Even at that he could not easily cover the
tracks. The man who had made them had taken a longer snowshoe
stride than his own by at least nine inches. He could no longer
keep the excitement of his discovery from Celie.
"The Eskimo never lived who could make that track," he exclaimed.
"They can travel fast enough but they're a bunch of runts when it
comes to leg-swing. It's a white man--or Bram!"
The announcement of the wolf-man's name and Philip's gesture
toward the trail drew a quick little cry of understanding from
Celie. In a flash she had darted to the snowshoe tracks and was
examining them with eager intensity. Then she looked up and shook
her head. It wasn't Bram! She pointed to the tail of the shoe and
catching up a twig broke it under Philip's eyes. He remembered
now. The end of Bram's shoes was snubbed short off. There was no
evidence of that defect in the snow. It was not Bram who had
passed that way.
For a space he stood undecided. He knew that Celie was watching
him--that she was trying to learn something of the tremendous
significance of that moment from his face.
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