Cautiously he took another look at Bram’s wolves.  The last javelin had transfixed another of their number and the animal was dragging itself toward the center of the corral.  The remaining seven were a dozen yards on the other side of the gate now, leaping and snarling at the stockade, and he knew that the next attack would come from there.  He sprang to the door.  Celie was only a step behind him as he ran out, and was close at his side when he peered around the end of the cabin.

“They must not see you,” he made her understand.  “It won’t do any good and when they see another man they may possibly get the idea in their heads that you’re not here.  There can’t be many of them or they’d make quicker work of the wolves.  I should say not more than—­”

“Se!  Se!”

The warning came in a low cry from Celie’s lips.  A dark head was appearing slowly above the top of the stockade, and Philip darted suddenly out into the open.  The Eskimo did not see him, and Philip waited until he was on the point of hurling his javelin before he made a sound.  Then he gave a roar that almost split his throat.  In the same instant he began firing.  The crack of his pistol and the ferocious outcry he made sent the Eskimo off the stockade like a ball hit by a club.  The pack, maddened by their inability to reach their enemies, turned like a flash.  Warned by one experience, Philip hustled Celie into the cabin.  They were scarcely over the threshold when the wolves were at the door.

“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.  At least I hope I didn’t.  If they ever find out the size of this pea-shooter’s sting they’ll sit up there like a row of crows and laugh at us.  But—­what a bully noise it made!”

He was blissfully unmindful of danger as he held her in the crook of his arm, looking straight into her lovely face as he talked.  It was a moment of splendid hypocrisy.  He knew that in her excitement and the tremendous effort she was making to understand something of what he was saying that she was unconscious of his embrace.  That, and the joyous thrill of the situation, sent the hot blood into his face.

“I’m dangerously near to going the limit,” he told her, speaking with a seriousness that would impress her.  “I’d fight twenty of those little devils single-handed to know just how you’d take it, and I’d fight another dozen to know who that fellow is in the picture.  I’m tempted right now to hug you up close, and kiss you, and let you know how I feel.  I’d like to do that—­before—­ anything happens.  But would you understand?  That’s it—­would you understand that I love every inch of you from the ground up or would you think I was just beast?  That’s what I’m afraid of.  But I’d like to let you know before I have to put up the big fight for you.  And it’s coming—­if they’ve got Bram.  They’ll break down the gate to-night, or burn it, and with the wolves out of the way they’ll rush the cabin.  And then—­”