He had
guessed at the club, and a moment later as he thrust his sleeping-
bag out through the opening he saw that it was quite obviously a
correct one. Bram was possessing himself of the revolver and the
knife. In the same hand he held his whip and a club.
Seizing the opportunity, Philip followed his bed quickly, and when
Bram faced him he was standing on his feet outside the drift.
"Morning, Bram!"
His greeting was drowned in a chorus of fierce snarls that made
his blood curdle even as he tried to hide from Bram any visible
betrayal of the fact that every nerve up and down his spine was
pricking him. like a pin. From Bram's throat there shot forth at
the pack a sudden sharp clack of Eskimo, and with it the long whip
snapped in their faces again.
Then he looked steadily at his prisoner. For the first time Philip
saw the look which he dreaded darkening his face. A greenish fire
burned in the strange eyes. The thick lips were set tightly, the
flat nose seemed flatter, and with a shiver Philip noticed Bram's
huge, naked hand gripping his club until the cords stood out like
babiche thongs under the skin.
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