“It’s up to you,” he said coolly to Philip.  “Our trail crosses through that timber—­and you see the smoke.  I imagine there are about twenty of Upi’s men there feeding on caribou.  The herd was close beyond when they made the kill.  Now if we go on they’re most likely to see us, or their dogs get wind of us—­and Upi is a bloodthirsty old cutthroat.  I don’t want that bullet through my gizzard, so I’m tellin’ you.”

Far back in Blake’s eyes there lurked a gleam which Philip did not like.  Blake was not a man easily frightened, and yet he had given what appeared to be fair warning to his enemy.

He came a step nearer, and said in a lower voice: 

“Raine, that’s just one of Upi’s crowds.  If you go on to the cabin we’re heading for there’ll be two hundred fighting men after you before the day is over, and they’ll get you whether you kill me or not.  You’ve still got the chance I gave you back there.  Take it—­ if you ain’t tired of life.  Give me the girl—­an’ you hit out across the Barren with the team.”

“We’re going on,” replied Philip, meeting the other’s gaze steadily.  “You know your little murderers, Blake.  If any one can get past them without being seen it’s you.  And you’ve got to do it.  I’ll kill you if you don’t.  The Eskimos may get us after that, but they won’t harm her in your way.  Understand?  We’re going the limit in this game.  And I figure you’re putting up the biggest stake.  I’ve got a funny sort of feeling that you’re going to cash in before we reach the cabin.”

For barely an instant the mysterious gleam far back in Blake’s eyes died out.  There was the hard, low note in Philip’s voice which carried conviction and Blake knew he was ready to play the hand which he held.  With a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders he stirred up the dogs with a crack of his whip and struck out at their head due west.  During the next half hour Philip’s eyes and ears were ceaselessly on the alert.  He traveled close to Blake, with the big Colt in his hand, watching every hummock and bit of cover as they came to it.  He also watched Blake and in the end was convinced that in the back of the outlaw’s head was a sinister scheme in which he had the utmost confidence in spite of his threats and the fact that they had successfully got around Upi’s camp.  Once or twice when their eyes happened to meet he caught in Blake’s face a contemptuous coolness, almost a sneering exultation which the other could not quite conceal.  It filled him with a scarcely definable uneasiness.  He was positive that Blake realized he would carry out his threat at the least sign of treachery or the appearance of an enemy, and yet he could not free himself from the uncomfortable oppression that was beginning to take hold of him.  He concealed it from Blake.  He tried to fight it out of himself.  Yet it persisted.  It was something which seemed to hover in the air about him—­the feel of a danger which he could not see.