that now flashed upon him--if it was that thought that had made
her place the revolver in his hand. The blaze of excitement in her
wonderful eyes almost told him that it was. With Bram gone, the
Eskimos believed she was alone and at their mercy as soon as the
wolves were out of the way. Two or three shots from the revolver--
and Philip's appearance in the corral--would shake their
confidence. It would at least warn them that Celie was not alone,
and that her protector was armed. For that reason Philip thanked
the Lord that a "stocking" gun had a bark like the explosion of a
toy cannon even if its bite was like that of an insect.

Cautiously he took another look at Bram's wolves. The last javelin
had transfixed another of their number and the animal was dragging
itself toward the center of the corral. The remaining seven were a
dozen yards on the other side of the gate now, leaping and
snarling at the stockade, and he knew that the next attack would
come from there. He sprang to the door. Celie was only a step
behind him as he ran out, and was close at his side when he peered
around the end of the cabin.

"They must not see you," he made her understand. "It won't do any
good and when they see another man they may possibly get the idea
in their heads that you're not here. There can't be many of them
or they'd make quicker work of the wolves. I should say not more
than--"

"Se! Se!"

The warning came in a low cry from Celie's lips. A dark head was
appearing slowly above the top of the stockade, and Philip darted