At a turn of the old trail I stopped for a last look at the little hut and a lump rose in my throat at thought of leaving the place forever. It had served me well, the woods and waters had been kind to me, and I was about to turn my back on the only home I had known for many months and to start into the unknown.
It was a bright spring morning; birds were twittering among the swelling buds of trees and bushes, the sun was warm, and all about were signs of nature springing into life and beauty once more.
The broad green leaves of skunk cabbage spread above the black peat by the lake, jack-in-the-pulpits reared their straight stems and unfolding leaves beside rocks and fallen trees, pale pink and lavender hepaticas peeped through the fallen leaves on sunny slopes, and trailing-arbutus vines were rich with odorous, waxen blooms. It was a day to make one happy and light-hearted, to fill man or beast with the very joy of living, and Lobo gamboled and frolicked about, chasing imaginary rabbits into the thickets, yelping at the red squirrels who mocked him from the branches overhead, and betweenwhiles trotting back and forth with keen nose to earth as if seeking for some trail to follow.
I also felt that it was good to be afield on such a glorious morning, and, laughing at Lobo’s antics, talking to him as to an intelligent being, whistling gaily, and filled with happiness as I realized that each step was bringing me nearer to the end of my trail, I swung rapidly ahead through the forest.
It was not long before we came in sight of the lonely, deserted buildings I had found during the winter, and as Lobo saw them he bristled up, howled, and, placing his tail between his legs, slunk at my heels. Although I knew that I must pass this spot on my way, yet I dreaded to approach it, and Lobo’s actions added to my unreasonable fear and gave me a sort of “creepy” sensation, for somehow I could not shake off the foolish idea that he saw or heard things which were invisible to me.
Perhaps it was the shadow of death which hung over it, perhaps it was the contrast of the lifeless gray buildings with the bright sunshine and joyous spring air, or perhaps it was pure imagination on my part, but somehow the place seemed uncanny and unnatural. In the little space between the buildings the gaunt, bare cross rose upward, sharply outlined against the dark background of the distant woods, and now I saw that round about it were many smaller boards projecting from the ground. For some minutes I hesitated, standing within the shelter of the woods, while Lobo whined cringingly beside me, for I could scarce bring myself to step forth into the clearing, to pass that tiny graveyard, and to run the gauntlet of those blank, staring windows and doors. But pass them I must if I was to reach the farther side where the trail led into the forest, and finally, summoning up my courage and calling myself a fool and worse, I started forward.
I had never believed in haunted houses, I scoffed at ghosts and everything that savored of the supernatural, and I had no patience with superstitions, but, ridiculous as it seems to me now, I could not help glancing furtively to right and left as we walked through that deserted village in the wilderness and gave the pitiful little graveyard a wide berth. I tried to argue with myself, to pooh-pooh my own foolishness, and to try to make myself believe it was merely the dread of smallpox that troubled me, and in a measure I succeeded. We had passed the graveyard, had left most of the buildings behind, and were approaching the entrance to an old wood road on the farther side. I breathed an involuntary sigh of relief to think that in a moment more we would be in the woods with the village behind us. Suddenly, as we came abreast of the last house with the patch of dead corn behind it, the door of the building swung open with a bang, and the dried stalks of corn swayed and rustled as if some object was tearing through them. In my heart I knew it was but a sudden gust of wind, but as Lobo uttered a melancholy howl and dashed past me I lost all control of myself and, taking to my heels, tore after him as fast as I could run. Not until I was a hundred yards down the road and the village was out of sight did I cease my wild race, and, overcoming my silly fright, seated myself upon a stump to regain my breath.
Lobo was nowhere to be seen, but presently he came trotting back along the old road, looking heartily ashamed of himself and wagging his tail and fawning about me as if to ask forgiveness for his behavior.
It all seems very childish and unpardonably silly of me, as I look back upon it now, but at the time it was real and a most unpleasant experience. Many animals seem to have an instinctive dread of a spot where human beings have lived and died. Lobo undoubtedly possessed such a fear, and I had lived so long in the woods and had been such a close companion of the wolf that perhaps I had developed this same unreasoning terror—it is the only excuse I can offer, the only way I can account for my sensations on that spring morning.
But the place was left behind. Our spirits rose again and, shouldering my packs, I resumed my journey.