The Golden Snare

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XVIII

  That the Eskimos both to the east and the west were more than likely tocome their way, converging toward the central cry that was now silent,Philip was sure. In the brief interval in which he had to act hedetermined to make use of his fallen enemies. This he impressed onCelie's alert mind before he ran back to the scene of the fight. Hemade no more than a swift observation of the field in these firstmoments--did not even look for weapons. His thought was entirely ofCelie. The smallest of the three forms on the snow was the Kogmollockhe had struck down with his club. He dropped on his knees and took offfirst the sealskin bashlyk, or hood. Then he began stripping the deadman of his other garments. From the fur coat to the caribou-skinmoccasins they were comparatively new. With them in his arms he hurriedback to the girl.

  It was not a time for fine distinctions. The clothes were a godsend,though they had come from a dead man's back, and an Eskimo's at that.Celie's eyes shone with joy. It amazed him more than ever to see howunafraid she was in this hour of great danger. She was busy with theclothes almost before his back was turned.

  He returned to the Eskimos. The three were dead. It made himshudder--one with a tiny bullet hole squarely between the eyes, and theothers crushed by the blows of the club. His hand fondled Celie'slittle revolver--the pea-shooter he had laughed at. After all it hadsaved his life. And the club--

  He did not examine too closely there. From the man he had struck withhis naked fist he outfitted himself with a hood and temiak, or coat. Inthe temiak there were no pockets, but at the waist of each of the deadmen a narwhal skin pouch which answered for all pockets. He tossed thethree pouches in a little heap on the snow before he searched forweapons. He found two knives and half a dozen of the murderous littlejavelins. One of the knives was still clutched in the hand of theEskimo who was creeping up to disembowel him when Celie's revolversaved him. He took this knife because it was longer and sharper thanthe other.

  On his knees he began to examine the contents of the three pouches. Ineach was the inevitable roll of babiche, or caribou-skin cord, and asecond and smaller waterproof narwhal bag in which were the Kogmollockfire materials. There was no food. This fact was evident proof that theEskimos were in camp somewhere in the vicinity. He had finished hisinvestigation of the pouches when, looking up from his kneelingposture, he saw Celie approaching.

  In spite of the grimness of the situation he could not repress a smileas he rose to greet her. At fifty paces, even with her face toward him,one would easily make the error of mistaking her for an Eskimo, as thesealskin bashlyk was so large that it almost entirely concealed herface except when one was very close to her. Philip's first assistancewas to roll back the front of the hood. Then he pulled her thick braidout from under the coat and loosed the shining glory of her hair untilit enveloped her in a wonderful shimmering mantle. Their enemies couldnot mistake her for a man NOW, even at a hundred yards. If they raninto an ambuscade she would at least be saved from the javelins.

  Celie scarcely realized what he was doing. She was staring at the deadmen--silent proof of the deadly menace that had threatened them and ofthe terrific fight Philip must have made. A strange note rose in herthroat, and turning toward him suddenly she flung herself into hisarms. Her own arms encircled his neck, and for a space she layshudderingly against his breast, as if sobbing. How many times hekissed her in those moments Philip could not have told. It must havebeen a great many. He knew only that her arms were clinging tighter andtighter about his neck, and that she was whispering his name, and thathis hands were buried in her soft hair. He forgot time, forgot thepossible cost of precious seconds lost. It was a small thing thatrecalled him to his senses. From out of a spruce top a handful of snowfell on his shoulder. It startled him like the touch of a strange hand,and in another moment he was explaining swiftly to Celie that therewere other enemies near and that they must lose no time in flight.

  He fastened one of the pouches at his waist, picked up his club,and--on second thought--one of the Kogmollock javelins. He had no verydefinite idea of how he might use the latter weapon, as it was tooslender to be of much avail as a spear at close quarters. At a dozenpaces he might possibly throw it with some degree of accuracy. In aKogmollock's hand it was a deadly weapon at a hundred paces. With thedetermination to be at his side when the next fight came Celiepossessed herself of a second javelin. With her hand in his Philip setout then due north through the forest.

  It was in that direction he knew the cabin must lay. After striking theedge of the timber after crossing the Barren Bram Johnson had turnedalmost directly south, and as he remembered the last lap of the journeyPhilip was confident that not more than eight or ten miles hadseparated the two cabins. He regretted now his carelessness in notwatching Brain's trail more closely in that last hour or two. His chiefhope of finding the cabin was in the discovery of some landmark at theedge of the Barren. He recalled distinctly where they had turned intothe forest, and in less than half an hour after that they had come uponthe first cabin.

  Their immediate necessity was not so much the finding of the cabin asescape from the Eskimos. Within half an hour, perhaps even less, hebelieved that other eyes would know of the fight at the edge of theopen. It was inevitable. If the Kogmollocks on either side of themstruck the trail before it reached the open they would very soon runupon the dead, and if they came upon footprints in the snow this sideof the open they would back-trail swiftly to learn the source andmeaning of the cry of triumph that had not repeated itself. Celie'slittle feet, clad in moccasins twice too big for her, dragged in thesnow in a way that would leave no doubt in the Eskimo mind. As Philipsaw the situation there was one chance for them, and only one. Theycould not escape by means of strategy. They could not hide from theirpursuers. Hope depended entirely upon the number of their enemies. Ifthere were only three or four of them left they would not attack in theopen. In that event he must watch for ambuscade, and dread the night.He looked down at Celie, buried in her furry coat and hood and ploddingalong courageously at his side with her hand in his. This was not atime in which to question him, and she was obeying his guidance withthe faith of a child. It was tremendous, he thought--the most wonderfulmoment that had ever entered into his life. It is this dependence, thissublime faith and confidence in him of the woman he loves that gives toa man the strength of a giant in the face of a great crisis and makeshim put up a tiger's fight for her. For such a woman a man must win.And then Philip noticed how tightly Celie's other hand was gripping thejavelin with which she had armed herself. She was ready to fight, too.The thrill of it all made him laugh, and her eyes shot up to himsuddenly, filled with a moment's wonder that he should be laughing now.She must have understood, for the big hood hid her face again almostinstantly, and her fingers tightened the smallest bit about his.

  For a matter of a quarter of an hour they traveled as swiftly as Celiecould walk. Philip was confident that the Eskimo whose cries they hadheard would strike directly for the point whence the first cry hadcome, and it was his purpose to cover as much distance as possible inthe first few minutes that their enemies might be behind them. It waseasier to watch the back trail than to guard against ambuscades ahead.Twice in that time he stopped where they would be unseen and lookedback, and in advancing he picked out the thinnest timber and evadedwhatever might have afforded a hiding place to a javelin-thrower. Theyhad progressed another half mile when suddenly they came upon asnowshoe trail in the snow.

  It had crossed at right angles to their own course, and as Philip bentover it a sudden lump rose into his throat. The other Eskimos had notworn snowshoes. That in itself had not surprised him, for the snow washard and easily traveled in moccasins. The fact that amazed him now wasthat the trail under his eyes had not been made by Eskimo usamuks. Thetracks were long and narrow. The web imprint in the snow was not thatof the broad narwhal strip, but the finer mesh of babiche. It waspossible that an Eskimo was wearing them, but they were A WHITE MAN'SSHOES!

  And then he made another discovery. For
a dozen paces he followed inthe trail, allowing six inches with each step he took as the snowshoehandicap. Even at that he could not easily cover the tracks. The manwho had made them had taken a longer snowshoe stride than his own by atleast nine inches. He could no longer keep the excitement of hisdiscovery from Celie.

  "The Eskimo never lived who could make that track," he exclaimed. "Theycan travel fast enough but they're a bunch of runts when it comes toleg-swing. It's a white man--or Bram!"

  The announcement of the wolf-man's name and Philip's gesture toward thetrail drew a quick little cry of understanding from Celie. In a flashshe had darted to the snowshoe tracks and was examining them with eagerintensity. Then she looked up and shook her head. It wasn't Bram! Shepointed to the tail of the shoe and catching up a twig broke it underPhilip's eyes. He remembered now. The end of Bram's shoes was snubbedshort off. There was no evidence of that defect in the snow. It was notBram who had passed that way.

  For a space he stood undecided. He knew that Celie was watchinghim--that she was trying to learn something of the tremendoussignificance of that moment from his face. The same unseen force thathad compelled him to wait and watch for his foes a short time beforeseemed urging him now to follow the strange snowshoe trail. Enemy orfriend the maker of those tracks would at least be armed. The thoughtof what a rifle and a few cartridges would mean to him and Celie nowbrought a low cry of decision from him. He turned quickly to Celie.

  "He's going east--and we ought to go north to find the cabin," he toldher, pointing to the trail. "But we'll follow him. I want his rifle. Iwant it more than anything else in this world, now that I've got you.We'll follow--"

  If there had been a shadow of hesitation in his mind it was ended inthat moment. From behind them there came a strange hooting cry. It wasnot a yell such as they had heard before. It was a booming far-reachingnote that had in it the intonation of a drum--a sound that made oneshiver because of its very strangeness. And then, from farther west, itcame--

  "Hoom--Hoom--Ho-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m--"

  In the next half minute it seemed to Philip that the cry was answeredfrom half a dozen different quarters. Then again it came from directlybehind them.

  Celie uttered a little gasp as she clung to his hand again. Sheunderstood as well as he. One of the Eskimos had discovered the deadand their foes were gathering in behind them.