It was not long before he saw how Bram had out-generaled him. Two
miles beyond the big drift they came upon the outlaw's huge
sledge, from which Bram and his wolves had made a wide circle in
order to stalk him from behind. The fact puzzled him. Evidently
Bram had expected his unknown enemy to pursue him, and had
employed his strategy accordingly. Why, then, had he not attacked
him the night of the caribou kill?
He watched Bram as he got the pack into harness. The wolves obeyed
him like dogs. He could perceive among them a strange comradeship,
even an affection, for the man-monster who was their master. Bram
spoke to them entirely in Eskimo--and the sound of it was like the
rapid CLACK--CLACK--CLACK of dry bones striking together. It was
weirdly different from the thick and guttural tones Bram used in
speaking Chippewyan and the half-breed patois.
Again Philip made an effort to induce Bram to break his oppressive
silence. With a suggestive gesture and a hunch of his shoulders he
nodded toward the pack, just as they were about to start.
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