arnestness that was in his gaze. It was not the watchfulness of a
victor looking at his victim. In it there was no sign of hatred or of
exultation. There was not even unfriendliness there. Rather it was the
study of one filled with doubt and uneasiness, and confronted by a
question which he could not answer. There was not a line of the face
which Philip could not see now--its high cheek-bones, its wide cheeks,
the low forehead, the flat nose, the thick lips. Only the eyes kept it
from being a terrible face. Straight down through the generations Bram
must have inherited those eyes from some woman of the past. They were
strange things in that wild and hunted creature's face--gray eyes,
large, beautiful. With the face taken away they would have been
wonderful.

For a full minute not a sound passed between the two men. Philip's hand
had slipped to the butt of his revolver, but he had no intention of
using it. Then he found his voice. It seemed the most natural thing in
the world that he should say what he did.

"Hello, Bram!"

"Boo-joo, m'sieu!"

Only Bram's thick lips moved. His voice was low and guttural. Almost
instantly his head disappeared from the opening.

Philip dug himself quickly from his sleeping-bag. Through the aperture
there came to him now another sound, the yearning whine of beasts. He
could not hear Bram. In spite of the confidence which his first look at
Bram had given him he felt a sudden shiver run up his spine as he faced
the end of the tunnel on his hands and knees, his revolver in his hand.
What a rat in a trap he would be if Bram loosed his wolves! What sport
for the pack--and perhaps for the master himself! He could kill two or
three--and that would be all. They would be in on him like a whirlwind,
diving through his snow walls as easily as a swimmer might cut through
water. Had he twice made a fool of himself? Should he have winged Bram
Johnson, three times a murderer, in place of offering him a greeting?

He began crawling toward the opening, and again he heard the snarl and
whine of the beasts. The sound seemed some distance away. He reached
the end of the tunnel and peered out through the "door" he had made in
the crust.

From his position he could see nothing--nothing but the endless sweep
of the Barren and his old trail leading up to the snow dune. The muzzle
of his revolver was at the aperture when he heard Bram's voice.

"M'sieu--ze revolv'--ze knife--or I mus' keel yon. Ze wolve pl