had taken out, after which he rolled the bag up in the bear skins
and replaced the skins on the sledge.

After that, still mumbling, and still paying no attention to
Philip, he reseated himself on the edge of the sledge and finished
his breakfast of raw meat.

"The poor devil!" mumbled Philip.

The words were out of his mouth before he realized that he had
spoken them. He was still a little dazed by the shock of Bram's
assault, but it was impossible for him to bear malice or thought
of vengeance. In Bram's face, as he had covetously piled up the
different articles of food, he had seen the terrible glare of
starvation--and yet he had not eaten a mouthful. He had stored the
food away, and Philip knew it was as much as his life was worth to
contend its ownership.

Again Bram seemed to be unconscious of his presence, but when
Philip went to the meat and began carving himself off a slice the
wolf-man's eyes shot in his direction just once. Purposely he
stood in front of Bram as he ate the raw steak, feigning a greater
relish than he actually enjoyed in consuming his uncooked meal.
Bram did not wait for him to finish. No sooner had he swallowed
the last of his own breakfast than he was on his feet giving sharp
commands to the pack. Instantly the wolves were alert in their
traces. Philip took his former position on the sledge, with Bram
behind him.

Never in all the years afterward did he forget that day. As the