an Eskimo, as the sealskin bashlyk was so large that it almost
entirely concealed her face except when one was very close to her.
Philip's first assistance was to roll back the front of the hood.
Then he pulled her thick braid out from under the coat and loosed
the shining glory of her hair until it enveloped her in a
wonderful shimmering mantle. Their enemies could not mistake her
for a man NOW, even at a hundred yards. If they ran into an
ambuscade she would at least be saved from the javelins.

Celie scarcely realized what he was doing. She was staring at the
dead men--silent proof of the deadly menace that had threatened
them and of the terrific fight Philip must have made. A strange
note rose in her throat, and turning toward him suddenly she flung
herself into his arms. Her own arms encircled his neck, and for a
space she lay shudderingly against his breast, as if sobbing. How
many times he kissed her in those moments Philip could not have
told. It must have been a great many. He knew only that her arms
were clinging tighter and tighter about his neck, and that she was
whispering his name, and that his hands were buried in her soft
hair. He forgot time, forgot the possible cost of precious seconds
lost. It was a small thing that recalled him to his senses. From
out of a spruce top a handful of snow fell on his shoulder. It
startled him like the touch of a strange hand, and in another
moment he was explaining swiftly to Celie that there were other
enemies near and that they must lose no time in flight.

He fastened one of the pouches at his waist, picked up his club,
and--on second thought--one of the Kogmollock javelins. He had no
very definite idea of how he might use the latter weapon, as it
was too slender to be of much avail as a spear at close quarters.