en done over a gasoline "plate," and they were now discussing the
advisability of spending the remaining hour of daylight in the
investigation of the strange, wild land in which they now found
themselves.

Two days before they had landed at Katalla, and had spent the
intervening time in transferring their supplies to the log house on the
glacier. They had traveled northward by the inland route, and landed in
the vicinity of Controller bay, bringing with them provisions sufficient
for a long stay in the wonderful North.

Those who have read the previous volumes of this series will well
remember the adventures of Will Smith, Charley (Sandy) Green, George
Benton and Tommy Gregory. After startling experiences among the Pictured
Rocks of Old Superior, in the mysterious swamps of the Everglades, in
the rocky caverns of the Continental Divide, amidst the snows of the
Hudson Bay wilderness, and in the coal caverns of the Pennsylvania
anthracite region, they had decided to spend a portion of the summer in
Alaska. They had reached Controller bay without serious accident, and
now found themselves in one of the most picturesque sections of the
great territory, with plenty of provisions and ammunition.

The lads were all dressed in the khaki uniform of the Boy Scouts of
America, the badges showing membership in the Beaver Patrol of Chicago.
Their coat sleeves showed medals proclaiming the fact that they had
passed examinations and were well qualified to serve as Stalkers,
Seamen, Pioneers, or in the Ambulance squad. The pennant of the Beaver
Patrol flew above the door of the cabin.

Tommy Gregory separated himself from, the group about the supper table
and walked to the heavily-screened doorway. His face was covered by an
Alaska head-net, and he wore a pair of strong leather gloves.

"Why didn't some of you boys tell me that the mosquitos here are as
large as robins?" he asked.

"Because they are only half as large," replied Sandy Green with a grin.

"If some one will hand me my gun off the table," Tommy went on, with a
wrinkling of his freckled nose, "I'll shoot one, and we can have him for
supper! One of the outlaws ought to make a good meal for us four!"

"Better do the killing with a handspike," advised Sandy, "for we haven't
any ammunition to throw away. Besides," the boy went on, "I don't
believe a thirty-eight would kill one of these wild animals, anyway!"

"Up on the Yukon," George Benton interrupted, "when they sen