apparition that looked more like monster than man in that first
glance. Something acted within him that was swifter than reason--a
sub-conscious instinct that works for self-preservation like the
flash of powder in a pan. It was this sub-conscious self that
received the first photographic impression--the strange poise of
the hooded creature, the uplifted arm, the cold, streaky gleam of
something in the dawn-light, and in response to that impression
Philip's physical self crumpled down in the snow as a javelin
hissed through the space where his head and shoulders had been.

So infinitesimal was the space of time between the throwing of the
javelin and Philip's movement that the Eskimo believed he had
transfixed his victim. A scream of triumph rose in his throat. It
was the Kogmollock sakootwow--the blood-cry, a single shriek that
split the air for a mile. It died in another sort of cry. From
where he had dropped Philip was up like a shot. His club swung
through the air and before the amazed hooded creature could dart
either to one side or the other it had fallen with crushing force.
That one blow must have smashed his shoulder to a pulp. As the
body lurched downward another blow caught the hooded head squarely
and the beginning of a second cry ended in a sickening grunt. The
force of the blow carried Philip half off his feet, and before he
could recover himself two other figures had rushed upon him from
out of the gloom. Their cries as they came at him were like the
cries of beasts. Philip had no time to use his club. From his
unbalanced position he flung himself upward and at the nearest of
his enemies, saving himself from the upraised javelin by
clinching. His fist shot out and caught the Eskimo squarely in the
mouth. He struck again--and the javelin dropped from the
Kogmollock's hand. In that moment, every vein in his body pounding