She could not have missed that.  And he was not sorry.  For him. there was an unspeakable thrill in the thought that to a woman, no matter under what sun she is born, there is at least one emotion whose understanding needs no words of speech.  And as he had talked to her, sublimely confident that she could not understand him, she had read the betrayal in his face.  He was sure of it.  And so he talked about cartridges.  He talked, he told himself afterwards, like an excited imbecile.

There were no more cartridges.  Celie made him understand that.  All they possessed were the four that remained in the revolver.  As a matter of fact this discovery did not disturb him greatly.  At close quarters he would prefer a good club to the pop-gun.  Such a club, in the event of a rush attack by the Eskimos, was an important necessity, and he began looking about the cabin to see what he could lay his hands on.  He thought of the sapling cross-pieces in Bram’s bunk against the wall and tore one out.  It was four feet in length and as big around as his fist at one end while at the other it tapered down so that he could grip it easily with his hands.

“Now we’re ready for them,” he said, testing the poise and swing of the club as he stood in the center of the room.  “Unless they burn us out they’ll never get through that door.  I’m promising you that—­s’elp me God I am, Celie!”

As she looked at him a flush burned in her cheeks.  He was eager to fight—­it seemed to her that he was almost hoping for the attack at the door.  It made her splendidly unafraid, and suddenly she laughed softly—­a nervous, unexpected little laugh which she could not hold back, and he turned quickly to catch the warm glow in her eyes.  Something went up into his throat as she stood there looking at him like that.  He had never seen any one quite so beautiful.  He dropped his club, and held out his hand.

“Let’s shake, Celie,” he said.  “I’m mighty glad you understand—­ we’re pals.”

Unhesitatingly she gave him her hand, and in spite of the fact that death lurked outside they smiled into each other’s eyes.  After that she went into her room.  For half an hour Philip did not see her again.

During that half hour he measured up the situation more calmly.  He realized that the exigency was tremendously serious, and that until now he had not viewed it with the dispassionate coolness that characterized the service of the uniform he wore.  Celie was accountable for that.  He confessed the fact to himself, not without a certain pleasurable satisfaction.  He had allowed her presence, and his thoughts of her, to fill the adventure completely for him, and as a result they were now facing an appalling danger.  If he had followed his own judgment, and had made Bram Johnson a prisoner, as he should have done in his line of duty, matters would have stood differently.