His enemies lay in three dark and motionless heaps in the snow.

Fate had played a strong hand with him.

Almost by a miracle he had escaped and at least two of the Eskimos were dead.
He was still watchful, still guarding against a further attack, and suddenly he whirled to face a figure that brought from him a cry of astonishment and alarm.

It was Celie.

She was standing ten paces from him, and in the wild terror that had brought her to him she had left the bearskin behind.