The Snowshoe Trail

 

Exciting Forest Adventure!

It was not the first time that people of the forest had paused on the hill at twilight to look down on Bradleyburg.

The sight always seemed to intrigue and mystify the wild folk,—the shadowed street, the spire of the moldering church ghostly in the half-light, the long row of unpainted shacks, and the dim, pale gleam of an occasional lighted window.

The old bull moose, in rutting days, was wont to pause and call, listen an instant for such answer as the twilight city might give him, then push on through the spruce forests; and often the coyotes gathered in a ring and wailed out their cries over the rooftops.

More than once the wolf pack had halted here for a fleeting instant; but they were never people to linger in the vicinity of men.

But to-night it was not one of these four-footed wild folk—this tall form—that emerged from the dark fringe of the spruce forest to gaze down at the town.

But he was none the less of the forest.
Its mark was upon him; in the silence of his tread, the sinuous strength of his motions; perhaps it lay even in a certain dimness and obscurity of outline, framed by the thickets as he was, that was particularly characteristic of the wild denizens of the woods.

But even in the heavy shadows his identity was clear at once…

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