aviest. 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.

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:

"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.

As if to emphasize his words there came a howl of agony from another of
the dogs.

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.

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:

"Good God--it's Bram--Bram Johnson!"

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