Followers of the Trail | Page 3

where it
vanished with the dog in hot pursuit. The Hermit returned to his hoeing,
glad that he and Pal had been the means of saving one life from the
cruel fangs which kill purely for the lust of killing.
On another day the Hermit owed his own life to the faithful dog. He
had gone some distance into the woods to visit a bed of ginseng which
he had discovered a fortnight before. In the rich leaf-mold the plants
grew lustily, covering the forest floor for some distance with their
spreading green umbrellas. With delighted eyes the Hermit stood
gazing upon his rich find, but when he stooped to ascertain whether or
not the roots were ready for drying, his outstretched hand was quickly
arrested by Pal's frenzied barking. He quickly withdrew his hand and
moved slightly until he could follow the dog's gaze. There, scarcely a
foot away, lay a coiled rattler, the ugly head raised. Even as the man
looked, the tail sent out its deadly warning.
The Hermit was surprised but not alarmed, for he had dealt with rattlers
before. With one blow of the mattock, which he always carried for
digging, the head of the big snake was crushed and its poisoned fangs
buried in the earth.
"Good old Pal! You probably saved my life. I would never have seen
the reptile in time," the Hermit said feelingly, as he patted the head of
the gratified dog. The rattles were carried home as trophies and the love
between man and dog was deepened, if such a thing were possible.
Thus, with long rambles in the forest and with hours of harvesting and
drying roots and berries, the days sped by, lengthening into weeks and

the weeks into months. Birch and maple dropped their leaves, a rustling
carpet about their feet. Wedges of wild geese winged their way
southward through the trackless sky, making the nights vocal with their
honking. The bear, woodchuck, skunk, raccoon and chipmunk, fat from
their summer feeding, had retired to den or hollow tree where they were
to sleep snugly through the cold months.
Then one night the Storm King swept down from the North, locking the
forest in a frozen grip which only the spring could break. A thick
mantle of snow covered the wilderness over which a deep silence
brooded, broken now and then by a sharp report from some great pine
or spruce as the frost penetrated its fibers. The sun, which now shone
but a few hours of the day, could make no headway against the intense
cold, but those creatures of the wilderness which were still abroad were
prepared to meet it with warm coats of fur, through which the frost
could not penetrate.
The Hermit and Pal enjoyed the short crisp days and took many a trip
into the forest, the man upon snowshoes, the dog with his light weight
easily upborne by the crust. Then there were long, quiet evenings by
the fire, when the Hermit studied and Pal drowsed beside him, one eye
on the man, ready to respond to the least sign of attention.
At this season of hunger many wild creatures, which in the days of
abundance were too shy to approach the cabin, overcame their timidity,
to feast upon the good things spread for them about the clearing. The
birds, especially, grew so tame that they would fly to meet the Hermit
the moment he stepped forth. The bolder ones even found a perch on
his shoulders or head, chatting sociably or scolding at each other.
Occasionally one of the larger animals visited the banquet, and though
these were regarded somewhat askance by the regular frequenters, a
truce which was never violated held about the food supply.
One clear, crisp day in the late winter when the snow crust sparkled
under the sun's rays as if strewn with diamond dust, and the cold was
intense, Pal frolicked away by himself into the woods as the Hermit
was feeding his wild friends. That was nothing unusual but, as the
afternoon wore on and he did not return, his master began to feel a

slight uneasiness. Pal had never before stayed away so long.
Occasionally the Hermit went to the window which looked out upon
the dark wall of the wilderness, but there was no movement in its
borders and the cold soon drove him back to his warm fireside.
At length, when the sun was well down in the western sky, there came
a familiar scratching on the door of the cabin. The Hermit sprang to
open it, giving a relieved laugh at sight of Pal upon the doorstep. But,
strange to say, the dog would not enter. With a sharp bark he trotted a
short distance down the path, looking back at