wn to the huntsmen,
who invariably avoid them. Now, one of these spots, an open space in
the pine forests above us, had been pointed out to my father as
dangerous on that account. But, whether he disbelieved these wild
stories or whether, in his eager pursuit of the chase, he disregarded
them, I know not; certain, however, it is, that he was decoyed by the
white wolf to this open space, when the animal appeared to slacken her
speed. My father approached, came close up to her, raised his gun to
his shoulder, and was about to fire, when the wolf suddenly disappeared.
He thought that the snow on the ground must have dazzled his sight, and
he let down his gun to look for the beast--but she was gone; how she
could have escaped over the clearance, without his seeing her, was
beyond his comprehension. Mortified at the ill success of his chase, he
was about to retrace his steps, when he heard the distant sound of a
horn. Astonishment at such a sound--at such an hour--in such a
wilderness, made him forget for the moment his disappointment, and he
remained riveted to the spot. In a minute the horn was blown a second
time, and at no great distance; my father stood still, and listened: a
third time it was blown. I forget the term used to express it, but it
was the signal which, my father well knew, implied that the party was
lost in the woods. In a few minutes more my father beheld a man on
horseback, with a female seated on the crupper, enter the cleared space,
and ride up to him. At first, my father called to mind the strange
stories which he had heard of the supernatural beings who were said to
frequent these mountains; but the nearer approach of the parties
satisfied him that they were mortals like himself. As soon as they came
up to him, the man who guided the horse accosted him. `Friend Hunter,
you are out late, the better fortune for us; we have ridden far, and are
in fear of our lives which are eagerly sought after. These mountains
have enabled us to elude our pursuers; but if we find not shelter and
refreshment, that will avail us little, as we must perish from hunger
and the inclemency of the night. My daughter, who rides behind me, is
now more dead than alive--say, can you assist us in our difficulty?'

"`My cottage is some few miles distant,' replied my father, `but I have
little to offer you besides a shelter from the weather; to the little I
have you are welcome. May I ask whence you come?'

"`Yes, frie