“He’s going east—­and we ought to go north to find the cabin,” he told her, pointing to the trail.  “But we’ll follow him.  I want his rifle.  I want it more than anything else in this world, now that I’ve got you.  We’ll follow—­”

If there had been a shadow of hesitation in his mind it was ended in that moment.  From behind them there came a strange hooting cry.  It was not a yell such as they had heard before.  It was a booming far-reaching note that had in it the intonation of a drum—­a sound that made one shiver because of its very strangeness.  And then, from farther west, it came—­

“Hoom—­Hoom—­Ho-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m—­”

In the next half minute it seemed to Philip that the cry was answered from half a dozen different quarters.  Then again it came from directly behind them.

Celie uttered a little gasp as she clung to his hand again.  She understood as well as he.  One of the Eskimos had discovered the dead and their foes were gathering in behind them.

CHAPTER XIX

Before the last of the cries had died away Philip flung far to one side of the trail the javelin he carried, and followed it up with Celie’s, impressing on her that every ounce of additional weight meant a handicap for them now.  After the javelins went his club.

“It’s going to be the biggest race I’ve ever run,” he smiled at her.  “And we’ve got to win.  If we don’t—­”

Celie’s eyes were aglow as she looked at him, He was splendidly calm.  There was no longer a trace of excitement in his face, and he was smiling at her even as he picked her up suddenly in his arms.  The movement was so unexpected that she gave a little gasp.  Then she found herself borne swiftly over the trail.  For a distance of a hundred yards Philip ran with her before he placed her on her feet again.  In no better way could he have impressed on her that they were partners in a race against death and that every energy must be expended in that race.  Scarcely had her feet touched the snow than she was running at his side, her hand clasped in his.  Barely a second was lost.

With the swift directness of the trained man-hunter Philip had measured his chances of winning.  The Eskimos, first of all, would gather about their dead.  After one or two formalities they would join in a chattering council, all of which meant precious time for them.  The pursuit would be more or less cautious because of the bullet hole in the Kogmollock’s forehead.

If it had been possible for Celie to ask him just what he expected to gain by following the strange snowshoe trail he would have had difficulty in answering.  It was, like his single shot with Celie’s little revolver, a chance gamble against big odds.  A number of possibilities had suggested themselves to him.  It even occurred to him that the man who was hurrying toward the east might be a member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.  Of one thing, however, he was confident.  The maker of the tracks would not be armed with javelins.  He would have a rifle.  Friend or foe, he was after that rifle.  The trick was to catch sight of him at the earliest possible moment.