He turned his head--slowly and without movement of his body, and in that instant a gasp rose to his lips, and died there.

Scarcely a dozen paces from him stood a poised and hooded figure, a squat, fire-eyed apparition that looked more like monster than man in that first glance.

Something acted within him that was swifter than reason--a sub-conscious instinct that works for self-preservation like the flash of powder in a pan.

It was this sub-conscious self that received the first photographic impression--the strange poise of the hooded creature, the uplifted arm, the cold, streaky gleam of something in the dawn-light, and in response to that impression Philip's physical self crumpled down in the snow as a javelin hissed through the space where his head and shoulders had been.
So infinitesimal was the space of time between the throwing of the javelin and Philip's movement that the Eskimo believed he had transfixed his victim.

A scream of triumph rose in his throat.