He turned his
head--slowly and without movement of his body, and in that instant
a gasp rose to his lips, and died there. Scarcely a dozen paces
from him stood a poised and hooded figure, a squat, fire-eyed
apparition that looked more like monster than man in that first
glance. Something acted within him that was swifter than reason--a
sub-conscious instinct that works for self-preservation like the
flash of powder in a pan. It was this sub-conscious self that
received the first photographic impression--the strange poise of
the hooded creature, the uplifted arm, the cold, streaky gleam of
something in the dawn-light, and in response to that impression
Philip's physical self crumpled down in the snow as a javelin
hissed through the space where his head and shoulders had been.
So infinitesimal was the space of time between the throwing of the
javelin and Philip's movement that the Eskimo believed he had
transfixed his victim. A scream of triumph rose in his throat. It
was the Kogmollock sakootwow--the blood-cry, a single shriek that
split the air for a mile.
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