184 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER 



the south-east here ; and until the spring equinox, bring 

 ing summer with a flood-tide of thaw, gray darkness 

 hangs in the east like a fog. South, the sun moves 

 across the snowy levels in a wheel of fire, for it has 

 scarcely risen full sphered above the sky-line before it 

 sinks again etching drift and tip of half-buried brush 

 in long lonely fading shadows. The west shimmers 

 in warm purplish grays, for the moist Chinook winds 

 come over the mountains melting the snow by magic. 

 North, is the cold steel of ice by day; and at night 

 Northern Lights darting through the polar dark like 

 burnished spears. 



Christmas day ic welcomed at the northern fur 

 posts by a firing of cannon from the snow-muffled bas 

 tions. Before the stars have faded, chapel services be 

 gin. Frequently on either Christmas or New Year s 

 day, a grand feast is given the tawny-skinned habitues 

 of the fort, who come shuffling to the main mess-room 

 with no other announcement than the lifting of the 

 latch, and billet themselves on the hospitality of a host 

 that has never turned hungry Indians from its doors. 



For reasons well-known to the woodcraftsman, a 

 sudden lull falls on winter hunting in December, and 

 all the trappers within a week s journey from the fort, 

 all the half-breed guides who add to the instinct of 

 native craft the reasoning of the white, all the Indian 

 hunters ranging river-course and mountain have come 

 by snow-shoes and dog train to spend festive days at the 

 fort. A great jangling of bells announces the huskies 

 (dog trains) scampering over the crusted snow-drifts. 

 A babel of barks and curses follows, for the huskies 

 celebrate their arrival by tangling themselves up in their 

 harness and enjoying a free fight. 



