It meant but one thing. They were
so close on the heels of their prey that they no longer made a
sound. Scarcely had the caribou disappeared when Philip saw the
first of them--gray, swiftly moving shapes, spread out fan-like as
they closed in on two sides for attack, so close that he could
hear the patter of their feet and the blood-curdling whines that
came from between their gaping jaws. There were at least twenty of
them, perhaps thirty, and they were gone with the swiftness of
shadows driven by a gale.
From his uncomfortable position Philip lowered himself to the snow
again. With its three or four hundred yard lead he figured that
the caribou would almost reach the timber a mile away before the
end came. Concealed in the shadow of the spruce, he waited. He
made no effort to analyze the confidence with which he watched for
Bram. When he at last heard the curious ZIP--ZIP--ZIP of snowshoes
approaching his blood ran no faster than it had in the preceding
minutes of his expectation, so sure had he been that the man he
was after would soon loom up out of the starlight.
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