paused she was swaying on her feet, and panting.  He carried her only a hundred and fifty yards in the interval after that.  Both realized what it meant.  The pace was telling on them.  The strain of it was in Celie’s eyes.  The flower-like flush of her first exertion was gone from her face.  It was pale and a little haggard, and in Philip’s face she saw the beginning of the things which she did not realize was betraying itself so plainly in her own.  She put her hands up to his cheeks, and smiled.  It was tremendous—­ that moment;—­her courage, her splendid pride in him, her manner of telling him that she was not afraid as her little hands lay against his face.  For the first time he gave way to his desire to hold her close to him, and kiss the sweet mouth she held up to his as her head nestled on his breast.

After a moment or two he looked at his watch.  Since striking the strange trail they had traveled forty minutes.  In that tine they had covered at least three miles, and were a good four miles from the scene of the fight.  It was a big start.  The Eskimos were undoubtedly a half that distance behind them, and the stranger whom they were following could not be far ahead.

They went on at a walk.  For the third time they came to a point in the trail where the stranger had stopped to make observations.  It was apparent to Philip that the man he was after was not quite sure of himself.  Yet he did not hesitate in the course due north.

For half an hour they continued in that direction.  Not for an instant now did Philip allow; his caution to lag.  Eyes and ears were alert for sound or movement either behind or ahead of them, and more and more frequently he turned to scan the back trail.  They were at least five miles from the edge of the open where the fight had occurred when they came to the foot of a ridge, and Philip’s heart gave a sudden thump of hope.  He remembered that ridge.  It was a curiously formed “hog-back”—­like a great windrow of snow piled up and frozen.  Probably it was miles in length.  Somewhere he and Bram had crossed it soon after passing the first cabin.  He had not tried to tell Celie of this cabin.  Time had been too precious.  But now, in the short interval of rest he allowed themselves, he drew a picture of it in the snow and made her understand that it was somewhere close to the ridge and that it looked as though the stranger was making for it.  He half carried Celie up the ridge after that.  She could not hide from him that her feet were dragging even at a walk.  Exhaustion showed in her face, and once when she tried to speak to him her voice broke in a little gasping sob.  On the far side of the ridge he took her in his arms and carried her again.