The width of the stream was a comforting protection. It was seldom
less than two hundred yards from shore to shore and frequently
twice that distance. From the possible ambuscades they passed only
a rifle could be used effectively, and whenever there appeared to
be the possibility of that danger Philip traveled close to Blake,
with the revolver in his hand. The crack of a rifle even if the
bullet should find its way home, meant Blake's life. Of that fact
the outlaw could no longer have a doubt.
For an hour before the gray dusk of Arctic night began to gather
about them Philip began to feel the effect of their strenuous
pace. Hours of cramped inactivity on the sledge had brought into
Celie's face lines of exhaustion. Since middle-afternoon the dogs
had dragged at times in their traces. Now they were dead-tired.
Blake, and Blake alone, seemed tireless. It was six o'clock when
they entered a country that was mostly plain, with a thin fringe
of timber along the shores. They had raced for nine hours, and had
traveled fifty miles.
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