in response to that stirring message in the wind. He came out into the moonlit meadow; he lifted high his magnificent horns. And the wilderness gods—kind at last to this man of cities who had given his heart to the wilderness—wakened Hugh in time to behold the sight.
It was such a scene that the memory ever cherishes, a mystery and a delight through all of life. In all that breadth of forest there was no picture more wonderful, no forest drama that went more deeply into the mysteries of the wild. He felt as if the mountains had opened their secret heart to him at last. He scarcely moved in his blankets lest the charm should break.
He didn't know why he was so awed. It was as if the centuries had rolled back and had given him a glimpse of the young world,—when the holy communion of men and nature still endured. He sensed the immutable enforcement of great laws,—perhaps one instant's half-darkened glimpse of the whole, unfathomable scheme of existence. And he was moved to the depths of his being by the sheer beauty and wonder of the scene.
The moonlight was a miracle in itself. It enchanted the meadows, it filled the open forest with gliding ghosts, it turned to snow the great, sleeping flock. The brush thickets were a mystery, a darkness that passed understanding. And at the edge of the forest stood the bighorns, forms in marble, noble past all words.
