The Prescott daily news., 1907-12-28

himself in his best and, putting on over his fete dress his warm seaman's jack st, slipped his moccasined feet into the loops of his snowshoes and started on his ten mile journey. At the door his uncle put gun into his hands.
 "They say the wolves are about" he warned the young man. ''Pere Se- hastien saw two last week, so early In the season. Be careful, Louis and keep along the river, where you can see the way"
 It was still dull gray daylight when the young man set forth. The winter road over the hard, dry snow was good, and for a time he made rapid progress.
 Then, while the uncertain wind con tinued it's intermittent dirge, the snow began to fall, almost imperceptibly at first Soon, as the spirits of the storm rushed from their lairs, 1t whirled in blinding clouds of paralyzing white dust round about him, sweeping with a sound like a brush along the frozen roadway, cutting his face with its icy touch.
 Louis was no stranger to the wintry woods, and he fought his way doggedly onward, pulling his fur cap low over his ears and taking a small "coup" from flask of whisky he carried.
 More and more furious grew the storm and deeper and deeper the drifts. It was impossible to see two yards through the whirling snow fog around him, and in vain his eyes, shrinking from the pitiless needles of the frost, sought the friendly lights of St Pierre de Beaupre. The path was long since obliterated; the going was heavier ev- cry minute. Louis realized too late that he was lost in the tempest
 There was but one hope for him Fighting blindly along, he stumbled or a spot where under some great tree trunks the snowdrifts lay less heavi ly than elsewhere. In his desperate straits the place seemed made for him. He scooped himself hole In the snow and crept in.
 Long he lay in the comparative warmth of his strange retreat. listening to the tempest which howled in the for est trees around him as though all the fiends of hell were riding on the gale Louis fell into a reverie, respectfully conjuring up pictures of this festive scene in the house of Josef Manon-- the sound of the great viol, the young men and girls dancing the old year out and the new year in.
 Something warm brushing by his face aroused him. A red fox had crept through the already narrowed opening of his retreat. Louis put out his hand and touched the creature. Instead of resenting the touch 1t whined like dog in trouble and drew closer to him. 'Its den is choked up," thought Louis and, in sympathy, stroked the head of the frightened animal. He took an other nip from his whisky flask and strove to keep himself from falling asleep in the growing warmth of his snow nest
 Hark. What was that? The red fox quivered from its head to the tip of its bushy tail, and Louis started and listened hard. The sound came again, penetrating and weird. like the cry of the wild goose as it passes southward in the fall. But when did wild geese fly on a midwinter night?
 Louis brushed the sweat from his forehead and listened as though his soul were in his ears. A third time came the cry, high over the treetops, out of the northwest sky, closer and closer with the rush of the wind. Was it words that he heard and the sound of singing-over the treetops. out of the northwest sky? Holy Virgin, what chorus was that?
 ''Un Canayen errant
 Banni de ses foyers,
 Parcourait en pleurant
 Des pays etrangers
 'Si tu vols mon pays,
 Mon pays malheureux,
 Va, dis a mes amis
 Que je me Souviens d'eux."
 The slow, sad minor of the old chan. son came weirdly out of the night on the wings of the storm. Louis La toche trembled in every limb. Drag ging himself to the opening. he forced himself to look out.
 Hello, Louis, helio"
 His own name, in a voice that he re- membered, a voice from the storm racked sky that paralyzed him with fear.
 Hello, Louis, hello" came the hail again.
 Louis looked up. High overhead,