Blake grunted out a laugh in his beard and his eyes lit up with an
unpleasant fire as they rested on her flushed face.
"She's tellin' you that Bram Johnson brought her this way," he
chuckled. "Bram was a fool--like you!"
He seemed not to expect a reply from Philip, but urged the dogs
down the slope into the plain. Fifteen minutes later they were on
the surface of the river.
Philip drew a deep breath of relief, and he found that same relief
in Celie's face when he dropped back to her side. As far as they
could see ahead of them there was no forest. The Coppermine itself
seemed to be swallowed up in the vast white emptiness of the
Barren. There could be no surprise attack here, even at night. And
yet there was something in Blake's face which kept alive within
him the strange premonition of a near and unseen danger. Again and
again he tried to shake off the feeling. He argued with himself
against the unreasonableness of the thing that had begun to
oppress him. Blake was in his power. It was impossible for him to
escape, and the outlaw's life depended utterly upon his success in
getting them safely to the cabin.
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