In my own case, I did not for several years wear any underclothing, and though in the buffalo country, and a buffalo hunter, I never had room or transport for a buffalo coat until the Canadian Pacific Railroad reached Alberta, and the era of heavy clothing and ponderous boots came in, with ever and anon men frozen to death in them! Not so with us; we run and lift and pull and push, and are warm. Old Joseph has for a leader a big dog called "Blucher," and every little while there rings out in the crisp air the call "Buchen," for in Joseph's soft, euphonious tongue there is no use for "l" and "r." Before daylight we have pulled up in the lee of a clump of poplars, and, kicking away the snow and gathering wood, have built a glorious fire. A hasty second breakfast, and again we are off, while the day-sky is still faint in the eastern horizon. And now the cold seems to double in rigor; old "Draffan's" breath solidifies ere it disappears into the infinity of frozen air on every hand. Even the smooth toboggan and the soft moccasin are not noiseless on the hard crisp snow of the road. It is cold, but the colder it becomes the harder we drive. "Marse, Buchen!" from old Joseph, "Yoh-ho! Put-eyo," from Susa. The only dog inclined to sneak in my train is "Grog." I ring out his name so sharply as to make him think his last day has come, and he springs into his collar with such vim as to quicken the whole train into a faster step. Now the morning is upon us, and presently the clear sunlight glorifies the waking world. Tiny shrub, willow bush, timber clump, valley and hill, with their millions of glittering ice crystals, are brilliantly illumined. The scene is dazzling and beautiful in the extreme. For miles on every hand as we run the shadows give way to the most brilliant light, and here and yonder the dark spots, denoting buffalo, singly or in groups, stand out with startling distinctness on the great white expanse.