In no better way could he have impressed on
her that they were partners in a race against death and that every
energy must be expended in that race. Scarcely had her feet
touched the snow than she was running at his side, her hand
clasped in his. Barely a second was lost.
With the swift directness of the trained man-hunter Philip had
measured his chances of winning. The Eskimos, first of all, would
gather about their dead. After one or two formalities they would
join in a chattering council, all of which meant precious time for
them. The pursuit would be more or less cautious because of the
bullet hole in the Kogmollock's forehead.
If it had been possible for Celie to ask him just what he expected
to gain by following the strange snowshoe trail he would have had
difficulty in answering. It was, like his single shot with Celie's
little revolver, a chance gamble against big odds. A number of
possibilities had suggested themselves to him. It even occurred to
him that the man who was hurrying toward the east might be a
member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.
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