It was locked, and she beat against it excitedly with her
little fists, calling a strange name. Standing close behind her,
Philip heard a shuffling movement beyond the log walls, the
scraping of a bar, and a man's voice so deep that it had in it the
booming note of a drum. To it Celie replied with almost a shriek.
The door swung inward, and Philip saw a man's arms open and Celie
run into them. He was an old man. His hair and beard were white.
This much Philip observed before he turned with a sudden, thrill
toward the open in the forest. Only he had heard the cry that had
come from that direction, and now, looking back, he saw a figure
running swiftly over the plain toward the cabin. Instantly he knew
that it was a white man. With his revolver in his hand he advanced
to meet him and in a brief space they stood face to face.
The stranger was a giant of a man. His long, reddish hair fell to
his shoulders. He was bare-headed, and panting as if hard run, and
his face was streaming with blood. His eyes seemed to bulge out of
their sockets as he stared at Philip.
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