It was here, in a wide reach of river, that
Philip gave the command to halt.
His first caution was to secure Blake hand and foot, with his back
resting against a frozen snow-hummock a dozen paces from the
sledge. The outlaw accepted the situation with an indifference
which seemed to Philip more forced than philosophical. After that,
while Celie was walking back and forth to produce a warmer
circulation in her numbed body, he hurried to the scrub timber
that grew along the shore and returned with a small armful of dry
wood. The fire he built was small, and concealed as much as
possible by the sledge. Ten minutes sufficed to cook the meat for
their supper. Then he stamped out the fire, fed the dogs, and made
a comfortable nest of bear skins for himself and Celie, facing
Blake. The night had thickened until he could make out only dimly
the form of the outlaw against the snow-hummock. His revolver lay
ready at his side.
In that darkness he drew Celie close up into his arms. Her head
lay on his breast.
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