CHAPTER XIX
Before the last of the cries had died away Philip flung far to one sideof the trail the javelin he carried, and followed it up with Celie's,impressing on her that every ounce of additional weight meant ahandicap for them now. After the javelins went his club.
"It's going to be the biggest race I've ever run," he smiled at her."And we've got to win. If we don't--"
Celie's eyes were aglow as she looked at him, He was splendidly calm.There was no longer a trace of excitement in his face, and he wassmiling at her even as he picked her up suddenly in his arms. Themovement was so unexpected that she gave a little gasp. Then she foundherself borne swiftly over the trail. For a distance of a hundred yardsPhilip ran with her before he placed her on her feet again. In nobetter way could he have impressed on her that they were partners in arace against death and that every energy must be expended in that race.Scarcely had her feet touched the snow than she was running at hisside, her hand clasped in his. Barely a second was lost.
With the swift directness of the trained man-hunter Philip had measuredhis chances of winning. The Eskimos, first of all, would gather abouttheir dead. After one or two formalities they would join in achattering council, all of which meant precious time for them. Thepursuit would be more or less cautious because of the bullet hole inthe Kogmollock's forehead.
If it had been possible for Celie to ask him just what he expected togain by following the strange snowshoe trail he would have haddifficulty in answering. It was, like his single shot with Celie'slittle revolver, a chance gamble against big odds. A number ofpossibilities had suggested themselves to him. It even occurred to himthat the man who was hurrying toward the east might be a member of theRoyal Northwest Mounted Police. Of one thing, however, he wasconfident. The maker of the tracks would not be armed with javelins. Hewould have a rifle. Friend or foe, he was after that rifle. The trickwas to catch sight of him at the earliest possible moment.
How much of a lead the stranger had was a matter at which he couldguess with considerable accuracy. The freshness of the trail was onlyslightly dimmed by snow, which was ample proof that it had been made atthe very tail-end of the storm. He believed that it was not more thanan hour old.
For a good two hundred yards Philip set a dog-trot pace for Celie, whoran courageously at his side. At the end of that distance he stopped.Celie was panting for breath. Her hood had slipped back and her facewas flushed like a wildflower by her exertion. Her eyes shone likestars, and her lips were parted a little. She was temptingly lovely,but again Philip lost not a second of unnecessary time. He picked herup in his arms again and continued the race. By using every ounce ofhis own strength and endurance in this way he figured that theirprogress would be at least a third faster than the Eskimos wouldfollow. The important question was how long he could keep up the pace.
Against his breast Celie was beginning to understand his scheme asplainly as if he had explained it to her in words. At the end of thefourth hundred yards she let him know that she was ready to run anotherlap. He carried her on fifty yards more before he placed her on herfeet. In this way they had gone three-quarters of a mile when the trailturned abruptly from its easterly course to a point of the compass duenorth. So sharp was the turn that Philip paused to investigate thesudden change in direction. The stranger had evidently stood forseveral minutes at this point, which was close to the blasted stub of adead spruce. In the snow Philip observed for the first time a number ofdark brown spots.
"Here is where he took a new bearing--and a chew of tobacco," saidPhilip, more to himself than to Celie. "And there's no snow in histracks. By George, I don't believe he's got more than half an hour'sstart of us this minute!"
It was his turn to carry Celie again, and in spite of her protest thatshe was still good for another run he resumed their pursuit of thestranger with her in his arms. By her quick breathing and the bit oftenseness that had gathered about her mouth he knew that the exertionshe had already been put to was having its effect on her. For herlittle feet and slender body the big moccasins and cumbersome furgarments she wore were a burden in themselves, even at a walk. He foundthat by holding her higher in his arms, with her own arms encirclinghis shoulders, it was easier to run with her at the pace he had set forhimself. And when he held her in this way her hair covered his breastand shoulders so that now and then his face was smothered in thevelvety sweetness of it. The caress of it and the thrill of her armsabout him spurred him on. Once he made three hundred yards. But he wasgulping for breath when he stopped. That time Celie compelled him tolet her run a little farther, and when they paused she was swaying onher feet, and panting. He carried her only a hundred and fifty yards inthe interval after that. Both realized what it meant. The pace wastelling on them. The strain of it was in Celie's eyes. The flower-likeflush of her first exertion was gone from her face. It was pale and alittle haggard, and in Philip's face she saw the beginning of thethings which she did not realize was betraying itself so plainly in herown. She put her hands up to his cheeks, and smiled. It wastremendous--that moment;--her courage, her splendid pride in him, hermanner of telling him that she was not afraid as her little hands layagainst his face. For the first time he gave way to his desire to holdher close to him, and kiss the sweet mouth she held up to his as herhead nestled on his breast.
After a moment or two he looked at his watch. Since striking thestrange trail they had traveled forty minutes. In that tine they hadcovered at least three miles, and were a good four miles from the sceneof the fight. It was a big start. The Eskimos were undoubtedly a halfthat distance behind them, and the stranger whom they were followingcould not be far ahead.
They went on at a walk. For the third time they came to a point in thetrail where the stranger had stopped to make observations. It wasapparent to Philip that the man he was after was not quite sure ofhimself. Yet he did not hesitate in the course due north.
For half an hour they continued in that direction. Not for an instantnow did Philip allow; his caution to lag. Eyes and ears were alert forsound or movement either behind or ahead of them, and more and morefrequently he turned to scan the back trail. They were at least fivemiles from the edge of the open where the fight had occurred when theycame to the foot of a ridge, and Philip's heart gave a sudden thump ofhope. He remembered that ridge. It was a curiously formed"hog-back"--like a great windrow of snow piled up and frozen. Probablyit was miles in length. Somewhere he and Bram had crossed it soon afterpassing the first cabin. He had not tried to tell Celie of this cabin.Time had been too precious. But now, in the short interval of rest heallowed themselves, he drew a picture of it in the snow and made herunderstand that it was somewhere close to the ridge and that it lookedas though the stranger was making for it. He half carried Celie up theridge after that. She could not hide from him that her feet weredragging even at a walk. Exhaustion showed in her face, and once whenshe tried to speak to him her voice broke in a little gasping sob. Onthe far side of the ridge he took her in his arms and carried her again.
"It can't be much farther," he encouraged her. "We've got to overtakehim pretty soon, dear. Mighty soon." Her hand pressed gently againsthis cheek, and he swallowed a thickness that in spite of his effortgathered in his throat. During that last half hour a different look hadcome into her eyes. It was there now as she lay limply with her head onhis breast--a look of unutterable tenderness, and of something else. Itwas that which brought the thickness into his throat. It was not fear.It was the soft glow of a great love--and of understanding. She knewthat even he was almost at the end of his fight. His endurance wasgiving out. One of two things must happen very soon. She continued tostroke his cheek gently until he placed her on her feet again, and thenshe held one of his hands close to her breast as they looked behindthem, and listened. He could feel the soft throbbing of her heart. Ifhe needed greater courage then it was given to him.
They went on. And then, so suddenly that it brought a stifled cry fromthe girl's lips, they came upon the cabin. It was not a hundr
ed yardsfrom them when they first saw it. It was no longer abandoned. A thinspiral of smoke was rising from the chimney. There was no sign of lifeother than that.
For half a minute Philip stared at it. Here, at last, was the finalhope. Life or death, all that the world might hold for him and the girlat his side, was in that cabin. Gently he drew her so that she would beunseen. And then, still looking at the cabin, he drew off his coat anddropped it in the snow. It was the preparation of a man about to fight.The look of it was in his face and the stiffening of his muscles, andwhen he turned to his little companion she was as white as the snowunder her feet.
"We're in time," he breathed. "You--you stay here."
She understood. Her hands clutched at him as he left her. A gulp rosein her throat. She wanted to call out. She wanted to hold him back--orgo with him. Yet she obeyed. She stood with a heart that choked her andwatched him go. For she knew, after all, that it was the thing to do.Sobbingly she breathed his name. It was a prayer. For she knew whatwould happen in the cabin.