CANADIAN BACKWOODS VILLAGE. 



XVII 

 A MOOSE HUNT ON SNOW-SHOES 



C CENE : A rustic bridge spanning the dark current of a swift 

 river near its effluence from a wood-embosomed lake, joining 

 the two halves of a backwoods village, some two score whitewashed 

 cottages fronting a straggling street, each backed by a few acres 

 redeemed from the fangs of giant stumps and huge rock boulders. 

 The air is full of the buzz and whirr of the great lumber mill, fed 

 by a wing-dam immediately below the bridge, as its huge gang-saws 

 rip up the fallen monarchs of the forest, swiftly transforming them 

 into huge piles of yellow boards. 



Everywhere snow ; often gathered into picturesque drifts and 

 ridges, which mark the low scraggy stone walls and the bristling 

 ' snake ' fences. The vast sheet of pure white only loses itself 

 where it strays on a distant hillside among the dark boles of a huddled 

 patch of shaggy spruce trees spared by the woodman's axe. 



Time : 9 a.m. of a brilliant morning of early March. One of 

 those peculiarly clear sparkling mornings which seem to belong to 

 the latter part of the Canadian winter. 



Dramatis personae : A dozen hardy athletic men, attended by 

 a pack of mongrel hounds, some of powerful breed ; others mere 

 curs, yet showing some faint trace of pointer or foxhound blood. 



