behind you, the key grating harshly in the rusty lock.

For hour after hour you toil over the steep, stony ground, or wind
through the pines, speaking in whispers, lest your voice reach the
quick ears of your prey, that keeps its head ever pressed against the
wind. Here and there, in the hollows of the hills lie wide fields of
snow, over which you pick your steps thoughtfully, listening to the
smothered thunder of the torrent, tunnelling its way beneath your
feet, and wondering whether the frozen arch above it be at all points
as firm as is desirable. Now and again, as in single file you walk
cautiously along some jagged ridge, you catch glimpses of the green
world, three thousand feet below you; though you gaze not long upon
the view, for your attention is chiefly directed to watching the
footprints of the guide, lest by deviating to the right or left you
find yourself at one stride back in the valley--or, to be more
correct, are found there.

These things you do, and as exercise they are healthful and
invigorating. But a reindeer you never see, and unless, overcoming
the prejudices of your British-bred conscience, you care to take an
occasional pop at a fox, you had better have left your rifle at the
hut, and, instead, have brought a stick which would have been
helpful. Notwithstanding which the guide continues sanguine, and in
broken English, helped out by stirring gesture, tells of the terrible
slaughter generally done by sportsmen under his superintendence, and
of the vast herds that generally infest these fields; and when you
grow sceptical upon the subject of Reins he whispers alluringly of
Bears.

Once in a way you will come across a track, and will follow it