It was not conceivable to
suppose that Blake would sacrifice his life merely that they might
fall into the hands of the Eskimos. And yet--
He watched Blake--watched him more and more closely as they buried
themselves deeper in that unending chaos of the north. And Blake,
it seemed to him, was conscious of that increasing watchfulness.
He increased his speed. Now and then Philip heard a curious
chuckling sound smothered in his beard, and after an hour's travel
on the snow-covered ice of the river he could no longer dull his
vision to the fact that the farther they progressed into the open
country, the more confident Blake was becoming. He did not
question him. He realized the futility of attempting to force his
prisoner into conversation. In that respect it was Blake who held
the whip hand. He could lie or tell the truth, according to the
humor of his desire. Blake must have guessed this thought in
Philip's mind. They were traveling side by side when he suddenly
laughed. There was an unmistakable irony in his voice when he
said:
"It's funny, Raine, that I should like you, ain't it? A man who's
mauled you, an' threatened to kill you! I guess it's because I'm
so cussed sorry for you.
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