That night a snow house was built, with the exception of rounding the
dome at the top, over which Potokomik spread his blanket; but it was a
poor shelter, and not much warmer than the open. When I lay down I
was dripping with perspiration from the exertion of the day and during
the night had a severe chill.

The next day a storm threatened. We crossed another stream and
halted, at twelve o'clock, upon the western side of it to make tea.
The Eskimos held a consultation here and then Potokomik told us that
they were afraid of heavy snow and that it was thought best to cache
everything that we had--blankets, food and everything--and with
nothing to encumber us hurry on to a tupek that we should reach by
dark, and that there we should find shelter and food. Accordingly
everything was left behind but the rifles, which the Eskimos clung to,
and we started on at a terrific pace over wind-swept hills and drift-
covered valleys, where all that could be seen was a white waste of
unvarying snow. We had been a little distance inland, but now worked
our way down toward the coast. Once we crossed an inlet where we had
to climb over great blocks of ice that the tide in its force had piled
there.

Just at dusk the Eskimos halted. We had reached the place where the
tupek should have been, but none was there. Afterward I learned that
the people whom Potokomik expected to find here had been caught on
their way from Whale River by the ice and their boat was crushed.

Another consultation was held, and as a result we started on again.
After a two hours' march Potokomik halted and the others left us.
Easton and I threw ourselves at full length upon the snow and went to