It was night in Winnipeg, a night of such radiant moonlight as is
seen only in northern climates and in winter time. During the early
evening a light snow had fallen, not driving fiercely after the
Manitoba manner, but gently, and so lay like a fleecy, shimmering
mantle over all things.

Under this fleecy mantle, shimmering with myriad gems, lay Winnipeg
asleep. Up from five thousand chimneys rose straight into the still
frosty air five thousand columns of smoke, in token that, though
frost was king outside, the good folk of Winnipeg lay snug and warm
in their virtuous beds. Everywhere the white streets lay in silence
except for the passing of a belated cab with creaking runners and
jingling bells, and of a sleighing party returning from Silver Heights,
their four-horse team smoking, their sleigh bells ringing out, carrying
with them hoarse laughter and hoarser songs, for the frosty air works
mischief with the vocal chords, and leaving behind them silence again.

All through Fort Rouge, lying among its snow-laden trees, across the
frost-bound Assiniboine, all through the Hudson's Bay Reserve, there
was no sign of life, for it was long past midnight. Even Main Street,
that most splendid of all Canadian thoroughfares, lay white and spotless
and, for the most part, in silence. Here and there men in furs or in
frieze coats with collars turned up high, their eyes peering through
frost-rimmed eyelashes and over frost-rimmed coat collars, paced
comfortably along if in furs, or walked hurriedly if only in frieze,
whither their business or their pleasure led.