CHAPTER VI




An hour later Philip looked at his watch. It was close to
midnight. In that hour his nerves had been keyed to a tension that
was almost at the breaking point. Not a sound came from off the
Barren or from out of the scrub timber that did not hold a mental
and physical shock for him. He believed that Bram and his pack
would come up quietly; that he would not hear the man's footsteps
or the soft pads of his beasts until they were very near. Twice a
great snow owl fluttered over his head. A third time it pounced
down upon a white hare back in the shrub, and for an instant
Philip thought the time had come. The little white foxes, curious
as children, startled him most. Half a dozen times they sent
through him the sharp thrill of anticipation, and twice they made
him climb his tree.

After that hour the reaction came, and with the steadying of his
nerves and the quieter pulse of his blood Philip began to ask
himself if he was going to escape the ordeal which a short time
before he had accepted as a certainty. Was it possible that his
shots had frightened Bram? He could not believe that. Cowardice
was the last thing he would associate with the strange man he had
seen in the starlight. Vividly he saw Bram's face again. And now,
after the almost unbearable strain he had been under, a mysterious