How much of a lead the stranger had was a matter at which he could guess with considerable accuracy.  The freshness of the trail was only slightly dimmed by snow, which was ample proof that it had been made at the very tail-end of the storm.  He believed that it was not more than an hour old.

For a good two hundred yards Philip set a dog-trot pace for Celie, who ran courageously at his side.  At the end of that distance he stopped.  Celie was panting for breath.  Her hood had slipped back and her face was flushed like a wildflower by her exertion.  Her eyes shone like stars, and her lips were parted a little.  She was temptingly lovely, but again Philip lost not a second of unnecessary time.  He picked her up in his arms again and continued the race.  By using every ounce of his own strength and endurance in this way he figured that their progress would be at least a third faster than the Eskimos would follow.  The important question was how long he could keep up the pace.

Against his breast Celie was beginning to understand his scheme as plainly as if he had explained it to her in words.  At the end of the fourth hundred yards she let him know that she was ready to run another lap.  He carried her on fifty yards more before he placed her on her feet.  In this way they had gone three-quarters of a mile when the trail turned abruptly from its easterly course to a point of the compass due north.  So sharp was the turn that Philip paused to investigate the sudden change in direction.  The stranger had evidently stood for several minutes at this point, which was close to the blasted stub of a dead spruce.  In the snow Philip observed for the first time a number of dark brown spots.

“Here is where he took a new bearing—­and a chew of tobacco,” said Philip, more to himself than to Celie.  “And there’s no snow in his tracks.  By George, I don’t believe he’s got more than half an hour’s start of us this minute!”

It was his turn to carry Celie again, and in spite of her protest that she was still good for another run he resumed their pursuit of the stranger with her in his arms.  By her quick breathing and the bit of tenseness that had gathered about her mouth he knew that the exertion she had already been put to was having its effect on her.  For her little feet and slender body the big moccasins and cumbersome fur garments she wore were a burden in themselves, even at a walk.  He found that by holding her higher in his arms, with her own arms encircling his shoulders, it was easier to run with her at the pace he had set for himself.  And when he held her in this way her hair covered his breast and shoulders so that now and then his face was smothered in the velvety sweetness of it.  The caress of it and the thrill of her arms about him spurred him on.  Once he made three hundred yards.  But he was gulping for breath when he stopped.  That time Celie compelled him to let her run a little farther, and when they