard through the night. Twice in the +stillness of his long vigil he heard strange cries. Once it was the cry +of a beast. The second time it was that of a man. +</P> + +<P> +The second day, with dogs refreshed, they traveled faster, and it was +this night that they camped in the edge of timber and built a huge +fire. It was such a fire as illumined the space about them for fifty +paces or more, and it was into this light that Bram Johnson stalked, so +suddenly and so noiselessly that a sharp little cry sprang from Celie's +lips, and Olaf and Philip and the Duke of Rugni stared in wide-eyed +amazement. In his right hand the wolf-man bore a strange object. It was +an Eskimo coat, tied into the form of a bag, and in the bottom of this +improvision was a lump half the size of a water pail. Bram seemed +oblivious of all presence but that of Celie. His eyes were on her alone +as he advanced and with a weird sound in his throat deposited the +bundle at her feet. In another moment he was gone. The Swede rose +slowly from where he was sitting, and speaking casually to Celie, took +the wolf-man's gift up in his hands. Philip observed the strange look +in his face as he turned his back to Celie in the firelight and opened +the bag sufficiently to get a look inside. Then he walked out into the +darkness, and a moment later returned without the bundle, and with a +laugh apologized to Celie for his action. +</P> + +<P> +"No need of telling her what it was," he said to Philip then. "I +explained that it was foul meat Bram had brought in as a present. As a +matter of fact it was Blake's head. You know the Kogmollocks have a +pretty habit of pleasing a friend by presenting him with the head of a +dead enemy. Nice little package for her to have opened, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +After all, there are some very strange happenings in life, and the +adventurers of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police come upon their +share. The case of Bram Johnson, the mad wolf-man of the Upper Country, +happened to be one of them, and filed away in the archives of the +Department is a big envelope filled with official and personal +documents, signed and sworn to by various people. There is, for +instance, the brief and straightforward deposition of Corporal Olaf +Anderson, of the Fort Churchill Division, and there is the longer and +more detailed testimony of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Raine and the Duke of +Rugni; and attached to these depositions is a copy of an official +decision pardoning Bram Johnson and making of him a ward of the great +Dominion instead of a criminal. He is no longer hunted. "Let Bram +Johnson alone" is the word that had gone forth to the man-hunters of +the Service. It is a wise and human judgment. Bram's country is big and +wild. And he and his wolves still hunt there under the light of the +moon and the stars. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden Snare, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SNARE *** + +***** This file should be named 4515-h.htm or 4515-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/1/4515/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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