THE TRAIL OF THE SANDHILL STAG 



With a sudden rush of strength 

 to his limbs he led away like a wolf 

 on the trail* And down his spine 

 and in his hair he felt as before, and 

 yet as never before, the strange 

 prickling that he knew was the same 

 as makes the wolf's mane bristle 

 when he hunts* He followed till 

 night was near and he must needs 

 turn, for the Spruce Hill was many 

 miles away* 



He knew that it would be long 

 after sunset before he could get there* 

 and he scarcely expected that his 

 comrades would wait for him* but 

 he did not care; he gloried in the 

 independence of his strength* for his 

 legs were like iron and his wind 

 was like a hound's* Ten miles 

 32 



