him. Bram, in his madness, had been good to her. Philip did not
hesitate in the impulse of the moment. He caught Bram's hand and
shook it. And Bram, his laugh dying away in a mumbling sound,
seemed not to notice it. As Philip began preparing the fish the
wolf-man took up a position against the farther wall, squatted
Indian-fashion on his heels. He did not take his eyes from the
girl until she had finished, and Philip brought him a half of the
fried fish. He might as well have offered the fish to a wooden
sphinx. Bram rose to his feet, mumbling softly, and taking what
was left of one of the two caribou quarters he again left the
cabin.

His mad laugh and the snarling outcry of the wolves came to them a
moment later.





CHAPTER XI




Scarcely had the door closed when Celie Armin ran to Philip and
pulled him to the table. In the tense half hour of Bram's
watchfulness she had eaten her own breakfast as if nothing unusual
had happened; now she insisted on adding potatoes and bannock to
Philip's fish, and turned him a cup of coffee.