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
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.





CHAPTER XVII