It was impossible for him to keep his eyes from shifting to the
door. There was expectancy in that glance. Then his glance shot
almost fiercely at Philip.

"So you're Philip Raine, of the R. N. M. P., eh? Well, you've got
me guessed out. My name is Blake, but the G don't stand for
George. If you'll cut the cord off'n my legs so I can stand up or
sit down I'll tell you something. I can't do very much damage with
my hands hitched the way they are, and I can't talk layin' down
cause of my Adam's apple chokin' me."

Philip seized the rifle and placed it again in Celie's hands,
stationing her once more at the door.

"Watch--and listen," he said.

He cut the thongs that bound his prisoner's ankles and Blake
struggled to his feet. When he fronted Philip the big Colt was
covering his heart.

"Now--talk!" commanded Philip. "I'm going to give you half a
minute to begin telling me what I want to know, Blake. You've
brought the Eskimos down. There's no doubt of that. What do you
want of this girl, and what have you done with her people?"

He had never looked into the eyes of a cooler man than Blake,
whose blood-stained lips curled in a sneering smile even as he
finished.