CHAPTER XVII
It seemed to Philip, as he stood with the club ready in his hand, thatthe world had ceased to breathe in its anticipation of the thing forwhich he was waiting--and listening. The wind had dropped dead. Therewas not a rustle in the tree-tops, not a sound to break the stillness.The silence, so close after storm, was an Arctic phenomenon which didnot astonish him, and yet the effect of it was almost painfullygripping. Minor sounds began to impress themselves on his senses--thesoft murmur of the falling snow, his own breath, the pounding of hisheart. He tried to throw off the strange feeling that oppressed him,but it was impossible. Out there in the darkness he would have swornthat there were eyes and ears strained as his own were strained. Andthe darkness was lifting. Shadows began to disentangle themselves fromthe gray chaos. Trees and bushes took form, and over his head the lastheavy windrows of clouds shouldered their way out of the sky.
Still, as the twilight of dawn took the place of night, he did notmove, except to draw himself a little closer into the shelter of thescrub spruce behind which he had hidden himself. He wondered if Celiewould be frightened at his absence. But he could not compel himself togo on--or back. SOMETHING WAS COMING! He was as positive of it as hewas of the fact that night was giving place to day. Yet he could seenothing--hear nothing. It was light enough now for him to see movementfifty yards away, and he kept his eyes fastened on the little openacross which their trail had come. If Olaf Anderson the Swede had beenthere he might have told him of another night like this, and anothervigil. For Olaf had learned that the Eskimos, like the wolves, trailtwo by two and four by four, and that--again like the wolves--theypursue not ON the trail but with the trail between them.
But it was the trail that Philip watched; and as he kept hisvigil--that inexplicable mental undercurrent telling him that hisenemies were coming--his mind went back sharply to the girl a hundredyards behind him. The acuteness of the situation sent question afterquestion rushing through his mind, even as he gripped his club, For herhe was about to fight. For her he was ready to kill, and not afraid todie. He loved her. And yet--she was a mystery. He had held her in hisarms, had felt her heart beating against his breast, had kissed herlips and her eyes and her hair, and her response had been to placeherself utterly within the shelter of his arms. She had given herselfto him and he was possessed of the strength of one about to fight forhis own. And with that strength the questions pounded again in hishead. Who was she? And for what reason were mysterious enemies comingafter her through the gray dawn?
In that moment he heard a sound. His heart stood suddenly still. Heheld his breath. It was a sound almost indistinguishable from thewhisper of the air and the trees and yet it smote upon his senses likethe detonation of a thunder-clap. It was more of a PRESENCE than asound. The trail was clear. He could see to the far side of the opennow, and there was no movement. He turned his head--slowly and withoutmovement of his body, and in that instant a gasp rose to his lips, anddied there. Scarcely a dozen paces from him stood a poised and hoodedfigure, a squat, fire-eyed apparition that looked more like monsterthan man in that first glance. Something acted within him that wasswifter than reason--a sub-conscious instinct that works forself-preservation like the flash of powder in a pan. It was thissub-conscious self that received the first photographic impression--thestrange poise of the hooded creature, the uplifted arm, the cold,streaky gleam of something in the dawn-light, and in response to thatimpression Philip's physical self crumpled down in the snow as ajavelin hissed through the space where his head and shoulders had been.
So infinitesimal was the space of time between the throwing of thejavelin and Philip's movement that the Eskimo believed he hadtransfixed his victim. A scream of triumph rose in his throat. It wasthe Kogmollock sakootwow--the blood-cry, a single shriek that split theair for a mile. It died in another sort of cry. From where he haddropped Philip was up like a shot. His club swung through the air andbefore the amazed hooded creature could dart either to one side or theother it had fallen with crushing force. That one blow must havesmashed his shoulder to a pulp. As the body lurched downward anotherblow caught the hooded head squarely and the beginning of a second cryended in a sickening grunt. The force of the blow carried Philip halfoff his feet, and before he could recover himself two other figures hadrushed upon him from out of the gloom. Their cries as they came at himwere like the cries of beasts. Philip had no time to use his club. Fromhis unbalanced position he flung himself upward and at the nearest ofhis enemies, saving himself from the upraised javelin by clinching. Hisfist shot out and caught the Eskimo squarely in the mouth. He struckagain--and the javelin dropped from the Kogmollock's hand. In thatmoment, every vein in his body pounding with the rage and excitement ofbattle, Philip let out a yell. The end of it was stifled by a pair offurry arms. His head snapped back--and he was down.
A thrill of horror shot through him. It was the one unconquerablefighting trick of the Eskimos--that neck hold. Caught from behind therewas no escape from it. It was the age-old sasaki-wechikun, orsacrifice-hold, an inheritance that came down from father to son--theArctic jiu-jitsu by which one Kogmollock holds the victim helplesswhile a second cuts out his heart. Flat on his back, with his head andshoulders bent under him, Philip lay still for a single instant. Heheard the shrill command of the Eskimo over him--an exhortation for theother to hurry up with the knife. And then, even as he heard a gruntingreply, his hand came in contact with the pocket which held Celie'slittle revolver. He drew it quickly, cocked it under his back, andtwisting his arm until the elbow-joint cracked, he fired. It was achance shot. The powder-flash burned the murderous, thick-lipped facein the sealskin hood. There was no cry, no sound that Philip heard. Butthe arms relaxed about his neck. He rolled over and sprang to his feet.Three or four paces from him was the Eskimo he had struck, crawlingtoward him on his hands and knees, still dazed by the blows he hadreceived. In the snow Philip saw his club. He picked it up and replacedthe revolver in his pocket. A single blow as the groggy Eskimostaggered to his feet and the fight was over.
It had taken perhaps three or four minutes--no longer than that. Hisenemies lay in three dark and motionless heaps in the snow. Fate hadplayed a strong hand with him. Almost by a miracle he had escaped andat least two of the Eskimos were dead.
He was still watchful, still guarding against a further attack, andsuddenly he whirled to face a figure that brought from him a cry ofastonishment and alarm. It was Celie. She was standing ten paces fromhim, and in the wild terror that had brought her to him she had leftthe bearskin behind. Her naked feet were buried in the snow. Her arms,partly bared, were reaching out to him in the gray Arctic dawn, andthen wildly and moaningly there came to him--
"Philip--Philip--"
He sprang to her, a choking cry on his own lips. This, after all, wasthe last proof--when she had thought that their enemies were killinghim SHE HAD COME TO HIM. He was sobbing her name like a boy as he ranback with her in his arms. Almost fiercely he wrapped the bearskinabout her again, and then crushed her so closely in his arms that hecould hear her gasping faintly for breath. In that wild and gloriousmoment he listened. A cold and leaden day was breaking over the worldand as they listened their hearts throbbing against each other, thesame sound came to them both.
It was the sakootwow--the savage, shrieking blood-cry of theKogmollocks, a scream that demanded an answer of the three hoodedcreatures who, a few minutes before, had attacked Philip in the edge ofthe open. The cry came from perhaps a mile away. And then, faintly, itwas answered far to the west. For a moment Philip pressed his face downto Celie's. In his heart was a prayer, for he knew that the fight hadonly begun.
The Golden Snare Page 17