elie'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.

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.

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 ama