gested
homesteads; the barking of dogs--life. These signs of habitation
continued, and became now more frequent, and now, again, more rare.
The hills increased in size and the bush thickened. Noon saw the
traveller in an "up-and-down" country intersected by icebound streams
and snow-laden hollows. The timber became more heavy, great pine trees
dominating the more stunted growths, and darkening the outlook by
reason of their more generous vegetation. On the eastern extremity of
this belt of country stood the school-house of Leonville; beyond that
the undulating prairie again on to Loon Dyke Farm.

Leslie Grey looked at his watch; the hands indicated a near approach
to the hour of one. He had yet three miles to go to reach his
destination. He had crossed a small creek. A culvert bridged it, but
the snow upon either side of the trail was so deep in the hollow that
no indication of the woodwork was visible. It was in such places as
these that a watchful care was needed. The smallest divergence from
the beaten track would have precipitated the team and cutter into a
snow-drift from which it would have been impossible to extricate it
without a smash-up. Once safely across this he allowed the horses to
climb the opposite ascent leisurely. They had done well--he had
covered the distance in less than six hours.

The hill was a mass of redolent pinewoods. It was as though the
gradual densifying of this belt of woodland country had culminated
upon the hill. The brooding gloom of the forest was profound. The dark
green foliage of the pines seemed black by contrast with the snow, and
gazing in amongst the leafless lower trunks was like peering into a
world of dayless night The horses walked with ears pricked and wistful
eyes alertly gazing. The darkness of their surroundings seemed to have
conveyed something of its mysterious dread to their sensitive nerves.
Tired they might be, but they were ready to shy at each rustle of the
heavy branches, as some stray breath of air bent them lazily and
forced from them a creaking protest.

As the traveller neared the summit the trail narrowed down until a
hand outstretched from the conveyance could almost have brushed the
tree-trunks.

Grey's eyes were upon his horses and his thoughts were miles away.
Ahead of him gaped the opening in the trees which marked the brow of
the hill against the skyline. He had traversed the road many times on
his way to Loon Dyke Farm and knew every foot of it.