“You mean—­” he cried.

“That you, a man, unarmed, alone, are still their master,” she interrupted him.  “In the face of reason they are powerless.  See, there comes Metoosin with the frozen fish!  What if he were a stranger and the fish were poisoned?”

“I understand,” he replied.  “But others drive them besides you?”

“Only those very near to the family.  Twenty of them are used in the traces.  The others are my companions—­my bodyguard, I call them.”

Metoosin approached them now, weighted down under a heavy load in a gunny-sack, and Philip believed that he recognized in the silent Indian the man whom he had first seen at the door of Adare House with a rifle in his hands.  At a few commands from Josephine the dogs gathered about them, and Metoosin opened the bag.

“I want you to throw them the fish, Philip,” said Josephine.  “Their brains comprehend the hand that feeds them.  It is a sort of pledge of friendship between you and them.”

With Metoosin she drew a dozen steps back, and Philip found that he had become the centre of interest for the pack.  One by one he pulled out the fish.  Snapping jaws met the frozen feast in midair.  There was no fighting—­no vengeful jealousy of fang.  Once when a gray and yellow husky snapped at a fish already in the jaws of another, Josephine reprimanded him sharply, and at the sound of his name he slunk back.  One by one Philip threw out the fish until they were all gone.  Then he stood and looked down upon the flat-bellied pack, listening to the crunching of bones and frozen flesh, and Josephine came and stood beside him again.

Suddenly he felt her start.  He looked up, and saw that her face was turned down the trail.  He had caught the quick change in her eyes, the swift tenseness that flashed for an instant in her mouth.  The vivid colour in her face had paled.  She looked again as he had seen her for that short space at the door in Miriam’s room.  He followed the direction of her eyes.

A hundred yards away two figures were advancing toward them.  One was her father, the master of Adare.  And on his arm was Miriam his wife.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The strange effect upon Josephine of the unexpected appearance of Adare and his wife passed as quickly as it had come.  When Philip looked at her again she was waving a hand and smiling.  Adare’s voice came booming up the trail.  He saw Miriam laughing.  Yet in spite of himself—­even as he returned Adare’s greeting—­he could not keep himself from looking at the two women with curious emotions.

“This is rank mutiny!” cried Adare, as they came up.  “I told them they must sleep until noon.  I have already punished Miriam.  And you, Mignonne?  Does Philip let you off too easily?”

Adare’s wife had given Philip her hand.  A few hours’ rest had brightened her eyes and brought colour into her face.  She looked still younger, still more beautiful.  And Adare was riotous with joy because of it.