cabin till noon, occupied with the exercises of the solemn
anniversary. The wind having then abated somewhat and the snow ceased,
we sallied forth, still hopeful of making Stephen's Village for Easter.
But when we got down upon the river surface it became doubtful if we
could proceed, and as we turned the first bend we encountered a fresh
gale that did not fall short of a blizzard. The air was filled with
flying snow that stung our faces and blinded us. The dogs' muzzles
became incrusted with snow and their eyes filled with it so that it was
hard to keep them facing it. I could not see the boy at all when he was
a hundred feet ahead of the team. We struggled along for four miles,
and, since it was then evident that we could not go much farther without
useless risk, we turned to a spot on the bank where Walter knew another
deserted cabin to stand; for he knows every foot of this section of the
river and once spent a summer, camped at the coal-mine, fishing. The
spot was reached, but the cabin was gone. The fish rack still stood
there, but the cabin was burned down. There was nothing for it but to
return to the coal-mine cabin; so, for the first and only time in all my
journeyings, it was necessary to abandon a day's march that had been
entered upon and go back whence we had come. We ran before the gale at
great speed and were within the cabin again by 2.30 P. M. All the
evening and all night the storm raged, and I was in two minds about
running back to Rampart before it for Easter, since it was now out of
the question to reach Stephen's Village. If the season had not been so
far advanced this is what I should have done, but it would set us back
three days more on the journey, and on reflection I was not willing to
take that chance with the break-up so near.

So on the morning of Easter Eve we sallied up-stream again, snow falling
and driving heavily, and the wind still strong but with yesterday's keen
edge blunted. By the time we had beaten around the long bend up which we
had fought our way the day before, the snow had ceased, and by noon the
wind had dropped and the sun was shining, and in a few moments of his
unobscured strength all the loose snow on the sled was melted--a
warning of the rapidity with which the general thaw would proceed once
the skies were clear. That night saw us in the habitable though dirty,
deserted cabin at Salt Creek (so called, one supposes, because the water
of it is perfectly fresh) at which