il and landmarks after even the dusk had died away. Four
miles, or a little more, and I should be in familiar land again. Four
miles, that I longed to make, before the last light failed...

The road angled to the northeast. I was by no means very sure of it. I
knew which general direction to hold, but trails that often became mere
cattle-paths crossed and criss-crossed repeatedly. It was too dark by
this time to see very far. I did not know the smaller landmarks. But I
knew, if I drove my horse pretty briskly, I must within little more than
half an hour strike a black wall of the densest primeval forest fringing
a creek--and, skirting this creek, I must find an old, weather-beaten
lumber bridge. When I had crossed that bridge, I should know the
landmarks again.

Underbrush everywhere, mostly symphoricarpus, I thought. Large trunks
loomed up, charred with forest fires; here and there a round, white
or light-grey stone, ghostly in the waning light, knee-high, I should
judge. Once I passed the skeleton of a stable--the remnant of the
buildings put up by a pioneer settler who had to give in after having
wasted effort and substance and worn his knuckles to the bones. The
wilderness uses human material up...

A breeze from the north sprang up, and it turned strangely chilly I
started to talk to Peter, the loneliness seemed so oppressive. I told
him that he should have a walk, a real walk, as soon as we had crossed
the creek. I told him we were on the homeward half--that I had a bag of
oats in the box, and that my wife would have a pail of water ready...
And Peter trotted along.

Something loomed up in front. Dark and sinister it looked. Still there
was enough light to recognize even that which I did not know. A large
bluff of poplars rustled, the wind soughing through the stems with a
wailing note. The brush grew higher to the right. I suddenly noticed
that I was driving along a broken-down fence between the brush and
myself. The brush became a grove of boles which next seemed to shoot
up to the full height of the bluff. Then, unexpectedly, startlingly,
a vista opened. Between the silent grove to the south and the large;
whispering, wailing bluff to the north there stood in a little clearing
a snow white log house, uncannily white in the paling moonlight. I
could still distinctly see that its upper windows were nailed shut with
boards--and yes, its lower ones, too. And yet, the moment I passed it,
I saw through one unclos