bared her faith in him, and suddenly he reached out and took her
face between his two hands, and laughed softly, while each instant
he feared the smash of a javelin through the window. "I like to
see that look in your eyes," he went on. "And I'm almost glad you
can't understand me, for I couldn't lie to you worth a cent. I
understand those pictures now--and I think we're in a hell of a
fix. The Eskimos have followed you and Bram down from the north,
and I'm laying a wager with myself that Bram won't return from the
caribou hunt. If they were Nunatalmutes or any other tribe I
wouldn't be so sure. But they're Kogmollocks. They're worse than
the little brown head-hunters of the Philippines when it comes to
ambush, and if Bram hasn't got a spear through him this minute
I'll never guess again!" He withdrew his hands from her face,
still smiling at her as he talked. The color was returning into
her face. Suddenly she made a movement as if to approach the
window. He detained her, and in the same moment there came a
fierce and snarling outcry from the wolves in the corral. Making
Celie understand that she was to remain where he almost forcibly
placed her near the table, Philip went again to the window. The
pack had gathered close to the gate and two or three of the wolves
were leaping excitedly against the sapling bars of their prison.
Between the cabin and the gate a second body lay in the snow.
Philip's mind leapt to a swift conclusion. The Eskimos had
ambushed Bram, and they believed that only the girl was in the
cabin. Intuitively he guessed how the superstitious little brown
men of the north feared the madman's wolves. One by one they were
picking them off with their javelins from outside the corral.

As he looked a head and pair of shoulders rose suddenly above the
top of the sapling barrier, an arm shot out and he caught the