Philip was amazed at the pace set by the master of the pack. With
head and shoulders hunched low he set off in huge swinging strides
that kept the team on a steady trot behind him. They must have
traveled eight miles an hour. For a few minutes Philip could not
keep his eyes from Bram and the gray backs of the wolves. They
fascinated him, and at the same time the sight of them--straining
on ahead of him into a voiceless and empty world--filled him with
a strange and overwhelming compassion. He saw in them the
brotherhood of man and beast. It was splendid. It was epic. And to
this the Law had driven them!

His eyes began to take in the sledge then. On it was a roll of
bear skins--Bram's blankets. One was the skin of a polar bear.
Near these skins were the haunches of caribou meat, and so close
to him that he might have reached out and touched it was Bram's
club. At the side of the club lay a rifle. It was of the old
breech-loading, single-shot type, and Philip wondered why Bram had
destroyed his own modern weapon instead of keeping it in place of
this ancient Company relic. It also made him think of night before
last, when he had chosen for his refuge a tree out in the
starlight.

The club, even more than the rifle, bore marks of use. It was of
birch, and three feet in length. Where Bram's hand gripped it the
wood was worn as smooth and dark as mahogany. In many places the
striking end of the club was dented as though it had suffered the
impact of tremendous blows, and it was discolored by suggestive
stains. There was no sign of cooking utensils and no evidence of
any other food but the caribou flesh. On the rear of the sledge
was a huge bundle of pitch-soaked spruce tied with babiche, and