 CHAPTER VIII It must have been fully half a minute that Bram stood like a living creature turned suddenly into dead stone. His eyes had left Phillip's face and were fixed on the woven tress of shining hair. For the first time his thick lips had fallen agape. He did not seem to breathe. At the end of the thirty seconds his hand unclenched from about the whip and the club and they fell into the snow. Slowly his eyes still fixed on the snare as if it held for him an overpowering fascination he advanced a step and then another until he reached out and took from Phillip the thing which he held. He uttered no word, but from his eyes there disappeared the greenish fire. The lines in his heavy face softened and his thick lips lost some of the cruelty as he held up the snare before his eyes so that the light played on its sheen of gold. It was then that Phillip saw that which must have meant a smile in Bram's face. Still the strange man made no spoken sound as he coiled the silken thread around one of his great fingers and then placed it somewhere inside his coat. He seemed all at once utterly oblivious of Phillip's presence. He picked up the revolver, gazed heavily at it for a moment, and with a grunt which must have reflected his mental decision hurled it far out over the plain. Instantly the wolves were after it in a mad rush. The knife followed the revolver and after that as coolly as though breaking firewood the giant went to Phillip's rifle, braced it across his knee and with a single effort snapped the stock off close to the barrel. THE DEVIL! growled Phillip. He felt a surge of anger rise in him and for an instant the inclination to fling himself at Bram in the defense of his property. If he had been helpless a few minutes before he was utterly so now. In the same breath it flashed upon him that Bram's activity in the destruction of his weapons meant that his life was spared at least for the present. Otherwise Bram would not be taking these precautions. The futility of speech kept his own lips closed. At last Bram looked at him and pointed to his snowshoes where he had placed them last night against the snow dune. His invitation for Phillip to prepare himself for travel was accompanied by nothing more than a grunt. The wolves were returning sneaking in watchfully and alert. Bram greeted them with the snap of his whip and when Phillip was ready motioned him to lead the way into the north. Half a dozen paces behind Phillip followed Bram and twice that distance behind the outlaw came the pack. Now that his senses were readjusting themselves and his pulse beating more evenly Phillip began to take stock of the situation. It was first of all quite evident that Bram had not accepted him as a traveling companion but as a prisoner and he was equally convinced that the golden snare had at the last moment served in some mysterious way to save his life. It was not long before he saw how Bram had outgeneraled him. Two miles beyond the big drift they came upon the outlaw's huge sledge from which Bram and his wolves had made a wide circle in order to stock him from behind. The fact puzzled him. Evidently Bram had expected his unknown enemy to pursue him and had employed his strategy accordingly. Why then had he not attacked him the night of the caribou kill? He watched Bram as he got the pack into harness. The wolves obeyed him like dogs. He could perceive among them a strange comradeship, even an affection for the man-monster who was their master. Bram spoke to them entirely in Eskimo and the sound of it was like the rapid clack-clack-clack of dry bones striking together. It was weirdly different from the thick and guttural tones Bram used in speaking Chippewaian and the half-breed patois. Again Philip made an effort to induce Bram to break his oppressive silence. With a suggestive gesture and a hunch of his shoulders he nodded toward the pack just as they were about to start. If you thought I tried to kill you night before last, why didn't you set your wolves after me, Bram, as you did those other two over on the barren north of Cosba Lake? Why did you wait until this morning? And where, where in God's name are we going? Bram stretched out an arm. There! It was the one question he answered and he pointed straight as the needle of a compass into the north. And then, as if his crude sense of humor had been touched by the other thing Philip had asked, he burst into a laugh. It made one shudder to see laughter in a face like Bram's. It transformed his countenance from mere ugliness into one of the leering gargoyles carving under the cornices of ancient buildings. It was this laugh heard almost at Bram's elbow that made Philip suddenly grip hard at a new understanding, the laugh and the look in Bram's eyes. It set him throbbing and filled him all at once with the desire to seize his companion by his great shoulders and shake speech from his thick lips. In that moment, even before the laughter had gone from Bram's face, the thought again of Pelletier. Pelletier must have been like this in those terrible days when he scribbled the random thoughts of a half-mad man on his cabin door. Bram was not yet mad, and yet he was fighting the thing that had killed Pelletier, loneliness, the fate forced upon him by the law because he had killed a man. His face was again heavy and unemotional when with a gesture he made Philip understand that he was to ride on the sledge. Bram himself went to the head of the pack. At the sharp clack of his eskimo, the wolves strained in their traces. Another moment and they were off with Bram in the lead. 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 hunches 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, 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 babish, and out of this stuck the crude handle of an axe. Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip most. He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and the thought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man ahead of him struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock. Bram had evidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident in the protection of the pack. Or had he faith in his prisoner? It was this last question that Philip would like to have answered in the affirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a less desire to escape him. He had forgotten so far as his personal intentions were concerned that he was an agent of the law, under oath to bring into divisional headquarters Bram's body dead or alive. Since night before last Bram had ceased to be a criminal for him. He was like pelleteer, and through him he was entering upon a strange adventure which held for him already the thrill and suspense of an anticipation which he had never experienced in the game of man-hunting. Had the golden snare been taken from the equation, had he not felt the thrill of it in his fingers and looked upon the warm fires of it as it lay unbound on Pierre Brio's table, his present relation with Bram Johnson he would have considered as a purely physical condition. And he might then have accepted the presence of the rifle there within his reach as a direct invitation from Providence. As it was he knew that the master of the wolves was speeding swiftly to the source of the golden snare. From the moment he had seen the strange transformation it had worked in Bram that belief within him had become positive. And now as his eyes turned from the inspection of the sledge to Bram and his wolves he wondered where the trail was taking him. Was it possible that Bram was striking straight north for coronation gulf and the Eskimo? He had noted that the polar bear skin was only slightly worn, that it had not long been taken from the back of the animal that had worn it. He recalled what he could remember of his geography. Their course, if continued in the direction Bram was now heading, would take them east of the great slave and the great bear and they would hit the Arctic somewhere between Melville Sound and the Copper Mine River. It was a good five hundred miles to the Eskimo settlements there. Bram and his wolves could make it in ten days, possibly in eight. If his guess was correct and coronation gulf was Bram's goal he had found at least one possible explanation for the tress of golden hair. The girl or woman to whom it had belonged had come into the north aboard a wailing ship. Probably she was the daughter or the wife of the master. The ship had been lost in the ice, she had been saved by the Eskimo, and she was among them now with other white men. Philip pictured it all vividly. It was unpleasant, horrible. The theory of other white men being with her he was conscious of forcing upon himself to offset the more reasonable supposition that, as in the case of the golden snare, she belonged to Bram. He tried to free himself of that thought, but it clung to him with a tenaciousness that oppressed him with a grim and ugly foreboding. What a monstrous fate for a woman! He shivered. For a few moments every instinct in his body fought to assure him that such a thing could not happen. And yet he knew that it could happen. A woman up there with Bram, a woman with hair like spun gold and that giant half-mad enormity of a man. He clenched his hands at the picture his excited brain was painting for him. He wanted to jump from the sledge, overtake Bram, and demand the truth from him. He was calm enough to realize the absurdity of such action. Upon his own strategy depended now whatever answer he might make to the message chance had sent to him through the golden snare. For an hour he marked Bram's course by his compass. It was straight north. Then Bram changed the manner of his progress by riding in a standing position behind Philip. With his long whip he urged on the pack until they were galloping over the frozen level of the plane at a speed that must have exceeded ten miles an hour. A dozen times Philip made efforts at conversation. Not a word did he get from Bram in reply. Again and again the outlaw shouted to his wolves in Eskimo. He cracked his whip. He flung his great arms over his head. And twice they rolled out of his chest deep peels of strange laughter. They had been travelling more than two hours when he gave voice to a sudden command that stopped the pack, and at a second command, a staccato of shrill Eskimo accompanied by the lash of his whip, the panting wolves sank upon their bellies in the snow. Philip jumped from the sledge and Bram went immediately to the gun. He did not touch it but dropped on his knees and examined it closely. Then he rose to his feet and looked at Philip, and there was no sign of madness in his heavy face as he said, You know, touch the gun, monsieur. Why you no shoot when I am there at head of pack? The calmness and directness with which Bram put the question after his long and unaccountable silence surprised Philip. For the same reason you didn't kill me when I was asleep, I guess, he said. Suddenly he reached out and caught Bram's arm. Why the devil don't you come across? he demanded. Why don't you talk? I'm not after you, now. The police think you are dead and I don't believe I'd tip them off even if I had a chance. Why not be human? Where are we going? And what in thunder? He did not finish. To his amazement Bram flung back his head, opened his great mouth and laughed. It was not a taunting laugh, there was no humor in it. The thing seemed beyond the control of even Bram himself, and Philip stood like one paralyzed as his companion turned quickly to the sledge and returned in a moment with the gun. Under Philip's eyes he opened the breach. The chamber was empty. Bram had placed in his way a temptation to test him. There was saneness in that stratagem and yet as Philip looked at the man now his last doubt was gone. Bram Johnson was hovering on the borderland of madness. Replacing the gun on the sledge Bram began hacking off chunks of the caribou flesh with a big knife. Evidently he had decided that it was time for himself and his pack to breakfast. To each of the wolves he gave a portion, after which he seated himself on the sledge and began devouring a slice of the raw meat. He had left the blade of his knife buried in the carcass, an invitation for Philip to help himself. Philip seated himself near Bram and opened his pack. Purposely he began placing his food between them so that the other might help himself if he so desired. Bram's jaws ceased their crunching. For a moment Philip did not look up. When he did he was startled. Bram's eyes were blazing with a red fire. He was staring at the cooked food. Never had Philip seen such a look in a human face before. He reached out and seized a chunk of bannock and was about to bite into it when, with the snarl of a wild beast, Bram dropped his meat and was at him. Before Philip could raise an arm in defense his enemy had him by the throat. Back over the sledge they went. Philip scarcely knew how it happened, but in another moment the giant had hurled him clean over his head and he struck the frozen plane with a shock that stunned him. When he staggered to his feet expecting a final assault that would end him Bram was kneeling beside his pack. A mumbling and incoherent jargon of sound issued from his thick lips as he took stock of Philip's supplies. Of Philip himself he seemed now utterly oblivious. Still mumbling he dragged the pile of bearskins from the sledge, unrolled them, and revealed a worn and tattered dunnage bag. At first Philip thought this bag was empty. Then Bram drew from it a few small packages, some of them done up in paper and others in bark. Only one of these did Philip recognize. A half-pound package of tea, such as the Hudson's Bay Company offers in barter at its stores. Into the dunnage bag Bram now put Philip's supplies even to the last crumb of Bannock and then returned the articles he had taken out, after which he rolled the bag up in the bearskins and replaced the skins on the sledge. After that, still mumbling and still paying no attention to Philip, he receded 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 Wolfman'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 hours passed it seemed to him that neither man nor beast could very long stand the grain endured by Bram and his Wolves. At times Bram rode in the sledge for short distances, but for the most part he was running behind or at the head of the pack. For the pack there was no rest. Hour after hour it served steadily onward over the endless plain, and whenever the Wolves sagged for a moment in their traces Bram's whip snapped over their gray backs and his voice rang out in fierce exhortation. So hard was the frozen crust of the Baron that snowshoes were no longer necessary, and half a dozen times Philip left the sledge and ran with the Wolfman and his pack until he was winded. Twice he ran shoulder to shoulder with Bram. It was in the middle of the afternoon that his compass told him they were no longer traveling north, but almost due west. Every quarter of an hour after that he looked at his compass, and always the course was west. He was convinced that some unusual excitement was urging Bram on, and he was equally certain this excitement had taken possession of him from the moment he had found the food in his pack. Again and again he heard the strange giant mumbling incoherently to himself, but not once did Bram utter a word that he could understand. The gray world about them was darkening when at last they stopped. And now, strangely as before, Bram seemed for a few moments to turn into a sane man. He pointed to the bundle of fuel, and as casually as though he had been conversing with him all the day, he said to Philip, A fire, monsieur! The wolves had dropped in their traces. Their great shaggy heads stretched out between their paws in utter exhaustion, and Bram went slowly down the line speaking to each one in turn. After that he fell again into his stolid silence. From the bearskins he produced a kettle, filled it with snow, and hung it over the pile of faggots to which Philip was touching a match. Philip's tea-pail he employed in the same way. How far have we come, Bram? Philip asked. Fifty miles, monsieur! answered Bram without hesitation. And how much farther have we to go? Bram grunted. His face became more stolid. In his hand he was holding the big knife with which he had cut the caribou meat. He was staring at it. From the knife he looked at Philip. I kill as a man at God's lake because he steals a knife and call me liar. I kill him like that, and he snatched up a stick and broke it into two pieces. His weird laugh followed the words. He went to the meat and began carving off chunks for the pack, and for a long time after that one would have thought that he was dumb. Philip made greater effort than ever to rouse him into speech. He laughed and whistled and once tried the experiment of singing a snatch of the caribou song, which he knew that Bram must have heard many times before. As he roasted his steak over the fire he talked about the baron and the great herd of caribou he had seen farther east. He asked Bram questions about the weather, the wolves, and the country farther north and west. More than once he was certain that Bram was listening intently, but nothing more than an occasional grunt was his response. For an hour after they had finished their supper they continued to melt snow for drinking water for themselves and the wolves. Night shut them in and in the glow of the fire Bram scooped a hollow in the snow for a bed and tilted the big sledge over it as a roof. Philip made himself as comfortable as he could with a sleeping bag using his tent as an additional protection. The fire went out. Bram's heavy breathing told Philip that the wolfman was soon asleep. It was a long time before he felt a drowsiness creeping over himself. Later he was awakened by a heavy grasp on his arm and roused himself to hear Bram's voice close over him. Get up, monsieur! It was so dark he could not see Bram when he got on his feet, but he could hear him a moment later among the wolves and knew that he was making ready to travel. When his sleeping bag and tent were on the sledge he struck a match and looked at his watch. It was less than a quarter of an hour after midnight. For two hours Bram led his pack straight into the west. The night cleared after that and as the stars grew brighter and more numerous in the sky the plane was lighted up on all sides of them as on the night when Philip had first seen Bram. By lighting an occasional match Philip continued to keep a record of direction and time. It was three o'clock and they were still traveling west when to his surprise they struck a small patch of timber. The clump of stunted and wind-snarled spruce covered no more than half an acre but it was conclusive evidence that they were again approaching a timber line. From the patch of spruce Bram struck due north and for another hour their trail was over the white barren. Soon after this they came to a fringe of scattered timber which grew steadily heavier and deeper as they entered into it. They must have penetrated eight or ten miles into the forest before the dawn came and in that dawn gray and gloomy they came suddenly upon a cabin. Philip's heart gave a jump. Here at last would the mystery of the golden snare be solved. This was his first thought but as they grew nearer and stopped at the threshold of the door he felt sweep over him in utter disappointment. There was no life here. No smoke came from the chimney and the door was almost buried in a huge drift of snow. His thoughts were cut short by the crack of Bram's whip. The wolves swept onward and Bram's insane laugh sent a weird and shuttering echo through the forest. From the time they left behind them the lifeless and snow smothered cabin Philip lost account of time and direction. He believed that Bram was nearing the end of his trail. The wolves were dead tired. The wolf-man himself was lagging and since midnight had ridden more frequently in the sledge. Still he drove on and Philip searched with increasing eagerness the trail ahead of them. It was eight o'clock, two hours after they had passed the cabin, when they came to the edge of a clearing in the center of which was a second cabin. Here at a glance Philip saw there was life. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney. He could see only the roof of the log structure, for it was entirely shut in by a circular stockade of saplings six feet high. Twenty paces from where Bram stopped his team was the gate of the stockade. Bram went to it, thrust his arm through a hole even with his shoulders and a moment later the gate swung inward. For perhaps a space of twenty seconds he looked steadily at Philip and for the first time Philip observed the remarkable change that had come into his face. It was no longer a face of almost brutish impassiveness. There was a strange glow in his eyes. His thick lips were parted as if on the point of speech and he was breathing with a quickness which did not come of physical exertion. Philip did not move or speak. Behind him he heard the restless wine of the wolves. He kept his eyes on Bram and as he saw the look of joy and anticipation deepening in the wolf-man's face the appalling thought of what it meant sickened him. He clenched his hands. Bram did not see the act. He was looking again toward the cabin and at the spiral of smoke rising out of the chimney. Then he faced Philip and said, Monsieur, you go to the cabin. He held the gate open and Philip entered. He paused to make certain of Bram's intention. The wolf-man swept an arm about the enclosure. In ze pit I lose the wolf, Monsieur. Philip understood. The stock-aid enclosure was Bram's wolf pit and Bram meant that he should reach the cabin before he gave the pack the freedom of the corral. He tried to conceal the excitement in his face as he turned toward the cabin. From the gate to the door ran a path worn by many footprints and his heart beat faster as he noted the smallness of the moccasin tracks. Even then his mind fought against the possibility of the cabin. Probably it was an Indian woman who lived with Bram or an Eskimo girl he had brought down from the north. He made no sound as he approached the door. He did not knock but opened it and entered as Bram had invited him to do. From the gate Bram watched the cabin door as it closed behind him and then he threw back his head and such a laugh of triumph came from his lips that even the tired beasts behind him pricked up their ears and listened. And Philip, in that same moment, had solved the mystery of the golden snare. End of Chapter 8. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 9 of The Golden Snare. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Golden Snare by James Oliver Curwood. Chapter 9. Philip had entered Bram Johnson's cabin from the west. Out of the east the pale fire of the winter sun seemed to concentrate itself on the one window of Bram's habitation and flooded the opposite partition. In this partition there was a doorway and in the doorway stood a girl. She was standing full in the light that came through the window when Philip saw her. His first impression was that she was clouded in the same wonderful hair that had gone into the making of the golden snare. It billowed over her arms and breast to her hips a flame with the living fires of the reflected sun. His second impression was that his entrance had interrupted her while she was dressing and that she was benumbed with astonishment as she stared at him. He caught the white gleam of her bare shoulders under her hair and then with a shock he saw what was in her face. It turned his blood cold. It was the look of a soul that had been tortured. Agony and doubt burned in the eyes that were looking at him. He had never seen such eyes. They were like violent amethysts. Her face was dead white. It was beautiful. And she was young. She was not over twenty, it flashed upon him, but she had gone through a hell. Don't let me alarm you, he said, speaking gently. I am Philip Rain of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. It did not surprise him that she made no answer. As plainly as if she had spoken it, he had in those few swift moments read the story on her face. His heart choked him as he waited for her lips to move. It was a mystery to him afterward why he accepted the situation so utterly as he stood there. He had no question to ask and there was no doubt in his mind. He knew that he would kill Bram Johnson when the moment arrived. The girl had not seemed to breathe, but now she drew in her breath in a great gasp. He could see the sudden throb of her breast under her hair, but the frightened light did not leave her eyes even when he repeated the words he had spoken. Suddenly she ran to the window and Philip saw the grip of her hands at the sill as she looked out. Through the gate Bram was driving his wolves. When she faced him again her eyes had in them the look of a creature threatened by a whip. It amazed and startled him. As he advanced a step she cringed back from him. It struck him then that her face was like the face of an angel filled with a mad horror. She reached out her bare arms to hold him back and a strange pleading cry came from her lips. The cry stopped him like a shot. He knew that she had spoken to him and yet he had not understood. He tore open his coat and the sunlight fell on his bronze insignia of the service. Its effect on her amazed him even more than had her sudden fear of him. It occurred to him suddenly that with a two-weeks ragged growth of beard on his face he must look something like a beast himself. She had feared him as she feared Bram until she saw the badge. I am Philip Rain of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, he repeated again. I have come up here especially to help you if you need help. I could have got Bram farther back but there was a reason why I didn't want him until I found his cabin. That reason was you. Why are you here with a madman and a murderer? She was watching him intently. Her eyes were on his lips and into her face white a few moments before had risen swiftly a flush of color. He saw the dread die out of her eyes in a new and dazzling excitement. Outside they could hear Bram. The girl turned again and looked through the window. Then she began talking swiftly and eagerly in a language that was as strange to Philip as the mystery of her presence in Bram Johnson's cabin. She knew that he could not understand and suddenly she came up close to him and put a finger to his lips and then to her own and shook her head. He could fairly feel the throb of her excitement. The astounding truth held him dumb. She was trying to make him comprehend something in a language which he had never before in all his life. He stared at her like an idiot, he told himself afterward. And then the shuffle of Bram's heavy feet sounded just outside the door. Instantly the old light leapt into the girl's eyes. Before the door could open she had darted into the room from which she had first appeared, her hair floating about her in a golden cloud as she ran. The door opened and Bram entered. At his heels beyond the threshold Philip caught a glimpse of the pack glaring hungrily into the cabin. Bram was burdened under the load he had brought from the sledge. He dropped it to the floor and without looking at Philip his eyes fastened themselves on the door to the inner room. They stood there for a full minute, Bram as if hypnotized by the door and Philip with his eyes on Bram. Neither moved and neither made a sound. A curtain had dropped over the entrance to the inner room and beyond that they could hear the girl moving about. A dozen emotions were fighting in Philip. If he had possessed a weapon he would have ended the matter with Bram then for the light that was burning like a strange flame in the Wolfman's eyes convinced him that he had guessed the truth. Bear-handed he was no match for the giant madman. For the first time he let his glance travel cautiously about the room. Near the stove was a pile of firewood. A stick of this would do when the opportunity came and then in a way that made him almost cry out every nerve in his body was startled. The girl appeared in the doorway, a smile on her lips and her eyes shining radiantly, straight at Bram. She partly held out her arms and began talking. She seemed utterly oblivious of Philip's presence. Not a word that she uttered could he understand. It was not French or German or any tongue that he had ever heard. Her voice was pure and soft. It trembled a little and she was breathing quickly. But the look in her face that had at first horrified him was no longer there. She had braided her hair and had coiled the shining strands on the crown of her head. And the coloring in her face was like that of a rare painting. In these astounding moments he knew that such color and such hair did not go with any race that had ever bred in the Northland. From her face, even as her lips spoke, he looked at Bram. The wolf man was transfigured. His strange eyes were shining. His heavy face was filled with a dog-like joy. And his thick lips moved as if he was repeating to himself what the girl was saying. Was it possible that he understood her? Was the strange language in which she was speaking common between them? At first Philip thought that it must be so, and all the horrors of the situation that he had built up for himself fell about him in confusing disorder. The girl, as she stood there now, seemed glad that Bram had returned, and with a heart choking him with its suspense he waited for Bram to speak and act. When the girl ceased speaking the wolf man's response came in a guttural cry that was like a peon of triumph. He dropped on his knees beside the dunnage-bag and, mumbling thickly as he worked, he began emptying its contents upon the floor. Philip looked at the girl. She was looking at him now. Her hands were clutched at her breast, and in her face and attitude there was a wordless and treaty for him to understand. The truth came to him like a flash. For some reason she had forced herself to appear that way to the wolf man. She had forced herself to smile, forced the look of gladness into her face and the words from her lips. And now she was trying to tell him what it meant, and pointing to Bram as he knelt with his huge head and shoulders bent over the dunnage-bag on the floor, she exclaimed in a low, tense voice, Tossi! Tossi! Han er tossi! It was useless. He could not understand and it was impossible for him to hide the bewilderment in his face. All at once an inspiration came to him. Bram's back was toward him and he pointed to the sticks of firewood. His pantomime was clear. Should he knock the wolf man's brains out as he knelt there? He could see that his question sent a thrill of alarm through her. She shook her head. Her lips formed strange words and looking again at Bram, she repeated, Tossi! Tossi! Han er tossi! She clasped her hands suddenly to her head then. Her slim fingers buried themselves in the thick braids of her hair. Her eyes dilated and suddenly understanding flashed upon him. She was telling him what he already knew, that Bram Johnson was mad and he repeated after her the Tossi! Tossi! tapping his forehead suggestively and nodding at Bram. Yes, that was it! He could see it at the quick intake of her breath and the sudden expression of relief that swept over her face. She had been afraid he would attack the wolf man, and now she was glad that he understood he was not to harm him. If the situation had seemed fairly clear to him a few minutes before, it had become more deeply mysterious than ever now. Even as the wolf man rose from his knees, still mumbling to himself in incoherent exultation, the great and unanswerable question pounded in Philip's brain. Who was this girl, and what was she to Bram Johnson, the crazed outlaw whom she feared and yet whom she did not wish him to harm? And then he saw her stare at Bram and then he saw her staring at the things which Bram had sorted out on the floor. In her eyes was hunger. It was a living, palpitant part of her now, as she stared at the things which Bram had taken from the Dunwich Bag, as surely as Bram's madness was a part of him. As Philip watched her, he knew that slowly the curtain was rising on the tragedy of the golden snare. In a way the look that he saw in her face shocked him more than anything he had seen in Bram's. It was as if, in fact, a curtain had lifted before his eyes, revealing to him an unbelievable truth, and something of the hell through which she had gone. She was hungry for something that was not flesh. Swiftly the thought flashed upon him why the Wolfman had traveled so far to the south and why he had attacked him for possession of his food supply. It was that he might bring these things to the girl. He knew that it was sex pride that restrained the impulse that was pounding in every vein of her body. She wanted to fling herself down on her knees beside that pile of stuff, but she remembered him. Her eyes met his, and the shame of her confession swept in a crimson flood into her face. The feminine instinct told her that she had betrayed herself, like an animal, and that he must have seen in her for a moment something that was almost like Bram's own madness. He turned suddenly to confront Bram. He would not have known then that the Wolfman was mad and impulsively he reached out a hand. Bram, she's starving, he cried. I know now why you wanted that stuff, but why didn't you tell me? Why don't you talk and let me know who she is and why she is here and what you want me to do? He waited and Bram stared at him without a sound. I tell you, I'm a friend, he went on. I— He got no farther than that, for suddenly the cabin was filled with the madness of Bram's laugh. It was more terrible than out in the open barren or in the forest, and he felt the shudder of the girl at his side. Her face was close to his shoulder, and looking down he saw that it was white as death, but that even then she was trying to smile at Bram. And Bram continued to laugh, and as he laughed, his eyes blazing a greenish fire, he turned to the stove and began putting fuel into the fire. It was horrible. Bram's laugh, the girl's dead white face, and her smile. He no longer asked himself who she was and why she was there. He was overwhelmed by the one appalling fact that she was here, and that the stricken soul crying out to him from the depths of those eyes that were like wonderful blue amethysts told him that Bram had made her pay the price. His muscles hardened as he looked at the huge form bending over the stove. It was a splendid opportunity, a single leap, and he would beat the outlaw's throat. With that advantage in open combat, the struggle would at least be equal. The girl must have guessed what was in his mind, for suddenly her fingers were clutching at his arm, and she was pulling him away from the wolf man, speaking to him in the language which he could not understand. And then Bram turned from the stove, picked up a pale, and without looking at them, left the cabin. They could hear his laugh as he joined the wolves. Again Philip's conclusions toppled down about him like a thing made of blocks. During the next few moments he knew that the girl was telling him that Bram had not harmed her. She seemed almost hysterically anxious to make him understand this, and at last, seizing him by the hand, she drew him into the room beyond the curtain door. Her meaning was quite as plain as words. She was showing him what Bram had done for her. He had made her this separate room by running a partition across the cabin, and in addition to this, he had built a small lean-to outside the main wall, entered through a narrow door, made of saplings that were still green. He noticed that the partition was also made of fresh timber. Except for the bunk built against the wall, a crude chair, a sapling table, and half a dozen bearskins that carpeted the floor, the room was empty. A few garments hung on the wall, a hood made of fur, a thick Mackinac coat belted at the waist with a red scarf, and something done up in a small bundle. I guess I begin to get your meaning, he said, looking straight into her shining blue eyes. You want to impress on me that I am not to ring Bram Johnson's neck when his back is turned, or at any other time, and you want me to believe that he hasn't done you any harm. And yet you're afraid to the bottom of your soul. I know it. A little while ago your face was his whitest chalk, and now, now, it's the prettiest face I've ever seen. Now see here, little girl. It gave him a pleasant thrill to see the glow in her eyes and the eager poise of her slim, beautiful body as she listened to him. I'm licked, he went on, smiling frankly at her. At least for the present. Maybe I've gone loony, like Bram, and don't realize it yet. I set out for a couple of Indians and find a madman. And at the madman's cabin, I find you, looking at first as though you were facing straight up against the door of, of, well, seeing that you can't understand, I might as well say it, of hell. Now, if you weren't afraid of Bram, and if he hasn't hurt you, why did you look like that? I'm stumped. I repeat it, dead stumped. I'd give a million dollars if I could make Bram talk. I saw what was in his eyes. You saw it. And that pretty pink went out of your face so quick it seemed as though your heart must have stopped beating. And yet you're trying to tell me he hasn't harmed you. My God! I wish I could believe it! In her face he saw the reflection of the change that must have come suddenly into his own. You're a good fifteen hundred miles from any other human being with hair and eyes and color like yours, he continued, as though in speaking his thoughts aloud to her some ray of light might throw itself on the situation. If you had something black about you, but you haven't. You're all gold, pink and white and gold. If Bram has another fit of talking, he may tell me you came from the moon, that a Chasse Gallerie crew brought you down out of space to keep house for him. Great Scott! Can't you give me some sort of an idea of who you are and where you came from? He paused for an answer, and she smiled at him. There was something pathetically sweet in that smile. It brought a queer lump into his throat, and for a space he forgot Bram. You don't understand a cussed word of it, do you? he said, taking your hand in both his own and holding it closely for a moment. Not a word! But we're getting the drift of things, slowly. I know you've been here quite a while, and that morning, noon and night since the Chasse Gallerie brought you down from the moon, you've had nothing to put your little teeth into but meat. Probably without salt, too. I saw how you wanted to throw yourself down in that pile of stuff on the floor. Let's have breakfast. He led her into the outer room, and eagerly she sat to work helping him gather the things from the floor. He felt that an overwhelming load had been lifted from his heart, and he continued to tell her about it while he hurried the preparation of the breakfast for which he knew she was hungering. He did not look at her too closely. All at once it had dawned upon him that her situation must be tremendously more embarrassing than his own. He felt, too, the tingle of a new excitement in his veins. It was a pleasurable sensation, something which he did not pause to analyze just at present. Only he knew that it was because she had told him as plainly as she could that Bram had not harmed her. And if he had, I guess you'd have let me smash his brains out when he was bending over the stove, wouldn't you, he said, stirring the mess of desiccated potato he was warming in one of his kit hands. He looked up to see her eyes shining at him, and her lips parted. She was delightfully pretty. He knew that every nerve in her body was straining to understand him. Her braid had slipped over her shoulder. It was as thick as his wrist, and partly undone. He had never dreamed that a woman's hair could hold such soft, warm fires of velvety gold. Suddenly he straightened himself and tapped his chest, an inspiring thought leaping into his head. I am Philip Rain, he said. Philip Rain! Philip Rain! Philip Rain! He repeated the name over and over again, pointing each time to himself. Instantly light flashed into her face. It was as if all at once they had broken through the barrier that had separated them. She repeated his name slowly, clearly, smiling at him, and then with both hands at her breast she said, C'est-les Armines! He wanted to jump over the stove and shake hands with her, but the potatoes were sizzling. C'est-les Armines! He repeated the name as he stirred the potatoes and each time he spoke it she nodded. It was decidedly a French name, but half a minute's experiment with the few simple sentences of Pierre Brio's language convinced him that the girl understood no word of it. Then he said again, C'est-les! Almost in the same breath she answered, Philip! Sounds outside the cabin announced the return of Bram. Following the snarl and wine of the pack came heavy footsteps and the wolf man entered. Philip did not turn his head toward the door. He did not look at first to see what effect Bram's return had on C'est-les Armines. He went on casually with his work. He even began to whistle and then, after a final stir or two at the potatoes, he pointed to the pail in which the coffee was bubbling and said, Turn the coffee, C'est-les! We're ready! He caught a glimpse of her face then. The excitement and color had partly died out of it. She took the pail of coffee and went with it to the table. Then Philip faced Bram. The wolf man was standing with his back to the door. He had not moved since entering, and he was staring at the scene before him in a dull, stupid sort of way. In one hand he carried a pail filled with water, in the other a frozen fish. Too late with the fish, Bram, said Philip, we couldn't make the little lady wait. Besides, I think you fed her on fish and meat until she is just about ready to die. Come to breakfast! He loaded a tin plate with hot potatoes, bannock bread, and rice that he had cooked before setting out on the barren and placed it before the girl. A second plate he prepared for Bram and a third plate for himself. Bram had not moved. He still held the pail and the fish in his hands. Suddenly he lowered both to the floor with a growl that seemed to come from the bottom of his great chest and came to the table. With one huge hand he seized Philip's arm. It was not a man's grip. There was apparently no effort in it, and yet it was a slight clutch that threatened to snap the bone. And all the time Bram's eyes were on the girl. He drew Philip back, released the terrible grip on his arm, and shoved the two extra plates of food to the girl. Then he faced Philip. We eat ze meat, monsieur! Quietly and sanely he uttered the words. In his eyes and face there was no trace of madness. And then, even as Philip stared, the change came. The giant flung back his head and his wild, mad laugh rocked the cabin. Out in the corral the snarl and cry of the wolves gave a savage response to it. It took a tremendous effort for Philip to keep a grip on himself. In that momentary flash of sanity Bram shivered, which must have struck deep home in the heart of the girl. There was a sort of triumph in her eyes when he looked at her. She knew now that he must understand fully what she had been trying to tell him. Bram, in his madness, had been good to her. Philip did not hesitate in the impulse of the moment. He caught Bram's hand and shook it. And Bram, his laugh dying away in a mumbling sound, seemed not to notice it. As Philip began preparing the fish the wolf-man took up a position against the farther wall, squatted Indian fashion on his heels. He did not take his eye from the girl until she had finished, and Philip brought him a half of the fried fish. He might as well have heard the fish to a wooden sphanks. Bram rose to his feet, mumbling softly, and taking what was left of one of the two caribou quarters, he again left the cabin. His mad laugh and the snarling outcry of the wolves came to them a moment later. CHAPTER XI Scarcely had the door closed when Céli Armin ran to Philip and pulled him to the table. In the tense half-hour of Bram's watchfulness she had eaten her own breakfast as if nothing unusual had happened. Now she insisted on adding potatoes and bannock to Philip's fish and turned him a cup of coffee. "'Bless your heart! You don't want to see me beat out of a breakfast, do you?' he smiled up at her, feeling all at once an immense desire to pull her head down to him and kiss her. "'But you don't understand the situation, little girl. Now I've been eating this confounded bannock,' he picked up a chunk of it to demonstrate his point, morning, noon, and night until the sight of it makes me almost cry for one of mother's green cucumber pickles. I'm tired of it. Bram's fish is a treat. And this coffee, seeing that you have turned it in that way,' she sat opposite him while he ate, and he had the chance of observing her closely while his meal progressed. It struck him that she was growing prettier each time that he looked at her, and he was more positive than ever that she was a stranger in the Northland. Again he told himself that she was not more than twenty. Mentally he even went so far as to weigh her and would have gambled that she would not have tipped a scale five pounds one way or the other from a hundred and twenty. Sometime he might have seen the kind of violet blue that was in her eyes, but he could not remember it. She was lost, utterly lost at this far end of the earth. She was no more a part of it than a crepe de sheen ball, dress, or a bit of rose china. And there she was, sitting opposite him, a bewitching mystery for him to solve, and she wanted to be solved. He could see it in her eyes and in her little beating-throb at her throat. She was fighting with him to find a way, a way to tell him who she was and why she was here and what he must do for her. Suddenly he thought of the golden snare. That, after all, he believed to be the real key to the mystery. He rose quickly from the table and drew the girl to the window. At the far end of the corral they could see Bram tossing chunks of meat to the horde of beasts that surrounded him. In a moment or two he had the satisfaction of seeing that his companion understood that he was directing her attention to the wolf-man and not the pack. Then he began unbraiding her hair. His fingers thrilled at the silken touch of it. He felt his face flushing hot under his beard and he knew that her eyes were on him, wonderingly. A small strand he divided into three parts and began weaving into a silken thread, only a little larger than the wolf-man's snare. From the woven tress he pointed to Bram and in an instant her face lighted up with understanding. She answered him in pantomime. Either she or Bram had cut the tress from her head that had gone into the making of the golden snare, and not only one tress but several. There had been a number of golden snares. She bowed her head and showed him where the strands as large as her little finger had been clipped in several places. Philip almost groaned. She was telling him nothing new except that there had been many snares instead of one. He was on the point of speech when the look in her face held him silent. Her eyes glowed with a sudden excitement, a wild inspiration. She held out her hands until they nearly touched his breast. Philip reigned. America! she cried. Then, pressing her hands to her own breast, she added eagerly, Céline Armin, Denmark! Denmark! exclaimed Philip. Is that it, little girl? You're from Denmark? Denmark! she nodded. Copenhagen, Denmark. Copenhagen, Denmark, he translated for himself. Great Scott, Céline, we're talking! Céline Armin from Copenhagen, Denmark! But how in heaven's name did you get here? He pointed to the floor under their feet and embraced the four walls of the cabin in a wide gesture of his arms. How did you get here? Her next words thrilled him. Copenhagen, Muskvas, St. Petersburg, Russia, Siberia, America. Copenhagen, Muskvas, whatever that is. St. Petersburg, Russia, Siberia, America, he repeated, staring at her incredulously. Céline, if you love me, be reasonable. Do you expect me to believe that you came all the way from Denmark to this God-forsaken madman's cabin in the heart of the Canada barons by way of Russia and Siberia? You? I can't believe it! There's a mistake somewhere. Here! He thought of his pocket-atlas, supplied by the department as part of his service-kit, and remembered that in the back of it was a small map of the world. In half a minute he had secured it and was holding the map under her eyes. Her little forefinger touched Copenhagen. Leaning over her shoulder he felt her hair crumpling against his breast. He felt an insane desire to bury his face in it and hug her up close in his arms. For a single moment the question of whether she came from Copenhagen or the moon was irrelevant and of little consequence. He, at least, had found her. He was digging her out of chaos, and he was filled with the joyous exultation of a triumphant discoverer, almost to the thrill of ownership. He held his breath as he watched the little forefinger telling him its story on the map. From Copenhagen it went to Moscow, which must have been Muskvas, and from there it trailed slowly to St. Petersburg and thence straight across Russia and Siberia to Bering Sea. Skonert, she said softly, and her finger came across to the green patch on the map which was Alaska. It hesitated there. Evidently it was a question in her own mind where she had gone after that. At least she could not tell him on the map. And now, seeing that he was understanding her, she was becoming visibly excited. She pulled him to the window and pointed to the walls. Alaska. And after that dogs and sledge. He nodded. He was jubilant. She was Sely Armin of Copenhagen, Denmark, and had come to Alaska by way of Russia and Siberia. And after that had traveled by dog-train. But why had she come, and what had happened to make her the companion or prisoner of Bram Johnson? He knew she was trying to tell him. With her back to the window she talked to him again, gesturing with her hands, and almost sobbing under the stress of the emotion that possessed her. His elation turned swiftly to the old dread as he watched the change in her face. Apprehension, a grim certainty, gripped hold of him. Something terrible had happened to her. A thing that had wracked her soul and that had filled her eyes with the blaze of a strange terror as she struggled to make him understand. And then she broke down and with a sobbing cry covered her face with her hands. Out in the corral Philip heard Bram Johnson's laugh. It was a mockery, a challenge. In an instant every drop of blood in his body answered it in a surge of blind rage. He sprang to the stove, snatched up a length of firewood, and in another moment was at the door. As he opened it and ran out he heard Selie's wild appeal for him to stop. It was almost a scream. Before he had taken a dozen steps from the cabin he realized what the warning meant. The pack had seen him and from the end of the corral came rushing at him in a thick mass. This time Bram Johnson's voice did not stop them. He saw Philip and from the doorway Selie looked upon the scene while the blood froze in her veins. She screamed and in the same breath came the Wolfman's laugh. Philip heard both as he swung the stick of firewood over his head and sent it hurling toward the pack. The chance accuracy of the throw gave him an instant's time in which to turn and make a dash for the cabin. It was Selie who slammed the door shut as he sprang through. Swift as a flash she shot the bolt and there came the lunge of heavy bodies outside. They could hear the snapping of jaws and the snarling whine of the beasts. Philip had never seen a face whiter than the girls had gone. She covered it with her hands and he could see her trembling. A bit of a sob broke hysterically from her lips. He knew of what she was thinking, the horrible things she was hiding from her eyes. It was plain enough to him now. Twenty seconds more and they would have had him and then he drew in a deep breath and gently uncovered her face. Her hands shivered in his. And then a great throb of joy repaid him for his venture into the jaws of death as he saw the way in which her beautiful eyes were looking at him. Selie, my little mystery girl, I've discovered something. He cried huskily, holding her hand so tightly that it must have hurt her. I'm almost glad you can't understand me, for I wouldn't blame you for being afraid of a man who told you he loved you an hour or two after he first saw you. I love you. I've never wanted anything in all my life as I want you and I must be careful and not let you know it, mustn't I? If I did you'd think I was some kind of an animal brute like Bram, wouldn't you? Bram's voice came in a sharp rattle of Eskimo outside. Philip could hear the snarling rebellion of the wolves as they slunk away from the cabin, and he drew Selie back from the door. Suddenly she freed her hands, ran to the door, and slipped back the wooden bolt as the Wolfman's hand fumbled at the latch. In a moment she was back at his side. When Bram entered every muscle in Philip's body was prepared for action. He was amazed at the Wolfman's unconcern. He was mumbling and chuckling to himself, as if amused at what he had seen. Selie's little fingers dug into Philip's arm, and he saw in her eyes a tense, staring look that had not been there before. It was as if in Bram's face and his queer mumbling she had recognized something which was not apparent to him. Suddenly she left him and hurried into her room. During the few moments she was gone Bram did not look once at Philip. His mumbling was incessant. Perhaps a minute passed before the girl reappeared. She went straight to Bram and before the Wolfman's eyes held a long, shining truss of hair. Instantly the mumbling in Bram's throat ceased, and he thrust out slowly a huge misshapen hand toward the golden strand. Philip felt his nerves stretching to the breaking point. With Bram the girl's hair was a fetish. A look of strange exultation crept over the giant's heavy features as his fingers clutched the golden offering. It almost drew a cry of warning from Philip. He saw the girl smiling in the face of a deadly peril, a danger of which she was apparently unconscious. Her hair still fell loose about her in a thick and shimmering glory. And Bram's eyes were on it as he took the tress from her fingers. Was it conceivable that this madman did not comprehend his power? Had the thought not yet burned its way into his thick brain that a treasure many times greater than that which she had doled him lay within the reach of his brute hands at any time he cared to reach out for it? And was it possible that the girl did not guess her danger as she stood there? What she could see of his face must have been as pale as her own when she looked at him. She smiled and nodded at Bram. The giant was turning slowly toward the window, and after a moment or two in which they could hear him mumbling softly, he sat down cross-legged against the wall, divided the tress into three silken threads, and began weaving them into a snare. The color was returning to Saley's face when Philip looked at her again. She told him with a gesture of her head and hands that she was going into her room for a time. He didn't blame her. The excitement had been rather unusual. After she had gone, he dug his shaving outfit out of his kit bag. It included a mirror, and the reflection he saw in this mirror fairly shocked him. No wonder the girl had been frightened at his first appearance. It took him half an hour to shave his face clean, and all that time Bram paid no attention to him but went on steadily at his task of weaving the golden snare. Saley did not reappear until the wolf-man had finished and was leaving the cabin. The first thing she noticed was the change in Philip's face. He saw the pleasure in her eyes and felt himself blushing. From the window they watched Bram. He called his wolves and was going with them to the gate. He carried his snowshoes and his long whip. He went through the gate first and one by one let his beasts out until ten of the twenty had followed him. The gate was closed then. Saley turned to the table and Philip saw that she had brought from her room a pencil and a bit of paper. In a moment she held the paper out to him, a light of triumph in her face. At last they had found a way to talk. On the paper was a crude sketch of a caribou head. It meant that Bram had gone hunting. And in going Bram had left a half of his bloodthirsty pack in the corral. There was no longer a doubt in Philip's mind. They were not the chance guests of this madman. They were prisoners. End of Chapter 11 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 12 of The Golden Snare This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Golden Snare by James Oliver Kerwood Chapter 12 For a few minutes after the Wolfman and his hunters had gone from the corral Philip did not move from the window. He almost forgot that the girl was standing behind him. At no time since Pierre Brio had revealed the Golden Snare had the situation been more of an enigma to him than now. Was Bram Johnson actually mad? Or was he playing a colossal sham? The question had unleashed itself in his brain with a suddenness that had startled him. Out of the past a voice came to him distinctly and it said a madman never forgets. It was the voice of a great alienist, a good friend of his with whom he had discussed the sanity of a man whose crime had shocked the country. He knew that the words were true. Once possessed by an idea the madman will not forget it. It becomes an obsession with him, a part of his existence. In his warped brain a suspicion never dies. A fear will smolder everlastingly. A hatred lives steadily on. If Bram Johnson was mad would he play the game as he was playing it now? He had almost killed Philip for possession of the food that the girl might have the last crumb of it. Now without a sign of the madman's caution he had left it all within his reach again. A dozen times the flaming suspicion in his eyes had been replaced by a calm and stupid indifference. Was the suspicion real and the stupidity a clever dissimulation? And if dissimulation why? He was positive now that Bram had not harmed the girl in the way he had dreaded. Physical desire had played no part in the wolfman's possession of her. Céline had made him understand that. And yet in Bram's eyes he had caught a look now and then that was like the dumb worship of a beast. Only once had that look been anything different and that was when Céline had given him a tress of her hair. Even the suspicion roused in him then was gone now for if passion and desire were smoldering in the wolfman's breast he would not have brought a possible rival to the cabin nor would he have left them alone together. His mind worked swiftly as he stared unseeing out into the corral. He would no longer play the part of a pawn. Thus far Bram had held the whip hand. Now he would take it from him no matter what mysterious protestation the girl might make. The wolfman had given him a dozen opportunities to deliver the blow that would make him a prisoner. He would not miss the next. He faced Céline with the gleam of his determination in his eyes. She had been watching him intently and he believed that she had guessed a part of his thoughts. His first business was to take advantage of Bram's absence to search the cabin. He tried to make Céline understand what his intentions were as he began. You may have done this yourself, he told her. No doubt you have. There probably isn't a corner you haven't looked into, but I have a hunch I may find something you missed, something interesting. She followed him closely. He began at each wall and went over it carefully, looking for possible hiding places. Then he examined the floor for a loose sapling. At the end of half an hour his discoveries amounted to nothing. He gave an exclamation of satisfaction when under an old blanket in a dusty corner he found a Colt Army revolver. But it was empty and he found no cartridges. At last there was nothing left to search but the Wolfman's bunk. At the bottom of this he found what gave him his first real thrill, three of the silken snares made from Céline Armin's hair. We won't touch them, he said after a moment, replacing the bare skin that had covered them. It's good etiquette up here not to disturb another man's cash, and that's Brahms. I can't imagine anyone but a madman doing that, and yet he looked suddenly at Céline. Do you suppose he was afraid of you? he asked her. Is that why he doesn't leave even the butcher-knife in this shack? Was he afraid you might shoot him in his sleep if he left the temptation in your way? A commotion among the wolves drew him to the window. Two of the beasts were fighting. While his back was turned Céline entered her room and returned a moment or two later with a handful of loose bits of paper. The pack held Philip's attention. He wondered what chance he would have in an encounter with the beasts which Bram had left behind as a guard. Even if he killed Bram or made him a prisoner he would still have that horde of murderous brutes to deal with. If he could in some way induce the wolf man to bring his rifle into the cabin the matter would be easy. With Bram out of the way he could shoot the wolves one by one from the window. Without a weapon their situation would be hopeless. The pack, with the exception of one huge gaunt beast directly under the window, had swung around the end of the cabin out of his vision. The remaining wolf, in spite of the excitement of battle, was gnawing hungrily at a bone. Philip could hear the savage grind of its powerful jaws and all at once the thought of how they might work out their salvation flashed upon him. They could starve the wolves. It would take a week, perhaps ten days, but with Bram out of the way and the pack helplessly imprisoned within the corral it could be done. His first impulse now was to impress on Céli the necessity of taking physical action against Bram. The sound of his own name turned him from the window with a sudden thrill. If the last few minutes had inspired an eagerness for action in his own mind he saw at a glance that something equally exciting had possessed Céli Armin. Spread out on the table were the bits of paper she had brought from her room, and pointing to them she again called him by name. That she was laboring under a new and unusual emotion impressed him immediately. He could see that she was fighting to restrain an impulse to pour out in words what would have been meaningless to him, and that she was looking at him the bits of paper were to take the place of voice. For one swift moment as he advanced to the table the papers meant less to him than the fact that she had twice spoken his name. Her soft lips seemed to whisper it again as she pointed, and the look in her eyes and the poise of her body recalled to him vividly the picture of her as he had first seen her in the cabin. He looked at the bits of paper. There were fifteen or twenty pieces, and on each was sketched a picture. He heard a low catch in Céli's breath as she bent over them, and his own pulse quickened. A glance was sufficient to show him that with the pictures Céli was trying to tell him what he wanted to know. They told her own story, who she was, why she was at Bram Johnson's cabin, and how she had come. This at least was the first thought that impressed him. He observed then that the bits of paper were soiled and worn, as though they had been handled a great deal. He made no effort to restrain the exclamation that followed this discovery. You drew these pictures for Bram, he scanning them more carefully. That settles one thing. Bram doesn't know much more about you than I do. Ships, and dogs, and men, and fighting, a lot of fighting, and... His eyes stopped at one of the pictures, and his heart gave a sudden excited thump. He picked up the bit of paper which had evidently been part of a small sack. Slowly he turned to the girl and met her eyes. She was trembling in her eagerness for him to understand. That is you, he said, tapping the central figure in the sketch and nodding at her. You, with your hair down! And fighting a bunch of men who look as though they were about to beat your brains out with clubs. Now, what in God's name does it mean? And here's a ship up in the corner. That evidently came first. You landed from that ship, didn't you? From the ship! The ship! The ship! Schoenert! She cried softly, touching the ship with her finger. Schoenert! Siberian! Schooner! Siberia! translated Philip. It sounds mightily like that, say Lee. Look here. He opened his pocket atlas again at the map of the world. Where did you start from, and where did you come ashore? If we can get at the beginning of this thing. She had bent her head over the crook of his arm so that in her eager scrutiny of the map his lips for a moment or two touched the velvety softness of her hair. Again he felt the exquisite thrill of her touch, the throb of her body against him, the desire to take her in his arms and hold her there. And then she drew back a little and her finger was once more tracing out its story on the map. The ship had started from the mouth of the Lena River in Siberia and had followed the coast to the blue space that marked the ocean above Alaska. And there the little finger paused with the hopeless gesture say Lee intimated that was all she knew. From somewhere out of that blue patch the ship had touched the American shore. One after another she took up from the table the pieces of paper that carried on the picture story from that point. It was, of course, a broken and disjointed story, but as it progressed every drop of blood in Philip's body was stirred by the thrill and mystery of it. Say Lee Armin had traveled from Denmark through Russia to the Lena River in Siberia and from there a ship had brought her to the coast of North America. There had been a lot of fighting, the significance of which he could only guess at, and now at the end the girl drew for Philip another sketch in which a giant and a horde of beasts appeared. It was a picture of Bram and his wolves, and at last Philip understood why she did not want him to harm the wolf man. Bram had saved her from the fate which the pictures only partly portrayed for him. He had brought her far south to his hidden stronghold and for some reason which the pictures failed to disclose was keeping her a prisoner there. Beyond these things Say Lee Armin was still a mystery. Why had she gone to Siberia? What had brought her to the barren Arctic coast of America? Who were the mysterious enemies from whom Bram the madman had saved her? And who, who... He looked again at one of the pictures which he had partly crumpled in his hand. On it were sketched two people. One was the figure with her hair streaming down, Say Lee herself. The other was a man. The girl had pictured herself close in the embrace of this man's arms. Her own arms encircled the man's neck. From the picture Philip had looked at Say Lee and the look he had seen in her eyes and face filled his heart with a leaden chill. It was more than hope that had flared up in his breast since he had entered Bram Johnson's cabin. And now that hope went suddenly out and with its extinguishment he was oppressed by a deep and gloomy foreboding. He went slowly to the window and looked out. The next moment Say Lee was startled by the sudden sharp cry that burst from his lips. Swiftly she ran to his side. He had dropped the paper. His hands were gripping the edge of the sill and he was staring like one who could not believe his own eyes. Good God! Look! Look at that! They had heard no sound outside the cabin during the last few minutes. Yet under their eyes stretched out in the soiled and trampled snow lay the wolf that a short time before had been gnawing a bone. The animal was stark dead. Not a muscle of its body moved. Its lips were drawn back, its jaws agape, and under the head was a growing smear of blood. It was not these things, not the fact but the instrument of death that held Philip's eyes. The huge wolf had been completely transfixed by a spear. Instantly Philip recognized it. The long, slender, javelin-like narwhal harpoon used by only one people in the world. The murderous little black-visaged cuckmollocks of coronation, gulf, and wallaston land. He sprang suddenly back from the window, dragging Say Lee with him. End of Chapter 12 Recording by Roger Moline Chapter 13 of The Golden Snare This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Moline The Golden Snare by James Oliver Kerwood Chapter 13 Cuckmollocks, the blackest hearted little devil's alive when it comes to trading wives and fighting, said Philip, a little ashamed of the suddenness with which he had jumped back from the window. Excuse my abruptness, dear, but I'd recognize that death thing on the other side of the earth. I've seen them throw it like an arrow for a hundred yards, and I have a notion they're watching that window. At sight of the dead wolf and the protruding javelin, Say Lee's face had gone as white as ash. Snatching up one of the pictures from the table, she thrust it into Philip's hand. It was one of the fighting pictures. So it's you, he said, smiling at her and trying to keep the tremble of excitement out of his voice. It's you they want, eh? And they must want you bad. I've never heard of those little devils coming within a hundred miles of this far south. They must want you bad. Now I wonder why. His voice was calm again. I thrilled him to see how utterly she was judging the situation by the movement of his lips and the sound of his voice. With him unafraid, she would be unafraid. He judged that quickly. Her eyes bared her faith in him, and suddenly he reached out and took her face between his two hands and laughed softly. While each instant he feared the smash of a javelin through the window. I like to see that look in your eyes, he went on. And I'm almost glad you can't understand me, for I couldn't lie to you worth a cent. I understand those pictures now, and I think we're in a hell of a fix. The Eskimos have followed you and Bram down from the north, and I'm laying a wager with myself that Bram won't return from the caribou hunt. If they were Nunatal mutes or any other tribe, I wouldn't be so sure. But they're Kogmaloks. They're worse than the little brown headhunters of the Philippines when it comes to ambush, and if Bram hasn't got a spear through him this minute, I'll never guess again. He withdrew his hands from her face, still smiling at her as he talked. The color was returning into her face. Suddenly she made a movement as if to approach the window. He detained her, and in the same moment there came a fierce and snarling outcry from the wolves in the corral. Making Céline understand that she was to remain where he almost forcibly placed her near the table, Philip went again to the window. The pack had gathered close to the gate, and two or three of the wolves were leaping excitedly against the sapling bars of their prison. Between the cabin and the gate a second body lay in the snow. Philip's mind leapt to a swift conclusion. The Eskimos had ambushed Bram, and they believed that only the girl was in the cabin. Intuitively he guessed how the superstitious little brown men of the North feared the madman's wolves. One by one they were picking them off with their javelins from outside the corral. As he looked, a head and a pair of shoulders rose suddenly above the top of the sapling barrier. An arm shot out, and he caught the swift gleam of a javelin as it buried itself in the thick of the pack. In a flash the head and shoulders of the javelin thrower had disappeared, and in that same moment Philip heard a low cry behind him. Céline had returned to the window. She had seen what he had seen, and her breath came suddenly in a swift and sobbing excitement. In amazement he saw that she was no longer pale. A vivid flush had gathered in each of her cheeks and her eyes blazed with a dark fire. One of her hands caught his arm, and her fingers pinched his flesh. He stared dumbly for a moment at this strange transformation in her. He almost believed that she wanted to fight, that she was ready to rush out shoulder to shoulder with him against their enemies. Scarcely had the cry fallen from her lips when she turned and ran swiftly into her room. It seemed to Philip that she was not gone ten seconds. When she returned she thrust into his hand a revolver. It was a toy affair. The weight and size of the weapon told him that before he broke it and looked at the caliber. It was a stocking-gun, as they called those things in the service, fully loaded with twenty-two caliber shots and good for a possible partridge at fifteen or twenty paces. Under other conditions it would have furnished him with considerable amusement. But the present was not yesterday or the day before. It was a moment of grim necessity, and the tiny weapon gave him the satisfaction of knowing that he was not entirely helpless against the javelins. It would shoot as far as the stockade, and it might topple a man over if he hit him just right. Anyway, it would make a noise. A noise! The grin that had come into his face died out suddenly as he looked at Céline. He wondered if to her had come the thought that now flashed upon him. If it was that thought that had made her place the revolver in his hand. The blaze of excitement in her wonderful eyes almost told him that it was. With Bram gone the Eskimos believed she was alone and at their mercy as soon as the wolves were out of the way. Two or three shots from the revolver and Philip's appearance in the corral would shake their confidence. It would at least warn them that Céline was not alone and that her protector was armed. For that reason Philip thanked the Lord that a stocking gun had a bark like the explosion of a toy cannon even if its bite was like that of an insect. Cautiously he took another look at Bram's wolves. The last javelin had transfixed another of their number and the animal was dragging itself toward the center of the corral. The remaining seven were a dozen yards on the other side of the gate now leaping and snarling at the stockade and he knew that the next attack would come from there. He sprang to the door. Céline was only a step behind him as he ran out and was close at his side when he peered around the end of the cabin. They must not see you, he made her understand. It wouldn't do any good and when they see another man they may possibly get the idea in their heads that you're not here. There can't be many of them or they'd make quicker work of the wolves. I should say not more than See! See! the warning cry came in a low cry from Céline's lips. A dark head was appearing slowly above the top of the stockade and Philip darted suddenly out into the open. The Eskimo did not see him and Philip waited until he was on the point of hurling his javelin before he made a sound. Then he gave a roar that almost split his throat. In that same instant he began firing. The crack of his pistol and the ferocious outcry he made sent the Eskimo off the stockade like a ball hit by a club. The pack, maddened by their inability to reach their enemies turned like a flash. Warned by one experience Philip hustled Céline into the cabin. They were scarcely over the threshold when the wolves were at the door. We're sure up against a nice bunch, he laughed, standing for a moment with his arms still about Céline's waist. A regular hell of a bunch, little girl. Now, if those wolves only had sense enough to know that we're a little brother and sister to Bram, we'd be able to put up a fight that would be some circus. Did you see that fellow topple off the fence? Don't believe I hit him. At least I hope I didn't. If they ever find out the size of this pea-shooter's sting they'll sit up there like a row of crows and laugh at us. But what a bully noise it made! He was blissfully unmindful of danger as he held her in the crook of his arm, looking straight into her lovely face as he talked. It was a moment of splendid hypocrisy. He knew that in her excitement and the tremendous effort she was making to understand something of what he was saying that she was unconscious of his embrace. That and the joyous thrill of the situation sent the hot blood into his face. I'm dangerously near to go on the limit," he told her, speaking with a seriousness that would impress her. I'd fight twenty of those little devils single-handed to know just how you'd take it, and I'd fight another dozen to know who that fellow is in the picture. I'm tempted right now to hug you up close and kiss you and let you know how I feel. I'd like to do that before anything happens. Would you understand? That's it. Would you understand that I love every inch of you from the ground up, or would you think I was just beast? That's what I'm afraid of. But I'd like to let you know before I have to put up the big fight for you, and it's coming, if they've got bram. They'll break down the gate to-night, or burn it, and with the wolves out of the way they'll rush the cabin, and then— Slowly he drew his arm from her, and something of the reaction of his thoughts must have betrayed itself in the look that came into his face. I guess I've already pulled off a rotten deal on the other fellow, he said, turning to the window. That is, if you belong to him. And if you didn't, why would you stand there with your arms about his neck and he hugging you up like that? A few minutes before he had crumpled the pitcher in his hand and dropped it on the floor. He picked it up now, and mechanically smoothed it out as he made his observation through the window. The pack had returned to the stockade. By the aimless manner in which they had scattered, he concluded that for the time at least their mysterious enemies had drawn away from the corral. Selie had not moved. She was watching him earnestly. It seemed to him, as he went to her with a picture, that a new and anxious questioning had come into her eyes. It was as if she had discovered something in him which she had not observed before, something which she was trying to analyze even as he approached her. He felt for the first time a sense of embarrassment. Was it possible that she had comprehended some word or thought of what he had expressed to her? He could not believe it, and yet, a woman's intuition. He held out the picture. Selie took it, and for a space looked at it steadily without raising her eyes to meet his. When she did look at him, the blue in her eyes was so wonderful and deep, and the soul that looked out of them was so clear to his own vision that the shame of that moment's hypocrisy, when he had stood with his arm about her, submerged him completely. If she had not understood him, she at least had guessed. "'Min fodder,' she said quietly, with the tip of her little forefinger and the man in the picture. "'Min fodder!' For a moment he thought she had spoken in English. "'Your father?' he cried.' She nodded. "'Oe, Min fodder!' "'Thank the Lord!' gasped Philip, and then he suddenly added. "'Selie, have you any more cartridges for this pop-gun? I feel like licking the world!' End of chapter 13, recording by Roger Maline.