At last they cleared the dread Fifty Mile River and came out on
Lake Le Barge. Here was no open water nor jammed ice. For
thirty miles or more the snow lay level as a table; withal it lay
three feet deep and was soft as flour. Three miles an hour was
the best they could make, but Daylight celebrated the passing of
the Fifty Mile by traveling late. At eleven in the morning they
emerged at the foot of the lake. At three in the afternoon, as
the Arctic night closed down, he caught his first sight of the
head of the lake, and with the first stars took his bearings. At
eight in the evening they left the lake behind and entered the
mouth of the Lewes River. Here a halt of half an hour was made,
while chunks of frozen boiled beans were thawed and the dogs
were given an extra ration of fish. Then they pulled on up the
river till one in the morning, when they made their regular camp.

They had hit the trail sixteen hours on end that day, the dogs
had come in too tired to fight among themselves or even snarl,
and Kama had perceptibly limped the last several miles; yet
Daylight was on trail next morning at six o'clock. By eleven he
was at the foot of White Horse, and that night saw him camped
beyond the Box Canon, the last bad river-stretch behind him, the
string of lakes before him.

There was no let up in his pace. Twelve hours a day, six in the
twilight, and six in the dark, they toiled on the trail. Three
hours were consumed in cooking, repairing harnesses, and making
and breaking camp, and the remaining nine hours dogs and men
slept as if dead. The iron strength of Kama broke. Day by day
the terrific toil sapped him. Day by day he consumed more of his
reserves of strength. He became slower of movement, the