With the
babiche thong he had taken from his enemies he bound him hand and
foot. A shaft of light fell full on the giant's face and naked
chest where it had been laid bare in the struggle and Philip was
about to rise when a purplish patch, of tattooing caught his eyes.
He made out first the crude picture of a shark with huge gaping
jaws struggling under the weight of a ship's anchor, and then,
directly under this pigment colored tatu, the almost invisible
letters of a name. He made them out one by one--B-l-a-k-e. Before
the surname was the letter G.
"Blake," he repeated, rising to his feet. "GEORGE Blake--a sailor
--and a white man!"
Blake, returning to consciousness, mumbled incoherently. In the
same instant Celie cried out excitedly at the door.
"Oo-ee, Philip--Philip! Se det! Se! Se!"
She drew back with, a sudden movement and pointed out the door.
Concealing himself as much as possible from outside observation
Philip peered forth. Not more than a hundred and fifty yards away
a dog team was approaching.
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