Success and Failure 



days. Then a day due north, over rolling, monont- 

 onously snowy plain, devoid of rock, tree or shrub, 

 brought them into a country of the strangest, queerest 

 little spruce trees, very slender, and none of them over 

 fifteen feet in height. A primeval forest of saplings. 



&quot; Ditchen Nechila ! &quot; said the guide. 



&quot; Land of Sticks Little,&quot; translated Rea. 



An occasional reindeer was seen and numerous 

 foxes and hares trotted off into the woods, evincing 

 more curiosity than fear. All were silver white, 

 even the reindeer, at a distance, taking the hue of 

 the north. Once a beautiful creature, unblemished 

 as the snow it trod, ran up a ridge and stood watch 

 ing the hunters. It resembled a monster dog, only it 

 was inexpressibly more wild looking. 



&quot; Ho ! Ho ! there you are ! &quot; cried Rea, reaching 

 for his Winchester. &quot; Polar wolf! Them s the 

 white devils we ll have hell with.&quot; 



As if the wolf understood, he lifted his white, 

 sharp head and uttered a bark or howl that was like 

 nothing so much as a haunting, unearthly mourn. 

 The animal then merged into the white, as if he were 

 really a spirit of the world whence his cry seemed to 

 come. 



In this ancient forest of youthful appearing trees, 

 the hunters cut firewood to the full carrying capacity 

 of the sleds. For five days the Indian guide drove 



169 



