He did not examine too closely there.  From the man he had struck with his naked fist he outfitted himself with a hood and temiak, or coat.  In the temiak there were no pockets, but at the waist of each of the dead men a narwhal skin pouch which answered for all pockets.  He tossed the three pouches in a little heap on the snow before he searched for weapons.  He found two knives and half a dozen of the murderous little javelins.  One of the knives was still clutched in the hand of the Eskimo who was creeping up to disembowel him when Celie’s revolver saved him.  He took this knife because it was longer and sharper than the other.

On his knees he began to examine the contents of the three pouches.  In each was the inevitable roll of babiche, or caribou-skin cord, and a second and smaller waterproof narwhal bag in which were the Kogmollock fire materials.  There was no food.  This fact was evident proof that the Eskimos were in camp somewhere in the vicinity.  He had finished his investigation of the pouches when, looking up from his kneeling posture, he saw Celie approaching.

In spite of the grimness of the situation he could not repress a smile as 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 the sealskin bashlyk was so large that it almost entirely concealed her face except when one was very close to her.  Philip’s first assistance was to roll back the front of the hood.  Then he pulled her thick braid out from under the coat and loosed the shining glory of her hair until it enveloped her in a wonderful shimmering mantle.  Their enemies could not mistake her for a man now, even at a hundred yards.  If they ran into an ambuscade she would at least be saved from the javelins.

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