There was no sign of cooking utensils and no evidence of
any other food but the caribou flesh. On the rear of the sledge
was a huge bundle of pitch-soaked spruce tied with babiche, and
out of this stuck the crude handle of an ax.
Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip
most. He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and
the thought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man
ahead of him struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock.
Bram had evidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident
in the protection of the pack. Or--had he faith in his prisoner?
It was this last question that Philip would liked to have answered
in the affirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a
less desire to escape him. He had forgotten, so far as his
personal intentions were concerned, that he was an agent of the
Law--under oath to bring in to Divisional Headquarters Bram's body
dead or alive. Since night before last Bram had ceased to be a
criminal for him.
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