56 THE SNOW-WALKERS. 



with great drifts, lift themselves up cold and white 

 against the sky, the black lines of fences here and 

 there obliterated by the depth of the snow. Pres- 

 ently a fox barks away up next the mountain, and I 

 imagine I can almost see him sitting there, in his 

 furs, upon the illuminated surface, and looking down 

 in my direction. As I listen, one answers him from 

 behind the woods in the valley. What a wild winter 

 sound, wild and weird, up among the ghostly hills. 

 Since the wolf has ceased to howl upon these mount- 

 ains, and the panther to scream, there is nothing to 

 be compared with it. So wild ! I get up in the mid- 

 dle of the night to hear it. It is refreshing to the 

 ear, and one delights to know that such wild creatures 

 are among us. At this season Nature makes the 

 most of every throb of life that can withstand her 

 severity. How heartily she indorses this fox ! In 

 what bold relief stand out the lives of all walkers of 

 the snow ! The snow is a great tell-tale, and blabs 

 as effectually as it obliterates. I go into the woods, 

 and know all that has happened. I cross the fields, 

 and if only a mouse has visited his neighbor, the fact 

 is chronicled. 



The red fox is the only species that abounds in 

 my locality ; the little gray fox seems to prefer a 

 more rocky and precipitous country, and a less rigor- 

 ous climate ; the cross fox is occasionally seen, and 

 there are traditions of the silver gray among the old- 

 est hunters. But the red fox is the sportsman's 

 prize, and the only fur-bearer worthy of note in these 



