Out in the corral Philip heard Bram Johnson’s laugh.  It was a mockery—­a challenge.  In an instant every drop of blood in his body answered it in a surge of blind rage.  He sprang to the stove, snatched up a length of firewood, and in another moment was at the door.  As he opened it and ran out he heard Celie’s wild appeal for him to stop.  It was almost a scream.  Before he had taken a dozen steps from the cabin he realized what the warning meant.  The pack had seen him and from the end of the corral came rushing at him in a thick mass.

This time Bram Johnson’s voice did not stop them.  He saw Philip, and from the doorway Celie looked upon the scene while the blood froze in her veins.  She screamed—­and in the same breath came the wolf-man’s laugh.  Philip heard both as he swung the stick of firewood over his head and sent it hurling toward the pack.  The chance accuracy of the throw gave him an instant’s time in which to turn and make a dash for the cabin.  It was Celie who slammed the door shut as he sprang through.  Swift as a flash she shot the bolt, and there came the lunge of heavy bodies outside.  They could hear the snapping of jaws and the snarling whine of the beasts.  Philip had never seen a face whiter than the girl’s had gone.  She covered it with her hands, and he could see her trembling.  A bit of a sob broke hysterically from her lips.

He knew of what she was thinking—­the horrible thing she was hiding from her eyes.  It was plain enough to him now.  Twenty seconds more and they would have had him.  And then—­

He drew in a deep breath and gently uncovered her face.  Her hands shivered in his.  And then a great throb of joy repaid him for his venture into the jaws of death as he saw the way in which her beautiful eyes were looking at him.

“Celie—­my little mystery girl—­I’ve discovered something,” he cried huskily, holding her hands so tightly that it must have hurt her.  “I’m almost glad you can’t understand me, for I wouldn’t blame you for being afraid of a man who told you he loved you an hour or two after he first saw you.  I love you.  I’ve never wanted anything in all my life as I want you.  And I must be careful and not let you know it, mustn’t I?  If I did you’d think I was some kind of an animal-brute—­like Bram.  Wouldn’t you?”

Bram’s voice came in a sharp rattle of Eskimo outside.  Philip could hear the snarling rebellion of the wolves as they slunk away from the cabin, and he drew Celie back from the door.  Suddenly she freed her hands, ran to the door and slipped back the wooden bolt as the wolf-man’s hand fumbled at the latch.  In a moment she was back at his side.  When Bram entered every muscle in Philip’s body was prepared for action.  He was amazed at the wolf-man’s unconcern.  He was mumbling and chuckling to himself, as if amused at what he had seen.  Celie’s little fingers dug into Philip’s arm and he saw in her eyes a tense, staring look that had not been there before.  It was as if in Bram’s face and his queer mumbling she had recognized something which was not apparent to him.  Suddenly she left him and hurried into her room.  During the few moments she was gone Bram did not look once at Philip.  His mumbling was incessant.  Perhaps a minute passed before the girl reappeared.