twenty feet. The hound never knew what struck him, and it was not until an hour later that Rashe Weeden found his flattened carcass.
"Looked as if he'd been stepped on by one of them circus elephants," he confided afterwards to old Fred Dean, who lived over on the Barrack, near him.
"Elephants be mighty scurce on Seven Mountains," objected the old man; and the passing of that hound remains a mystery on the Barrack to this day.
One bitter gray afternoon, when the flaming leaves had died down to dull browns and ochres, word came to the wild folk that winter was on its way to Seven Mountains. Little flurries of stinging snow whirled through the air, and the wind shrieked across the marshland where the bear was still hunting for food. As the long grass of the tussocks streamed out like tow-colored hair, she shambled deep into the nearest wood, until behind the massed tree-trunks she was safe from the fierce fingers of the north wind, which howled like a wolf overhead. From that day she stopped the search for food and started house-hunting. Back and forth, up and down the mountains, in and out of the swamps, across the uplands and along the edges of the hills, she hurried for days at a time.
At last, on a dry slope, she found what she wanted. Deep in the withered grass showed a vast chestnut stump. Starting above this on the slope, in the very centre of a tangled thicket she dug a slanting tunnel. The entrance was narrow, like the neck of a jug, and was so small that it did not seem possible that the
