He fastened one of the pouches at his waist, picked up his club, and—­on second thought—­one of the Kogmollock javelins.  He had no very definite idea of how he might use the latter weapon, as it was too slender to be of much avail as a spear at close quarters.  At a dozen paces he might possibly throw it with some degree of accuracy.  In a Kogmollock’s hand it was a deadly weapon at a hundred paces.  With the determination to be at his side when the next fight came Celie possessed herself of a second javelin.  With her hand in his Philip set out then due north through the forest.

It was in that direction he knew the cabin must lay.  After striking the edge of the timber after crossing the Barren Bram Johnson had turned almost directly south, and as he remembered the last lap of the journey Philip was confident that not more than eight or ten miles had separated the two cabins.  He regretted now his carelessness in not watching Brain’s trail more closely in that last hour or two.  His chief hope of finding the cabin was in the discovery of some landmark at the edge of the Barren.  He recalled distinctly where they had turned into the forest, and in less than half an hour after that they had come upon the first cabin.

Their immediate necessity was not so much the finding of the cabin as escape from the Eskimos.  Within half an hour, perhaps even less, he believed that other eyes would know of the fight at the edge of the open.  It was inevitable.  If the Kogmollocks on either side of them struck the trail before it reached the open they would very soon run upon the dead, and if they came upon footprints in the snow this side of the open they would back-trail swiftly to learn the source and meaning of the cry of triumph that had not repeated itself.  Celie’s little feet, clad in moccasins twice too big for her, dragged in the snow in a way that would leave no doubt in the Eskimo mind.  As Philip saw the situation there was one chance for them, and only one.  They could not escape by means of strategy.  They could not hide from their pursuers.  Hope depended entirely upon the number of their enemies.  If there were only three or four of them left they would not attack in the open.  In that event he must watch for ambuscade, and dread the night.  He looked down at Celie, buried in her furry coat and hood and plodding along courageously at his side with her hand in his.  This was not a time in which to question him, and she was obeying his guidance with the faith of a child.  It was tremendous, he thought—­the most wonderful moment that had ever entered into his life.  It is this dependence, this sublime faith and confidence in him of the woman he loves that gives to a man the strength of a giant in the face of a great crisis and makes him put up a tiger’s fight for her.  For such a woman a man must win.  And then Philip noticed how tightly Celie’s other hand was gripping the javelin with which she had armed herself.  She was ready to fight, too.  The thrill of it all made him laugh, and her eyes shot up to him suddenly, filled with a moment’s wonder that he should be laughing now.  She must have understood, for the big hood hid her face again almost instantly, and her fingers tightened the smallest bit about his.