the table and drew the girl to the window. At the far end of the
corral they could see Bram tossing chunks of meat to the horde of
beasts that surrounded him. In a moment or two he had the
satisfaction of seeing that his companion understood that he was
directing her attention to the wolf-man and not the pack. Then he
began unbraiding her hair. His fingers thrilled at the silken
touch of it. He felt his face flushing hot under his beard, and he
knew that her eyes were on him wonderingly. A small strand he
divided into three parts and began weaving into a silken thread
only a little larger than the wolf-man's snare. From, the woven
tress he pointed to Bram and in an instant her face lighted up
with understanding.

She answered him in pantomime. Either she or Bram had cut the
tress from her head that had gone into the making of the golden
snare. And not only one tress, but several. There had been a
number of golden snares. She bowed her head and showed him where
strands as large as her little finger had been clipped in several
places.

Philip almost groaned. She was telling him nothing new, except
that there had been many snares instead of one.

He was on the point of speech when the look in her face held him
silent. Her eyes glowed with a sudden excitement--a wild
inspiration. She held out her hands until they nearly touched his
breast.

"Philip Raine--Amerika!" she cried.