He returned to the Eskimos. The three were dead. It made him
shudder--one with a tiny bullet hole squarely between the eyes,
and the others crushed by the blows of the club. His hand fondled
Celie's little revolver--the pea-shooter he had laughed at. After
all it had saved his life. And the club--

He did not examine too closely there. From the man he had struck
with his naked fist he outfitted himself with a hood and temiak,
or coat. In the temiak there were no pockets, but at the waist of
each of the dead men a narwhal skin pouch which answered for all
pockets. He tossed the three pouches in a little heap on the snow
before he searched for weapons. He found two knives and half a
dozen of the murderous little javelins. One of the knives was
still clutched in the hand of the Eskimo who was creeping up to
disembowel him when Celie's revolver saved him. He took this knife
because it was longer and sharper than the other.

On his knees he began to examine the contents of the three
pouches. In each was the inevitable roll of babiche, or caribou-
skin cord, and a second and smaller waterproof narwhal bag in
which were the Kogmollock fire materials. There was no food. This
fact was evident proof that the Eskimos were in camp somewhere in
the vicinity. He had finished his investigation of the pouches
when, looking up from his kneeling posture, he saw Celie
approaching.

In spite of the grimness of the situation he could not repress a
smile as he rose to greet her. At fifty paces, even with her face
toward him, one would easily make the error of mistaking her for