of spruce boughs, they took off their
moccasins and hung them on short sticks to dry before the fire, turning
them about from time to time. When the beans were finally cooked,
Daylight ran part of them into a bag of flour-sacking a foot and a half
long and three inches in diameter. This he then laid on the snow to
freeze. The remainder of the beans were left in the pot for breakfast.

It was past nine o'clock, and they were ready for bed. The squabbling
and bickering among the dogs had long since died down, and the weary
animals were curled in the snow, each with his feet and nose bunched
together and covered by his wolf's brush of a tail. Kama spread his
sleeping-furs and lighted his pipe. Daylight rolled a brown-paper
cigarette, and the second conversation of the evening took place.

"I think we come near sixty miles," said Daylight.

"Um, I t'ink so," said Kama.

They rolled into their robes, all-standing, each with a woolen Mackinaw
jacket on in place of the parkas[5] they had worn all day. Swiftly,
almost on the instant they closed their eyes, they were asleep. The
stars leaped and danced in the frosty air, and overhead the colored
bars of the aurora borealis were shooting like great searchlights.

In the darkness Daylight awoke and roused Kama. Though the aurora
still flamed, another day had begun. Warmed-over flapjacks,
warmed-over beans, fried bacon, and coffee composed the breakfast. The
dogs got nothing, though they watched with wistful mien from a
distance, sitting up in the snow, their tails curled around their paws.
Occasionally they lifted one fore paw or the other, with a restless
movement, as if the frost tingled in their feet. It was bitter cold,
at least sixty-five below zero, and when Kama harnessed the dogs with
naked hands he was compelled several times to go over to the fire and
warm the numbing finger-tips. Together the two men loaded and lashed
the sled. They warmed their hands for the last time, pulled on their
mittens, and mushed the dogs over the bank and down to the river-trail.
According to Daylight's estimate, it was around seven o'clock; but the
stars danced just as brilliantly, and faint, luminous streaks of
greenish aurora still pulsed overhead.

Two hours later it became suddenly dark--so dark that they kept to the
trail largely by instinct; and Daylight knew that his time-estimate had
been right. It was the darkness before dawn, never anywhere more
conspicuous than