For several minutes after Celie had disappeared into her room he studied the actions of the wolves in the corral.  A short time before he had considered a method of ridding himself of Bram’s watchful beasts.  Now he regarded them as the one greatest protection they possessed.  There were seven left.  He was confident they would give warning the moment the Eskimos approached the stockade again.  But would their enemies return?  The fact that only one man had attacked the wolves at a time was almost convincing evidence that they were very few in number—­perhaps only a scouting party of three or four.  Otherwise, if they had come in force, they would have made short work of the pack.  The thought became a positive conviction as he looked through the window.  Bram had fallen a victim to a single javelin, and the scouting party of Kogmollocks had attempted to complete their triumph by carrying Celie back with them to the main body.  Foiled in this attempt, and with the knowledge that a new and armed enemy opposed them, they were possibly already on their way for re-enforcements.

If this were so there could be but one hope—­and that was an immediate escape from the cabin.  And between the cabin door and the freedom of the forest were Bram’s seven wolves!

A feeling of disgust, almost of anger, swept over him as he drew Celie’s little revolver from his pocket and held it in the palm of his hand.  There were four cartridges left.  But what would they avail against that horde of beasts!  They would stop them no more than so many pin-pricks.  And what even would the club avail?  Against two or three he might put up a fight.  But against seven—­

He cursed Bram under his breath.  It was curious that in that same instant the thought flashed upon him that the wolf-man might not have fallen a victim to the Eskimos.  Was it not possible that the spying Kogmollocks had seen him go away on the hunt, and had taken advantage of the opportunity to attack the cabin?  They had evidently thought their task would be an easy one.  What Philip saw through the window set his pulse beating quickly with the belief that this last conjecture was the true one.  The world outside was turning dark.  The sky was growing thick and low.  In half an hour a storm would break.  The Eskimos had foreseen that storm.  They knew that the trail taken in their flight, after they had possessed themselves of the girl, would very soon be hidden from the eyes of Bram and the keen scent of his wolves.  So they had taken the chance—­the chance to make Celie their prisoner before Bram returned.