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He could not have explained the change in himself the swift reaction of thought and emotion that filled him with a mastering sympathy for Bram Johnson. He waited, and less and less grew his fear of the wolves.
Once possessed by an idea the madman will not forget it. It becomes an obsession with him a part of his existence. In his warped brain a suspicion never dies. A fear will smolder everlastingly. A hatred lives steadily on. If Bram Johnson was mad would he play the game as he was playing it now! He had almost killed Philip for possession of the food, that the girl might have the last crumb of it.
Philip's mind was made up when he closed the door and faced the half-breed again. "It is three hundred miles from here to Fort Churchill," he said. "Half way, at the lower end of Jesuche Lake, MacVeigh and his patrol have made their headquarters. If I go after Bram, Pierre, I must first make certain of getting a message to MacVeigh, and he will see that it gets to Fort Churchill.
Was it possible that Bram was striking straight north for Coronation Gulf and the Eskimo? He had noted that the polar bear skin was only slightly worn that it had not long been taken from the back of the animal that had worn it. He recalled what he could remember of his geography.
"I have come up here especially to help you, if you need help. I could have got Bram farther back, but there was a reason why I didn't want him until I found his cabin. That reason was you. Why are you here with a madman and a murderer?" She was watching him intently. Her eyes were on his lips, and into her face white a few moments before had risen swiftly a flush of color.
He tried to free himself of that thought, but it clung to him with a tenaciousness that oppressed him with a grim and ugly foreboding. What a monstrous fate for a woman! He shivered. For a few moments every instinct in his body fought to assure him that such a thing could not happen. And yet he knew that it COULD happen. A woman up there with Bram!
"She's tellin' you that Bram Johnson brought her this way," he chuckled. "Bram was a fool like you!" He seemed not to expect a reply from Philip, but urged the dogs down the slope into the plain. Fifteen minutes later they were on the surface of the river. Philip drew a deep breath of relief, and he found that same relief in Celie's face when he dropped back to her side.
"We're sure up against a nice bunch," he laughed, standing for a moment with his arm still about Celie's waist. "A regular hell of a bunch, little girl! Now if those wolves only had sense enough to know that we're a little brother and sister to Bram, we'd be able to put up a fight that would be some circus. Did you see that fellow topple off the fence? Don't believe I hit him.
From the bear skins he produced a kettle, filled it with snow, and hung it over the pile of fagots to which Philip was touching a match. Philip's tea pail he employed in the same way. "How far have we come, Bram?" Philip asked. "Fift' mile, m'sieu," answered Bram without hesitation. "And how much farther have we to go?" Bram grunted. His face became more stolid.
Three days had passed since that exciting night, and when they arrived at the spot where Bram had slept the spruce shelter was half buried in a windrow of the hard, shot like snow that the blizzard had rolled in off the open spaces.
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