Part 1 (1/2)

The Snowshoe Trail

by Edison Marshall

I

It was not the first tiht to look down on Bradleyburg The sight always seeue and mystify the wild folk,--the shadowed street, the spire of therow of unpainted shacks, and the dihtedThe old bulldays, ont to pause and call, listen an instant for such answer as the twilight city h the spruce forests; and often the coyotes gathered in a ring and wailed out their cries over the rooftops More than once the wolf pack had halted here for a fleeting instant; but they were never people to linger in the vicinity of ht it was not one of these four-footed wild folk--this tall foraze down at the town But he was none the less of the forest Its mark was upon hith of his motions; perhaps it lay even in a certain dimness and obscurity of outline, framed by the thickets as he was, that was particularly characteristic of the wild denizens of the woods But even in the heavy shadows his identity was clear at once He was simply a woods file of pack horses behind hi, held by the darkened scene below hi shadoas the expression on his bronzed face It revealed relief, of course, siht of his destination Men do not wander over the blazed trails of the North Woods and not feel relief at the journey's end There was a hint of fatigue in his posture, the horses' heads were low; and the shacks below meant food and rest But there was also a pensiveness, a dreareater sweep of his thoughts

He had looked down on Bradleyburg on many previous occasions, but the scene had never impressed him in quite this way before Already the shadows had crept out from the dark forests that enclosed the little city and had enfolded it in gloos were obscured and the street was lost, and there was little left to tell that here was the abode ofeyes of the wild creatures in the darkness, burned here and there from theof a house: except for this the wilderness would have see you down,” theyou--just as it has h in the silence, the townspeople in the houses beloouldn't have understood His horses, sniffing at his knees, did not seem to hear But the woodsman could not have made himself any clearer Words never come easy to those that dwell in the silences of the North To hiht was sy forth with slow encroachments until all of the little toas enfolded within itself

It was a twilight city, the little cluster of frah in the daylight, a few children could play in its streets and wo darkness revealed it as it was,--siment that the dark forests were about to clai; as in the case of old camps of the North the wilderness was about to take back its own

It had had a glorious past, this little city lost in the northern reaches of the Selkirks In the old camps of the North; and ravel of its streams In all directions up the hillside the tents and shacks had stretched, dance halls were gay, freighters plied along the winding road to the south The man's mother had been one of the first woo The mines were fabulously rich; tens of thousands in dust were often taken in a single day by a lonetables, and even the terrible winters could not triuave out, one terrible winter night the whole toas destroyed by fire, and now that theto other camps, few of the shacks were rebuilt

Of the six thousand that had been, scarcely threescore remained A few trappers ran their lines out fros, two or three woodsuides for such wealthy 's course was run The winter cold had triumphed at last, and its curse was over the city from October till June The spruce forest, cleared away to ain and was steadilytoward the main street of the town

But the ret Except for a fewdays he had no particular fondness for the little cluster of shacks Long ago the wilderness had claimed him for its own; his ho Bradleyburg was simply his source of supplies and his post office, the market for his furs He had reached back and stroked the warm nose of his horse

”Another half ently ”Then oats--rice and oodness oats--for you What you think about that, eh, Mulvaney? Then show a little speed this last half- on his horse, and even the cattle to adrace hich his body slipped down into the saddle The horse moved forward, the pack ani down into the still street of the town Tired as he was, his hands were swift and strong as he unpacked the animals and tied them in the bar back of Johnson's,--the little frontier inn As always, after the supper hour, a group of the townsathered about the hotel stove; and all of the the his hands

They had feords at first The lesson of silence is taught deeply and sure in the North The hostess went to her kitchen to order the man's supper, the townsmen drew at their pipes

”Well, Bill,” one of the with you?”

It was not the usual how-d'ye-do of greeting The words were spoken in actual question, as if they had special significance

Theyet,” he replied

”In after supplies?”

”Yes--andpause The conversation was apparently ended Bill turned to go A stranger spoke from the other side of the fire

”How's Grizzly River?” he asked Bill turned to hiher All the streao's?”

Fargo was the Bradleyburg er knew the horse,--one of the little band that, after the frontier custoo kept to rent ”Yes, I reot hier nodded In this little community the dumb brutes were al holly plain to him too, and the term did not apply to the horse's color

Yellow, on the frontier, ivable thing of all When one is yellow he gives up easily, he dares not lift his arht, and the wilderness claims him quickly

”There's a little creek with a bad mudhole just this side of the ford,”