its drooping branches the white coat of winter.

The valley is split by a river, now frozen to its bed. But, from the hut
door, the rift which marks its course in the dark carpet cannot be seen.

In the awesome view no life is revealed. The forests shadow the earth
and every living thing upon it, and where the forest is not there lies
the snow to the depth of many feet. It is a scene of solemn grandeur,
over which broods silence and illimitable space.

Out of the deathly stillness comes a long-drawn sigh. It echoes down the
hillside like the weary expression of patient suffering from some poor
creature imprisoned where ancient glacier and everlasting snows hold
place. It passes over the low-pitched roof of the dugout, it plays about
the angles and under the wide reaching eaves. It sets the door creaking
with a sound that startles the occupants. It passes on and forces its
way through the dense, complaining forest trees. The opposition it
receives intensifies its plaint, and it rushes angrily through the
branches. Then, for awhile, all is still again. But the coming of that
breath from the mountain top has made a difference in the outlook.
Something strange has happened. One looks about and cannot tell what it
is. It may be that the air is colder; it may be that the daylight has
changed its tone; it may be that the sunlit scene is changed as the air
fills with sparkling, diamond frost particles. Something has happened.

Suddenly a dismal howl splits the air, and its echoes intensify the
gloom. Another howl succeeds it, and then the weird cry is taken up by
other voices.

And ere the echoes die out another breath comes down from the hilltop, a
breath less patient; angry with a biting fierceness which speaks of
patience exhausted and a spirit of retaliation.

It catches up the loose snow as it comes and hurls it defiantly at every
obstruction with the viciousness of an exasperated woman. Now it shakes
the dugout, and, as it passes on, shrieks invective at the world over
which it rushes, and everything it touches feels the bitter lash of the
whipping snow it bears upon its bosom. Again come the strange howls of
the animal world, but they sound more distant and the echoes are
muffled, for those who cry out have sought the woodland shelter, where
the mountain breath exhausts itself against the countless legions of the
pines.

Ere the shriek has died out, another blast comes, down the mountainside,
and up rises the fin