recognized them as the small fox-faced Eskimo breed from the
coast. They were dragging a heavily laden sledge and behind them
came the driver, a furred and hooded figure squat of stature and
with a voice that came now in the sharp clacking commands that
Philip had heard in the company of Bram Johnson. From the floor
came a groan, and for an instant Philip turned to find Blake's
bloodshot eyes wide open and staring at him. The giant's bleeding
lips were gathered in a snarl and he was straining at the babiche
thongs that bound him. In that same moment Philip caught a glimpse
of Celie. She, too, was staring--and at Blake. Her lips were
parted, her eyes were big with amazement and as she looked she
clutched her hands convulsively at her breast and uttered a low,
strange cry. For the first time she saw Blake's face with the
light full upon it. At the sound of her cry Blake's eyes went to
her, and for the space of a second the imprisoned beast on the
floor and the girl looking down on him made up a tableau that held
Philip spellbound. Between them was recognition--an amazed and
stone like horror on the girl's part, a sudden and growing glare
of bestial exultation in the eyes of the man.

Suddenly there came the Eskimo's voice and the yapping of dogs. It
was the first Blake had heard. He swung his head toward the door
with a great gasp and the babiche cut like whipcord under the
strain of his muscles. Swift as a flash Philip thrust the muzzle
of the big Colt against his prisoner's head.

"Make a sound and you're a dead man, Blake!" he warned. "We need
that team, and if you so much as whisper during the next ten
seconds I'll scatter your brains over the floor!"