And then the thing happened which
brought the life back into him again with a shock. From far up the
black finger of timber where it bellied over the horizon of the
plain there floated down to them a chorus of sound. It was a human
sound--the yapping, wolfish cry of an Eskimo horde closing in on
man or beast. They had heard that same cry close on the heels of
the fight in the clearing. Now it was made by many voices instead
of two or three. It was accompanied almost instantly by the clear,
sharp report of a rifle, and a moment later the single shot was
followed by a scattering fusillade. After that there was silence.
Quickly Philip bundled Celie on the sledge and drove the dogs
ahead, his eyes on a wide opening in the timber three or four
hundred yards above the river. Five minutes later the sledge drew
up in front of the cabin. In that time they heard no further
outcry or sound of gunfire, and from the cabin itself there came
no sign of life, unless the smoke meant life. Scarcely had the
sledge stopped before Celie was on her feet and running to the
door.
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