, my dear--an' you might pray God to
give us time for a start."

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.

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