have reached Philip's ears had there not in that same instant come
another sound to startle them both into listening silence.

It was not far distant. And it was unmistakably an answer to Philip's
challenge.

CHAPTER XXI

As they listened the cry came again. This time Philip caught in it a
note that he had not detected before. It was not a challenge but the
long-drawn ma-too-ee of an Eskimo who answers the inquiring hail of a
comrade.

"He thinks it is the man in the cabin," exclaimed Philip, turning to
survey the fringe of forest through which their trail had come. "If the
others don't warn him there's going to be one less Eskimo on earth in
less than three minutes!"

Another sound had drawn Celie back to the door. "When she looked in the
man she had stunned with the club was moving. Her call brought Philip,
and placing her in the open door to keep watch he set swiftly to work
to make sure of their prisoner. With the babiche thong he had taken
from his enemies he bound him hand and foot. A shaft of light fell full
on the giant's face and naked chest where it had been laid bare in the
struggle and Philip was about to rise when a purplish patch, of
tattooing caught his eyes. He made out first the crude picture of a
shark with huge gaping jaws struggling under the weight of a ship's
anchor, and then, directly under this pigment colored tatu, the almost
invisible letters of a name. He made them out one by one--B-l-a-k-e.
Before the surname was the letter G.

"Blake," he repeated, rising to his feet. "GEORGE Blake--a sailor--and
a white man!"

Blake, returning to consciousness, mumbled incoherently. In the same
instant Celie cried out excitedly at the door.

"Oo-ee, Philip--Philip! Se det! Se! Se!"

She drew back with, a sudden movement and pointed out the door.
Concealing himself as much as possible from outside observation Philip
peered forth. Not more than a hundred and fifty yards away a dog team
was approaching. There were eight dogs and instantly he recognized them
as the small fox-faced Eskimo breed from the coast. They were dragging
a heavily laden sledge and behind them came the driver, a furred and
hooded figure squat of stature and with a voice that came now in the
sharp clacking commands that Philip had heard in the company of Bram
Johnson. From the floor came a groan, and for an instant Philip turned
to find Blake's bloodshot eyes wide open and staring at him. The
giant's bleeding lips were