he 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.

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.

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.

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 cre